by Liz Strange
I came back to reality with an enormous gasp, as though I had been holding my breath under water until my lungs would burst. My body was itchy with longing. I was hot, trembling, and throbbing with lust. I was a bit disgusted with myself that what I witnessed aroused me. Had feelings like this always been inside me somewhere?
I went quietly into the house, past Shannon who was watching TV and didn’t acknowledge me, and entered my room.
I would be waiting for him.
For hours I sat in the darkness. The sky was a dark grey, without a hint of moon. Only the twinkling stars afforded some break in the vast expanse of night. The silence was thick and unnerving. Eventually I lay down, exhausted but unable to fall asleep. I tossed restlessly, the anxiety of waiting brewed under my skin, making me twitchy and uncomfortable. I don’t know how many times I looked from the clock to window and back again before 4 AM finally crept up. The assault of anticipation on my body was fierce, and every time I closed my eyes he was there.
Just as I was about to go downstairs to get a drink, having long ago given up the thought of getting any sleep that night, a soft scraping sounded against the side of the house. My window slowly opened with a gentle whisper. I waited, breath held tight, and a small bead of cold sweat trickled down my spine.
There was a movement of shadow; almost too quick for my eyes to perceive, then his piercing blue eyes appeared in the darkness. Joy and fear struggled with each other, neither one strong enough to push the other aside.
Softly, the voice spoke again inside my head. The words were alive inside me, sending shivers of sensation through my body. My throat tight and dry, I didn’t make a sound. I didn’t move.
He stood just inside the window, his outline barely visible by the soft light of the stars. He was as still as I was, and that small distance felt like a giant chasm between us, keeping me from his touch. “May I come to you?”
“Yes.” I sighed.
He hesitated before he moved. “Be sure that this is what you want. I will take your love only because you wish to give it to me. I will not force it or trick it from you.”
“Yes.” The word sounded repeatedly in my brain, and was the only thing I could think or say.
Suddenly, but tenderly, he was upon me. My body screamed at the contact. He stroked my hair with his delicate, white hands, leaning in to kiss my forehead and eyelids. The touch of his warm mouth was like silk. In that moment I felt an inexplicable connection between us. He lay beside me on the bed and took me in his arms. He held me tightly against his body, murmuring in my ear. His hands on my body sent shivers of fire across my skin. I was powerless against the way our bodies craved each other, and I had reached a point that I didn’t want to resist, no matter what the consequences might be.
I had never seen anyone in my life more stunning than he was that night. Up close, without distraction, his beauty was even more flawless. His eyes were cut from sapphire, and they looked right into my soul. There were no lines, blemishes, nothing but endless, perfect white skin, except his lips, which blushed with red, and were heaven against my own. Holding me in his arms as still as he was, he could have been a corpse, but for the twinkle in his eyes. The irrepressible power emanating from him could not be ignored.
“You know I can feel your love and desire for me, as I know you feel it from me. I have felt you in my head, seeing from my eyes, thinking my thoughts. I can’t understand how this could be, but it’s something that simply is. You are a part of me somehow, as I am a part of you.” His words fluttered against my ear, and I knew they were true.
He placed his hands gently on each side of my face and looked me in the eye. I drowned in his longing. “I can see what you are thinking, feel the reactions of your body to mine. I’m drawn to you like I have never been to another in my life.” He rolled onto his back then, face to the ceiling. “I am incapable of resisting.”
I pulled myself closer to him, my head resting on his shoulder. My hands found their way into his soft hair, my fingers thrilling at the texture. Slowly I traced my finger along his strong jaw line, oblivious to anything else. He pressed his cheek into the cup of my hand, his skin cool and dry. We were facing each other then, our eyes locked, and my breath hot between us. His mouth lightly touched the exposed skin on my neck, and I gave a low moan of pleasure. His tongue traced the line of my vein, and I shivered. I grasped his shoulder tightly and he reacted immediately, almost crushing me in his embrace.
