by RK Close
The home was lavishly furnished with antiques from the turn of the twentieth century. Most likely, it looked similar to the way it had when the home was first built in 1890. Like the outside, the interior was decorated for the holidays. I did most of it, with a little help from Simon.
On either side of the entry hall were large double French doors leading into a formal living room on one side and a cozy study on the other.
Opposite the front door was a lovely grand staircase that led to the upper levels. A hallway ran next to the stairs that led back to another sitting room on the left and the kitchen on the right. In a house with seven vampires, a kitchen was simply window dressing.
I tried to dart up the stairs, but suddenly, someone blocked my way. Edgar’s broad chest was inches from my face, and he smelled of blood—human blood. I stepped back and glared at him.
“Get out of my way, Edgar.”
The look he gave me was one of pure disgust. Of all the vampires, I hated Edgar the most—at least since Lorenzo had died the final death. In my eyes, Edgar had crawled out from under a rock that was only up the hill from Lorenzo’s rock. Both where heartless monsters. Only Victor’s rules kept him in check.
“What have we here? I reek of dog,” he sneered.
“It’s none of your business, is it?” I tried again to go up the stairs, but he blocked me again. This time I didn’t back away. Instead, I glared up at him defiantly.
“Victor told you to stay away from the shifters, so it is my business. It’s everyone’s business. The stupid things you do affect each of us.” His eyes grew lighter with his anger.
Before he could anticipate my move, I grabbed him and shoved him across the marble entry hall. Edgar crashed into the front door with a satisfying crack. Supernatural strength had its advantages.
He was on his feet in seconds. My bold move had caught him off guard, but Edgar was stronger than me. Although I had speed on my side, it wouldn’t be enough to save me from his wrath.
Edgar charged and the next moment found me pinned to the stairs with one of his hands crushing my neck and the other pinning my chest to the stairs.
“Enough!” Victor yelled.
Edgar continued to glare into my eyes but reluctantly released me. I coughed and gagged as my esophagus healed itself--a truly disturbing feeling.
Our fight had roused the entire house, or at least those who were home. Victor looked angrily between Edgar and me.
“What is the meaning of this?” When neither of us answered, he turned to Edgar. “Edgar?”
“The brat is fraternizing with the shifters again,” Edgar accused.
Victor’s eyebrows came together in thought as he turned his gaze on me. “Olivia?”
I straightened my shoulders and raised my chin to glared at him. “Don’t start with me. I’ll spend time with whomever I choose.” I turned my lethal gaze on Edgar. “If you ever touch me again, I’ll stake you in your sleep,” I spat.
“Olivia!” Elizabeth gasped. She was Victor’s wife for all practical purposes. They’d been together forever.
My threat was a serious one. Our culture didn’t threaten one another with the final death unless they were ready to deliver it. I turned and fled up to my room, trying to ignore the shocked expressions of Lola, Victor, and Elizabeth.
Edgar’s face held something more akin to fear. He’d either leave me alone, or we’d both be watching our backs for a very long time.
4
Dying wasn’t the worst part of death. It was all the things you leave undone. It’s the boys you never kissed, the dance in the rain that you never had. It’s a million missed moments that haunt you. It was the endless possibilities that lay at your feet like demolished buildings after a hurricane. Yes, I’d become a pathetic cliché.
It was the lost opportunities that made me angry—so very angry. Disgusted with the hand I’d been dealt, angry with God, bitter toward the family who would go on without me.
Each passing day, needles, treatments, surgeries, and finally, the last terminal diagnosis, I pushed everyone away, even my sister. I threw ugly fits of rage to make them leave. My doctor told my family and friends it was best if they limited their visits because the outbursts were speeding my decline.
Being told you have brain cancer with zero chance of beating it was the worst thing anyone should ever hear. But being eighteen and having just started freshman year of college, it was as if someone pulled the rug out from under me and I was free-falling slowly to my death. I’d rather be hit by a bus. Just get it over with.
