by Peter Dawes
The way his lips curled threatened to twist my stomach into another knot.
Mercifully, Grigore pulled away and relinquished his hold on me. Both arms fell to his sides, his back to me before I could blink and a few confident steps already initiated. I moved to catch up, bringing up the rear with Emil, the four of us headed to the edge of a burgeoning crowd. “Come, the night is young,” he said, his stride deliberate. “Better to leave now than when the tourists and locals head indoors.”
I furrowed my brow. “What about the others?”
“Which others?”
The band began to play as if on cue. I sighed as the first chords from one of their guitars forced me to raise my voice. “Your other guests.”
Grigore waved his hand dismissively. “Too large of a crowd. They prefer fending for themselves.” He paused and I could hear the taunt in his words when he spoke again. “No taste for a hunt tonight?”
“Actually, I was rather looking forward to it,” I said, reasserting my confidence in the face of doubt. A sly grin crossed my lips. “Simply being conscientious.”
Barking out a laugh in response, Grigore continued forward. We made it out to the city streets, my host sighing with delight as his gaze rose heavenward. “This is a lovely night,” he said. The four of us paused by an intersection, blocked from crossing by a steady stream of traffic. Grigore pivoted to face me again. “The moon is nearly full and the scent of humanity lingers in the air. The gypsies used to claim there was magic in nights like this.”
I perked an eyebrow at the mention of magic, but did not respond. When the flow of cars abated, he signaled Nicolae and Emil forward, his hand resting on my shoulder while he took a place by my side. Much to my relief, his grip fell as we made our way across the street. It did nothing, however, to settle the notion something other than a hunt had commenced. If the coven master noticed, he failed to say.
Instead, his eyes alternated between peering ahead of us and stealing glances at me. Emil and Nicolae led us away from the nightclub, not a misplaced step in their stride as we sank into a much different part of town. I let myself get distracted by the neighborhood enough to exhale one last breath rife with tension.
I just had to feed from a human again. That was all.
Grigore, on the other hand, started chatting again in a convivial manner, pointing out the buildings we passed when he sensed my interest piqued. When we wandered into a more rundown section of town, I felt my posture tense, my eyes scanning the area with my head somewhere between muscle memory and acute nervousness. It was the best place to feed; nestled among derelicts, Grigore noted, with so few people who might be missed. “We hardly ever seek nourishment among our patrons,” he said, his voice lowering and both hands clasped behind his back. A wicked smirk curled the corners of his lips. “And when we do, it’s only to ‘snack’ as you Americans put it. This is where we enjoy our hunts.”
Nodding, I found the notion odd of any vampire having a familiar killing ground. Still, I sensed Grigore eyeing me curiously as we paused by a street corner and granted him a smile of recognition. “Let the games commence,” I said, attempting to seem nonplussed about the thought of how many humans had probably met their demise here.
“As you’ve said it, so shall it be.” Grigore looked at Emil and Nicolae. “After you, my sons.”
Both responded favorably and walked ahead of us. I allowed my mind to go blank while waking my vampire instincts. A small hum of awareness passed through me, as though switching on a lamp and waiting for the room to fill with light. First, I honed in on the pulses surrounding us, then took my first deep breath and breathed in the putrid bouquet of industry, poverty, and human filth. A few curious onlookers glanced at us the deeper into their complex we wandered. A few of them scurried, and this was when the hunt truly commenced.
The three men around me bared fangs almost in unison while we cut across a small parking area, which had been torn apart by time and disrepair. Weaving around a small block of dilapidated houses, we watched two of the humans dash around the back and even my atrophied instincts latched onto this. The prey thought itself clever. How precious. I shook off a small chill evoked by the idea and finally let my sharp teeth descend like the others’ had. Nicolae smirked when he caught sight of it, then glanced at Grigore and pointed to the house, saying something in Romanian.
“Grozav,” Grigore said, peering over in my direction and nodding. “They say there are others hiding behind there. Should be enough for the four of us.”