At last he leant in and pressed his lips against my own, the kisses urgent and greedy. Phantoms hands shivered along my skin, seducing all my senses. The last vestige of strength coiled within me burst, and I seized him savagely, my hungry mouth moving across his face. A fine mist of perspiration covered my skin, and my clothes were damp against my body. When our passion reached its crescendo and I was almost mad with need, I felt him pull away. He hesitated, his eyes tight with what I felt to be confusion. For one terrible moment I thought he might leave.
His face lowered, hidden against my shoulder, and his tongue snaked furiously across my throat. My heart was in my ears, my blood rushing like a tremendous waterfall. My body was slick, and painfully hot. I was bombarded with emotions— lust, fear, anger, need— a strange intermingling of my thoughts and his.
When he bit me, the pain was unbelievably hot and bright. Streamers of colour shot across my line of vision. My body convulsed with the trauma, and adrenaline thundered through my blood. Then there was only the pressure and the ecstasy of his teeth in my skin.
The brilliance of his skin stung my eyes, and my wound throbbed like a second heartbeat. My body reacted naturally to the pain, my arms pushing against his granite chest. My legs thrashed, and bile crept up the back of my throat. Yet my mind clung there, dancing that fine line between pain and pleasure. Sound hissed in my ears, my blood rushing.
Then I slipped, falling into the velvet darkness of shock. My body pooled into the bed, and there was no longer any pain. I was only aware of the heat draining from me, and the sound of his mouth against my neck. My hands slipped from their grip on his shoulders, landing lifelessly to the bed. A cool tear slid slowly down my cheek.
He pulled his mouth away from my neck, the suction broken with a soft, sickening plop. My stomach cramped violently. Slowly he raised his head until we were face to face, his wild eyes staring down into mine. His beautiful, angelic features were smeared with blood, and his lips were drawn back to expose his wickedly sharp fangs. His tongue hungrily lapped up the blood remaining on his face, the blood that he had just sucked from my body. Then he roughly pressed his mouth to mine, and I tasted the coppery liquid on my tongue, gagging as it trickled down my throat.
“No tricks,” he projected into my mind, “I want you to feel and be aware of it all.”
My mind reeled, switching channels from the harsh reality to a disconnection from my body. As sick, weak and violated as I felt, I was not afraid. I coughed as he pulled himself away. I felt nothing in my body but coldness.
His face hovered over mine, fangs protruding, distorting the face I loved. His dark curls were damp with either my blood or my tears. I used all my strength to raise my hand to his face, but it was too difficult, and my hand flopped onto the bed again. As I watched, the teeth slowly receded and he brought his sleeve across his face, wiping away the last remnants of his feeding. His face contorted with agony, and anger. His blue eyes were locked with mine, and a silent message passed between us. “This is what it means to be with me.”
“I know,” I croaked, and with the silence broken, a painful mosquito-like whine foreshadowed my losing fight against passing out.
He pulled my limp body up in his arms, kissing me with brutal passion. I tasted blood in his kiss, and I couldn’t be certain whether it was his or mine. My head lolled against his arm, my vision swirling and darkening around the edges. He pressed me tightly to his chest, his scent sharp in my nostrils and his shirt rough against my cheek. I was terribly cold, and my legs tingled.
; After an indeterminate amount of time I felt his warm lips on my ear. “Sleep, my angel. This can go no further tonight.” Gently he lay me down on the bed, and pulled the covers tightly around my body. He kissed my cheek, and brushed the hair lightly away from my face. “I will return tomorrow, and we can talk about what has happened here.”
With a whisper of movement he slipped through the window and disappeared into the night. As I drifted into unconsciousness I heard him say, “My name is Giovanni.”
Chapter 5
I awoke the next morning with a head full of fog. As my eyes opened I was momentarily unsure of where I was. My throat was parched and my tongue glued to the bottom of my mouth. I ached everywhere like bad hangover. The afternoon light streaming in through my uncovered window was warm on my face. It was also stick-pins-in-your-eyes bright, and my pupils contracted painfully in response. I attempted to make my way over to the other side of the room to snatch the blinds shut, but had to abandon my plan about halfway there when I was overcome with nausea. I turned abruptly, and lurched-stumbled my way into the bathroom.