Lying alone in a hospital bed and waiting to die should have made me sad. But I was pissed. I needed to be angry at someone, but there was nobody left. At night, there were fewer nurses to torture. They always ignored my shitty remarks, like the professionals they were.
It was the look of pain in the eyes of my sister and parents that unraveled me. It was more than I could bear, and I only had room for my anger. The rage was something I could control. The all-consuming sorrow would kill me long before cancer did.
It was one of those dark nights, seven years ago, that I first saw Victor. I remember thinking he was handsome for an older guy. Thirty-something to an eighteen-year-old is ancient.
He glanced at me through the windows of my hospital room as he was walking by. I’d seen him several evenings and wondered about him. Who was he visiting? Was that person terminal too?
There was something off about him, but I couldn’t put my finger on it and I was too weak to give it much thought. That day had been exceptionally rough because I’d refused morphine for my pain. My parents had begged me to take the drug. It was killing them to see me suffer.
But I planned to leave this place fully aware if I could bear it. I was going to die, and I wanted to be present for it. It was the last adventure I’d have after all.
The pain made me moan, almost as a way to soothe myself. A nurse came into my semi-dark room and asked if I wanted anything to take the edge off. I shook my head, and she gave me a sad look before leaving the room.
And then I saw him. Instead of walking past my room, he stood looking at me through the window. My eyes could barely focus on him, but I stared back. I needed something to focus on besides the pain.
He was suddenly next to my bed. I wondered if I’d lost consciousness for a moment. It was possible. Or maybe the hallucinations had begun. My doctor warned me that it was part of the process. There would be no dying with dignity for me.
The man looked down at me, and his blue eyes glowed softly. I knew that I was hallucinating then. His irises were iridescent. It was a pretty cool way to lose your mind.
“I smell pain and death on you.” He looked down at me but not with pity. There was something primal in his gaze. “My name is Victor, and I can release you from this agony. Would you like that?” He leaned over me and stroked the skin just below my scarf—where my hair should have been.
His touch felt cool and soothing to my fevered brow. “Screw... you,” I whispered. I didn’t have the strength to tell him what I really wanted to say. Who did he think he was, the Angel of Death?
Victor looked surprised by my response. I guess he’d assumed that I’d be grateful. Wrong. I wasn’t a coward. I was facing death head-on.
“Don’t you wish to end your suffering, my dear? There will be no recovery for you. Why linger here?” He asked, seeming truly mystified and curious.
“Get the hell...out of my room,” I said weakly. It was frustrating that I couldn’t put the full weight of my fury behind my words.
Something in his expression changed. It wasn’t anger as I’d hoped, but something I couldn’t understand.
“I am a vampire. Do you understand what that means?”
“Yeah, you sparkle in...the sunlight, right?” In my mind, I laughed so hard. This guy was a true nutcase. He must have escaped from the psych ward.
He looked confused for a moment, then smiled his understanding. “I can satisfy my thirst and take away your p
ain. I promise it will be pleasurable for us both. You’ll feel nothing but peace,” he soothed.
“Go to hell.” I managed to hold his gaze, but he was a little blurry. While I didn’t believe he was a vampire, I didn’t know what crazy people were capable of.
When I could no longer hold my eyes open, he whispered into my ear. “Would you like to live forever, Olivia?”
With my eyes still closed, I replied, “Why would anyone want to live forever?”
Little did I know, my response sealed my fate. I died the first death that night. And guess what? Victor was the real deal. I’ve been a walking, talking corpse ever since.
Victor carried me away from the hospital and the only life I’d ever known. I’ve never seen my family since. I’d hate Victor for what he turned me into until the day I die the final death—which couldn’t come soon enough, in my opinion.
I stared at the clock as the hands counted down the time before sunset. Clocks weren’t required. It was an old habit to watch the clock as I waited for something to happen.