I perked an eyebrow. The heartbeats thumping mere feet away overlapped just enough as to make the number uncertain. Suddenly, I found myself wishing they had been vampires; at least then, my seer senses might have given a more accurate headcount. “Do they know what we are?” I asked.
He laughed softly and patted my shoulder. “Stay close, just in case they try ganging up on us.” As his hand dropped, he paced forward, the three Romanian vampires clustering together and forcing me to follow suit. Our steps became soundless, our movements so methodical, we formed one unit by the time we reached the back of the house.
Emil stopped and peered back at us. He nodded once, and it seemed all the impetus the rest of us needed. Pointing at a rickety fence, he honed on me especially with his gaze and offered me his polite smile once more. I could not help but to see a young, amiable man in the elder’s eyes. That vanished the moment he spun around and became the first of us to vault the fence. By the time I joined the vampires on the other side, I saw three predators in all their glory.
Four humans barked out screams, attempting to scatter. Nicolae gave chase to one, while Grigore sped to intercept another, grabbing the fleeing man and pulling him flush against his body mere seconds before plunging his fangs into his throat. I felt my stomach sink, catching sight of a woman reaching the edge of the property, closer to me and yet, capturing Emil’s attention as she sped past. She looked petrified to the point of tears, ignoring the ones that escaped her eyes and rolled across her cheeks for one mad, frantic dash to freedom.
Narrowing my eyes, I gave chase to her. I might be forced to feed on her, but I could not be responsible for her demise.
Emil backed away the moment he saw me running for her. The final human fled for the far edge of the yard, diverting his attention elsewhere while I picked up the pace and leaped for the girl. A surprised scream forced a suppressed sob past her lips when I tugged at her shirt, ignoring her thrashing in favor of pulling her back. I secured her arms and held her tightly, even when she thrust her legs up and kicked at the air in front of her.
She wriggled and squirmed, frenzied Romanian spilling past her lips. Risking a cheap shot, I freed one hand to clasp over her mouth and whispered in her ear, “Cooperate with me and I promise your life will be spared.” Whether she understood me or not, she remained tense, but gave up her fighting. Her tears suggested she had merely resigned herself to her fate.
I, on the other hand, settled into the trance again.
Her scent assaulted me first, reminding me my fangs remained elongated, and had not claimed purchase on human flesh in quite a while. Heaven only knew the last time she had bathed, and if her clothes were any indication, she had accepted a transient lifestyle long before coming in contact with me. Still, something about the aroma of blood held me in a thrall. Her pulse beat out its maddening tempo and before I could stop myself, my teeth had penetrated her neck.
She whimpered once, tense with the first pull of blood I brought in, then relaxing with the next draught. The warm, lavish drops of her blood coated my tongue, transporting me away from my senses. Each blessed mouthful I took in made the one preceding it pale in comparison. Every draw I allowed myself to claim threw me into a race against her heart, wanting to drink my fill before her imminent death. The precarious hold I maintained on my restraint crumbled, until I reached the moment of reckoning. I had bitten into her claiming to be her savior. If I did not pull away, I would be her executioner instead.
A gro
an lilted past my lips, defiant against the ripple of pain pulling away generated. As I licked the wounds closed, I clenched my eyes shut, those first few seconds precarious. The monster had been awoken. He wanted the last few mouthfuls this woman had to offer before we had damned her to her final judgment. Her blood filled my veins and vitality flooded into me, warmth consuming me and that taunting demon reminding me just how much better I would feel if I ended her.
Somehow, I managed the wherewithal to lower her, settling her against the ground and taking a step back. Conflicting feelings kept me frozen in place a few seconds longer, the litany of guilt, temptation, and satisfaction a heady combination I only broke away from when I realized somebody was staring at me. As I pivoted enough to line them in my periphery, I wondered how long they had been watching, wincing internally when I discovered the onlooker to be none other than Grigore.