My hasty movement only intensified the sickness, and I collapsed onto the cool tile floor. Violently I relieved myself into the toilet. The dim bathroom was a crazy, lopsided carousel. Every time I though I was done and stood, I was overcome again. I was sick until there was nothing left, and I sat there retching pitifully, my body weak from the effort.
I silently thanked the powers that be that there was no window in the bathroom because my body was responding harshly to the sunlight. I let the coolness of the toilet seat and the dim atmosphere, calm me. I couldn’t remember having ever been so horribly sick before, not even after a particularly hard night of drinking. My body was sore from getting ill.
I concentrated very hard on having clear linear thought processes, evaluating what it was that I needed to make myself feel better. I decided on a glass of water, aspirin and a huge cup of coffee. I leant back against the counter, mentally preparing myself to stand and deal with the unsteadiness that was unquestionably going to accompany that movement.
My mind reeled with strange images— flashes of his smile, my bed, blood and the face of that pretty, young woman I had never met before. I remembered going to the movie with Shannon, but nothing of the actual movie itself. I remembered the crowds, the restless, shifting mass of strangers, and darkness interspersed with yellow light from the tall streetlamps. Something else lingered there in the deepest recesses of my mind, something I couldn’t quite pull out of its hiding place.
The memory dancing in the shadows of my brain suddenly grabbed a hold and began to gnaw. More of the dream spilled forth, dominated by his presence. I saw his face, the flash of his eyes, and the way his milky skin glowed in the blanket of darkness covering my room. I saw the open window, and a sharp bolt of adrenaline shot through me, though I couldn’t coherently understand what was ominous about it. Why should an open window cause such a jarring sense of panic to snap through my mind? Then there was a flash of movement in the room. I remembered our embrace, his words, and his bite. “Giovanni.”
Instantly, my hand shot to my throat, and a small, strangled mewing escaped my lips. I was shocked when my fingers found a rough patch of skin on the left side of my neck. The skin was angry and tender to the touch. I shook my head. I had been dreaming, hadn’t I? My mind ran through the events, a staccato of individual images that somehow would not mesh together. My hand trembled as it hovered over my wound, and the nausea threatened to return.
He followed me home last night? I really saw him outside, on the dark streets? Did he really come into my bedroom, through my window? Our encounter was real? It seemed too bizarre to have actually happened, and much too dangerous.
Shakily, and with a heavy hand on the edge of the toilet for more support, I manoeuvred myself up from the floor. I turned to face my reflection in the mirror. In the dimness I looked much the same as I always did, through my hair was plastered unflatteringly to my head. As I reached over to turn on the light, I could feel the shock of it before it actually happened. The light snapped on, flooding the small room with a harsh, artificial glow. I blinked repeatedly, the soft whine of electricity seeming unnaturally loud.
The light did nothing for my appearance. It wrapped me in a sickly hue, which made my fair complexion sallow, and turned the bags under my eyes into angry, purple bruises. I looked tired, my eyes pulled tightly as I squinted against the assault of light. My cheekbones seemed more pronounced than usual, giving my face a gaunt, almost skeletal appearance. My lips were as white as chalk, as was the skin on my face and neck.
Slowly I turned to the right, pulling away my hair and exposing the source of discomfort on my neck. I regarded the mark I found there with a mixture of revulsion, and irrepressible fascination. He had bitten me. The two tiny, meaty puncture wounds were still fresh and raw-looking. I almost expected them to begin bleeding. I imagined with an inexplicable excitement the sight of fresh blood erupting from the bite, and dripping down my pale neck. I leant closer to the mirror, straining for a better look.
The holes themselves were no bigger than the tip of a ballpoint pen— perfect, angry red indentations in my flesh, with a quarter-sized shadow of blue bruising surrounding them. I poked my finger at the wound hesitantly, my lips held in a grimace of expected pain. It was tender, but not really painful. As I ran my fingers over the area there was a dull throbbing. Squinting against the light, I thought I saw a vague hint of a vein running away from the bite, down the side of my neck. I had never noticed a vein there before, but my skin was much whiter and more fragile-looking than ever before.