When the sun set in the evenings or rose in the mornings, I knew it instinctively. I’d been restless since waking that afternoon. The movies had it all wrong. I didn’t really sleep at all, but I was weak and lethargic while the sun was up. It was more like having an allergy to sunlight, except with more serious consequences, or so I’d been cautioned.
Victor told me early on that if we spent any significant time in the sun, we might burn up enough to turn to dust. At the very least, my walk in the daylight could leave me looking like a burn victim for months.
While neither possibility sounded fun, I’d kept the turning-to-dust notion in my back pocket if this life ever became too much. It had crossed my mind many times since waking as a vampire.
Tonight, I’d taken extra care with my makeup and hair. Extra time for my hair meant I threw some gel in it rather than leaving it alone. I may have added a curl or two.
I was thankful that my body could regenerate itself once I woke as a vampire. If I’d been frozen the way I looked at the time of my death, I’d break mirrors and scare small children.
Grudgingly, I admitted that I looked far better in death than I ever had in life. My hair was a rich, shiny chestnut, and my skin was smooth and flawless, almost translucent. My teeth were movie-star white. Victor said it was a predatory trait. Everything about us was a grand facade, designed to lure victims within striking distance. I often wondered whose design it was. Nobody could ever tell me why vampires existed or where we came from. Someone had to be the first.
Tonight, I didn’t care.
Tonight, I felt dangerous.
Tonight, I’d be somebody different, or . . . something different.
It felt like freshman year all over again—before cancer. Guys were hitting on me and buying me drinks. I’d snuck out and left Simon behind. I felt bad about doing so, but I was confident he’d forgive me. I couldn’t flirt with Simon around. He’d scare everyone away.
I’d drunk enough beer to put an elephant down, but it had no effect on me. I wished I could eat the way I could drink. Liquids had no consequence, but if I tried to eat food, the reaction was fast, violent, and messy. I still missed the taste of pizza, chocolate, and cherry pie.
Tonight, I planned to take back a part of life I’d been denied. Freshman year was supposed to be crazy fun and full of new memories, but I didn’t even make it to midterms.
“Can I get you another drink?” Bobby asked. He was a handsome junior at Northern Arizona University, studying engineering, or so he said. He also played football and reminded me of a big teddy bear filled with cement.
“Sure,” I said, winking. I wasn’t really interested in Bobby, but I was enjoying the attention. I’d been disappointed when Seth hadn’t shown up. He was the one I grudgingly admitted I wanted attention from. Bobby was how I was killing time.
A giddy feeling would flow over me at the thought of running into Seth. Then I’d be annoyed at myself for crushing on him like I’d forgotten that I wasn’t normal, and neither was he. Maybe that was the attraction.
One undeniable distinction about being a vampire, the desire to drink, was always calling. And Bobby’s blood smelled pretty good. Ordinarily, I avoided hanging out with humans for this very reason. Caution was my middle name, but for once in my miserable life, I didn’t want to care. I didn’t want to feel alone and empty.
While I waited for Bobby to return, I had that odd feeling that someone was watching me. I scanned the crowded bar until I found him in the crowded bar—Seth. I held his gaze for several moments until Bobby returned with the beers.
As Seth stood there watching me, a pretty blonde came up to him and wrapped her arms around his waist. He seemed surprised but smiled and said something to her that made her giggle.
She began to whisper in his ear, but Seth’s gaze remained trained on me. The woman was very affectionate, and I had to be careful not to squeeze the bottle of beer I was holding, lest it explodes in my hand.
Impulsively, I reached up and pulled Bobby down for a kiss. He seemed surprised but also pleased and quickly slipped his arms around my waist to pull me closer. Even when I was alive, I’d never been this bold. Bobby was sort of a sloppy kisser, but it wasn’t like I was a pro. I’d only ever kissed a few guys.
Tonight, I was going to get Seth McKenzie out of my system once and for all. In the background, I could hear some of Bobby’s friends cheering him on.