His victim lay at his feet, their pulse still beating, much the same as the woman from whom I had just fed. I turned to face him more fully and furrowed my brow at him. His facial expression remained neutral, the smile on his face both pleasant and masking his true thoughts.
“Are you finished?” he asked. His hands slipped in his pockets, his gait casual as he headed in my direction. In the backdrop, I noticed Nicolae and Emil finish with their meals and blinked, the pulses of their victims still present, too. Something triggered my warning signals; I felt as though this had been a test and now wondered whether I had passed or failed.
“Yes,” I said, my voice soft and uncertain despite myself.
“Then, come. Let us head back.”
I nodded, not apt to add any other evidence either to condemn or exonerate. Not until I understood the nature of what had just transpired. We walked in silence back to the coven house, Grigore and I with lit cigarettes and the other two leading the procession again. Both of us tossed away our nicotine crutches prior to entering the club, but neither of us broke the stalemate. Had I my personal effects, I might have considered not entering with him; my sixth sense coming no closer to being disproven.
Perhaps it was paranoia, I told myself. The manifestation of a conscience both guilty and not at the same time after what I had just done. I spent some time mulling on that while standing on the edge of the crowd and admiring the view. Nursing a drink, I allowed my gaze to jump from one person to the next, chewing on the matter as much as I could through the haze of activity around me. I almost had myself settled on the fact that I was imagining things when Emil approached me again, inviting me to a table closer to the floor so we could talk. As I sensed nothing duplicitous afoot, I agreed.
We settled into conversation away from the others, uncomfortable only at the moment that Irina decided to walk past and wave at me. I waved back and reserved the burdened sigh for when she had turned her back to us. Emil chuckled at the noise I produced and lifted a glass to his mouth. “They leave in two nights’ time, if it makes you feel any better,” he said, lips curled bemusedly.
“It might if I could keep her from invading my room,” I said. He took a sip of his drink and I followed suit, studying him and revisiting the tension lingering after the hunt. Perking an eyebrow, I lingered in the thought of how to introduce the topic of conversation to him. It was seeing him lower the glass which provided me a segue. “Your hand appears to be much better tonight.”
“Ah yes.” He flexed his fingers twice as a reflex. “I admit, I fed a little last night while out with my children. The… fingers are a still sore. But we have blood stores and I might take another pint in before I sleep this morning.”
“I still am quite sorry for that.”
“You shouldn’t be.” Glass rising anew, he nodded to me, the smile broadening. “To new friendships, despite how they begin.”
“Now, that I shall drink to.” We tapped our glasses together and drank from them. I opened my mouth to issue a follow-up inquiry, but a set of footfalls closed in on where we sat, directing Emil’s attention to their owner. The way his posture straightened told me all I needed to know.
“Peter. Emil.” Grigore stated out names with a boisterous level of enthusiasm. No sooner had I glanced in his direction than he settled a hand on my shoulder, giving it a gentle, reassuring squeeze. “I wish I had my own drink,” he said. “Otherwise, I would join in the toast. As it stands, though, I’m going to be rude not once, but twice.”
“What do you mean by that?” I asked.
“I’m stealing you both away. Into my office, just for a moment.” I must have broadcast my alarm more than I intended, for he laughed and shimmied aside enough to allow me to come to a stand. “I promise it isn’t for anything other than cigars and conversation. You’re just nervous as your maker was.”
The comparison caused me to wince. “You did seem to indicate you remembered her.”
“Yes, I did.” The smile held firm when I settled upright. Emil furrowed his brow in my periphery and I could not even picture what expression I must have had on my face. The veneer was slipping, my guard knocked in too many different directions for me to compensate. I did the best thing I could reason – I reached for the glass and depleted the remainder of its liquor, punctuating the action with a nod.
Grigore nodded back and led us both away.
It seemed every eye in the place was upon me. I caught sight of each elder I had met the night before, marching past more than a few sets of curious human onlookers along the way as well. Irina watched us walk past but did nothing to stop us. Before I knew it, we had disappeared behind the doors and settled into the elevator.