Aside from the paleness of my complexion, and the site of the bite, no miraculous transformation had taken place. I stood, transfixed by my reflection, but was somehow disappointed. What I could recall was amazing, but I wanted more. I had it in my mind that somehow our connection, when it finally stepped over the line, would bring with it a power and a resolution as great as the need that had brought us together in the first place. I felt somehow ripped off, and other than a name, I had no satisfying answers.
I forced myself to turn and walk out of the bathroom. As I made my unsteady way down the stairs, a thread of anxiety pulled at the back of my mind. I had almost reached the kitchen when the warm aroma of coffee wafted toward me. It smelled like heaven. I stepped around the corner where the warm sunlight was pouring through the window, and I jerked as it made contact with my eyes.
Peripherally, I was aware of two people sitting at the table, though none of us said a word. Shannon must have gone out after I went to bed, or called someone over. She had been ticked off at me, and maybe she wanted a distraction or someone to talk to.
Trying to hide my unsteadiness, I opened the cupboard and pulled down a cup with slow, deliberate actions. It clinked a little too loudly as it made contact with the counter, and I winced at the sharp assault on my ears. I mixed in copious amounts of cream and sugar with the black liquid, and unseeing, looked out the window. The spoon swirled round and round, in an almost hypnotic motion.
The warm liquid poured over my tongue, filling me with warmth before it disappeared down my throat. There it met my raw stomach, to be captured in a tight knot. The taste felt wonderful, and strange too, drawing a recent experience from my thoughts. I was reminded of the taste of my blood as it spilled from his mouth to mine. I brought a hand to my lips, where a dreamy half-smile lingered. I was instantly aware of an intense hunger, and the stirrings of longing for him.
I was lost in that moment, far away from my house and time. An odd sound played at the edge of my memory, intruding and distracting me from the sensations accompanying it. I shot back to reality. This was the sound of someone clearing their throat. I was suddenly aware that I had been standing in the kitchen, coffee cup in a raised hand, staring off into space. My hand dropped suddenly, spilling the contents out across the tile floor.
I met Shannon’s eyes, and found something there that surprised and hurt me. She
was looking at me with clear, undeniable pity. As I returned her gaze an intense, unbridled anger sparked inside of me, and my body tensed painfully to contain it. A brief, hot flash of Shannon grasped in my hands and my mouth locked on her throat filled my brain. An angry warmth surged through me at the thought of causing her pain. I smiled.
“Sorry.” I placed the cup on the counter. I cleaned up the mess from the floor, and with my coffee refilled joined Shannon at the table. Belatedly, I noticed that the other person present was a woman named Amanda, who had in recent months become friends with Shannon. She happened to be one of my least favourite of Shannon’s friends, which she knew, and perhaps that had been the motivation for calling her over for breakfast. I smiled, completely aware of how bizarre my actions must seem to the two of them. She didn’t smile in return, just resumed eating her toast.
I sipped my coffee, trying to regain my composure as I racked my brain for a topic to steer us away from my recent behaviour. I was not in the mood to explain or defend myself. I saw the two of them pass a strained look, and I surmised that they had been talking about me before I came down. Shannon didn’t speak to me for a long time, not until my cup was empty. She just eyed me wearily, and I silently prepared myself for the lecture that was undoubtedly coming. Running a hand through my matted tangle of hair, I sighed, suddenly remembering how thoroughly awful I appeared.
Finally she put her cup down, and turned to face me. I raised my eyebrows in question as she hesitated. “Have you looked at yourself in the mirror today, Rach?” Her words were harsh. I felt the sting of their meaning. I flashed to the vision of myself that I had experienced right before coming down stairs. If she only knew. “You look like hell. Really, you’ve been looking not good for a few weeks now… do you even sleep anymore?”