When I pulled away from him, I looked for Seth. He was right there, watching it all. And he didn’t look happy. Good. Now he could see how it felt, though I doubted he cared. Most likely, my imagination was blowing his reaction out of proportion.
I wanted him to care, and that made me vulnerable. I didn’t do vulnerable.
Feeling wild and reckless, I pulled Bobby through the crowd and into a door marked “Employees Only.” Like a big puppy, he followed me without question.
Once inside the small hallway, I searched for a private place. I found what looked like a large pantry filled with crates of beer. This would be safe enough. They weren’t going to be serving warm beer.
I’d barely closed the door when sweet teddy-bear Bobby grabbed me and started kissing me. Gone was the nice-guy image I’d seen before. This Bobby was a bit too aggressive and rough. I went from feeling desired to feeling like an object for his pleasure alone.
“Hey, easy there. There’s no rush. We’re just getting to know each other better,” I said, trying to push his hands away as he tried to fondle my breasts.
“I know all I need to know,” Bobby said, huskily. “I want you. You obviously want me. Let’s get to it, baby.”
His tone was not sweet, or even mildly romantic. He was pure aggression and I was an objective.
When he groped my crotch, I’d had enough. “Stop!” I said, pushing him away with more strength than I’d planned to use.
Bobby hit a shelf filled to the ceiling with boxes of beer. Bottles rattled violently, and one threatened to fall before he caught it.
“What the hell? You wanted this and now you’re playing hard to get?” He moved toward me again. “Too late to back out now.”
If this had happened seven years ago, I’d have been terrified. Instead, the predator in me smiled, like I’d been given a gift with a big bow on it. Bobby saw something in my face that made him hesitate for just a second. Maybe the only smart thing he’d done all night. But it wasn’t enough of a warning bell to stop him from taking what he wanted and obviously thought he deserved.
He came at me again and this time I let him. My bloodlust was at a dangerous level, but I didn’t care. When he slid his hand under my shirt, I responded by kissing his neck. His heart beat out a rhythm beneath my lips. He groaned and began to unbutton my jeans.
As if freefalling, I let loose my inner monster and sank my teeth into his soft flesh. He stiffened, then struggled a few moments before the toxin in my saliva forced him to relax and feel euphoric as I drained his precious
life’s blood into my mouth. It tasted so damn good. I never wanted it to stop. It was my drug and I was an addict.
A familiar voice next to my ear told me to stop. Simon, I think. But I didn’t want to stop. I wanted it to go on and on.
I wanted to drown in the moment—until, suddenly, I was flying across the small room and crashing into the door. That got my attention. Shaking my head and found Simon staring at me with concern. The look on his face was like a physical slap. I felt ashamed when Simon turned to the dazed and pale football player.
“You just made out with a pretty woman and had the best night of your life. Now go find your friends and celebrate,” Simon said, staring into Bobby’s glossy eyes.
Bobby smiled and walked past me like I wasn’t even there.
“Wait, his wounds. I need to . . .” My words were slurred, and I found it difficult to get off the ground.
“Don’t touch him. Let him go. We need to get you out of here,” Simon said.
He hauled me off the ground in a not-so-gentle way. “Hey!”
Simon ignored me and led me back out into the loud bar. Everything was blurry and walking was difficult. “What’s wrong with me?” I thought but must have spoken out loud.
“You’re drunk, Olivia. That’s what happens when you only drink pig’s blood and then decide to fall off the wagon with the real thing,” Simon said, sounding uncharacteristically annoyed.
I almost giggled because Simon wasn’t usually so talkative. All of a sudden, I slammed into Simon’s back. It felt like a brick wall. Peering past his shoulder, I caught Seth’s angry gaze. It was difficult to focus on him. He kept moving around, or maybe that was just me.
I laughed out loud.
“What’s wrong with her?” Seth demanded.
At first, Simon didn’t answer. “She’s intoxicated. I’m taking her home.”