We descended to the first basement level, and in one accord we walked into a large office with one door leading in and out. Nicolae was already waiting for us, having made himself comfortable in a chair stained a deep brown, with leather tacked onto both its back and its seating. Two matching chairs remained unoccupied, of which Emil sat slowly in one and I, in another. “I hate to be rude myself,” I said with both hands clutching onto the arms of my seat, body lowering slowly into what almost felt like a death trap. As a reflex, I peered over my shoulder to make certain there would not be any surprises this time. “But if I might ask what causes you to gather us together, Grigore?”
He shut the door and walked around a desk which complimented the remainder of the décor before responding. Sinking into a chair with a higher back, he folded his hands atop the blotter. Had I the chance to linger on the sight of the room, I might have appreciated the comfortable, inviting nature of the office. As it was, I feared being lulled into a false sense of security.
“I wanted to apologize,” he said, taking in a deep breath and exhaling it slowly. Grigore raised an eyebrow. “I learned from my friend Fyodor that his daughter had invaded your privacy earlier. Fyodor and I might be close, but I’ve made my misgivings over him and his daughter fairly clear throughout the years. The fact that he coddles her so much doesn’t do her many favors.”
“As often is the case with makers and their children. I do not hold him accountable for her actions.”
“How strange that you don’t, though.” He tilted his head. “I’m much more used to our kind taking exception with such open rudeness.”
A smile touched the corners of my mouth. “Perhaps we are more laid back in America.”
Grigore laughed. Nicolae followed suit, as did Emil when he realized he was the only one of his kin not engaging in the laughter. Silently, I watched and waited for them to gather their composure again and nodded when Grigore lifted a hand. “Forgive us,” the coven master said. “I’m more used to the politics of our part of the world. Americans being more laid back is an amusing thought.”
“We are not our human alliances,” I countered.
“Yes, but we’re still a product of our culture.” Opening his top desk drawer, Grigore reached in and extracted four cigars. Systematically, he clipped the ends while talking. “A fact Irina should be more aware of before she thinks she can invite herself into anybody’s room. It isn’t the first time someon
e’s had to either indulge her or turn her away. I fear it won’t be the last.”
“All is forgiven.” I watched as Nicolae stood to take the cigars and accepted mine when it as passed to me. Lighting it, I gave it a few puffs and smiled amiably at Grigore. “Nothing to be overly concerned about, I assure you.”
“Ah, you see, this is where I disagree.” Grigore lit his as well. Wafts of smoke began to ascend from each of us. “I have much to be concerned with and this is why I have my two eldest children still living at home in this office with us.” His eyes shifted to Emil. “Emil, especially. He’s present so I might offer him some instruction.” The gaze flicked back to meet mine. “I hope you don’t mind.”
Brow furrowed, I felt that sense of the other shoe preparing to drop. “What do you mean, Grigore?”
“I felt he should meet you better.” His serene smile finally wavered just enough for me to see the truth behind it. I had been trapped, but in a much different manner than I had been with Ian. “Emil, do you remember what I’ve taught you?” he asked, continuing. “About the Supernatural Order? I’ve mentioned my encounters with their slayers, but never, ever have I been afforded the opportunity that’s being presented to me tonight.”
The smile broadened. “I thought you might like to meet a seer. This is as close as you’ll ever get to one without losing your life.”
Chapter Seventeen
In many regards, I was grateful the ruse had ended. Robin had been right in cautioning this might require more finesse than I could manage and only on my second night, this had proven true. Still, as I pieced together what Irina had told Grigore, the notion that I should have run her through with the dagger and claimed self-defense afterward became a tempting regret to muse upon.
Drawing a deep breath inward, I mirrored Grigore’s smile and nodded. The instructions given to me by Kamini danced in my mind, along with a few words designed to pull the curtain down. “I would call you a perceptive fellow,” I said, “But, admittedly, I was not nearly as cautious as I should have been earlier this evening.”