by Lund, S. E.
"What are you doing?" I say, horrified that he's trying to feed me his blood.
"You've got a bad concussion," he says. "My blood will heal you. Drink."
Despite my vertigo and weakness, I refuse, pushing his hand away.
"Just take me to a hospital."
"You're not going anywhere in public," he says and forces his wrist to my mouth.
I press my lips together and try to turn my head.
"Don't," I say. "I won't swallow. I won't become your blood slave."
Then he must release some kind of endorphin in my brain that makes me stop resisting and presses me down on the seat. I'm helpless to refuse. He's lying on top of me, and has my nose pinched, his wrist against my mouth, and finally, I have to take a breath. When I open my mouth, he's able to force his wrist to my lips.
I swallow his blood. At first, I'm sick that I'm actually tasting vampire blood, my mind immediately going to the blood whores in Franklin Park and how horrible their lives must be.
"Don't worry, Eve," Julien says, his voice soft. "This little amount won't make you addicted. Although, you may like it so much, you start pestering me for more…" He grins at me while he holds his wrist to my mouth. "If you do, just remember that I expect something in return."
I swallow again, closing my eyes, for it starts to taste unbelievably good, like I need more. I grab hold of his wrist.
"That's just about enough," he says and wrenches his wrist away. I open my eyes and am staring into his and whatever's in vampire blood, it's good. Almost too good.
"Oh, God," I whisper, closing my eyes, trying to catch my breath from the rush of euphoria.
"Yes, it's good, isn't it?" He leans his face down to mine and kisses my mouth, licking my lips as if to taste his own blood. "I could take you right now," he whispers in my ear, "and you wouldn't fight me, would you?"
He nestles between my thighs, and I just lie there, my eyes closed, riding the wave of bliss, and he's right. He licks my breast, licks the cut, and I arch my back against him it feels so good. He could take me right now and I'd let him, and I know I'd love it, but it's not me. It's not because of how I feel for him. It's because of the blood and the endorphins. If I weren't under its influence, I wouldn't. I'd pull away, I'd fight him and it would be rape.
"I'm not a rapist," Julien says, reading my mind. Instead of trying, he merely exhales heavily, rubbing his nose under my ear, kissing his bite mark. "I'll wait, but one day, Eve, when you realize Michel's not coming back, you'll come to me and ask for it. If you wait too long, I'll make you beg for it on your knees."
"I'll never beg," I say, my eyes still closed. Tears bite at the corners of my eyes, because of what he's said about Michel not coming back.
"You will."
Finally, he sits up and pulls me up as well, fastening my seat belt again and I open my eyes and watch him, and he's so beautiful despite the frown. He runs his fingers through his hair and takes in a deep breath, rolling his neck from side to side as if to ease tension.
"Let's go," he says to the driver and then he turns back to me. "Eve, you should have stayed in the café when you came out of the washroom and Marco wasn't there. You should have gone straight to the car and let the driver know. It was foolish of you to go to the other store on your own. Didn't you stop to wonder where Marco was? Didn't you think of the danger you're in? Michel told you that you needed secure custody."
"I know." I close my eyes, preferring his stern words of reproach to the self-assured tone he used when he was telling me I'd beg him for sex. "This is just all so unreal to me."
"It's real. Don't forget. If you weren't recovering from a head injury, I'd show you just how real this is – I'd spank your little ass."
"You better not try," I say, turning back to him. "Michel showed me how to stake a vampire. I killed him temporarily. Don't think I won't kill you to stop you from hurting me."
"Things are different, Eve," he says and shakes his head. "Don't even think you could beat me now."
"What do you mean?" I frown, but he ignores me and turns to the window, stroking the several-days worth of stubble on his jaw. "Tell me!"
"I'm different. That's all you need to know so get any ideas of staking me out of your pretty little vengeance-filled head."
Finally, I glance out the window at the neighborhood.
"Where are you taking me? Aren't we going back to Michel's place?"
"Can't. Security was compromised. Someone from within betrayed Michel. We're putting in a new security system, renovating the grounds. We're going to my place." He says nothing more and I'm too in shock to argue and just watch out the window, wondering where we're going. We drive towards the docks, to an old warehouse area. The car enters a long alley between red-brick warehouses and stops at a loading dock. Julien helps me out of the limo and takes my hand in his, leading me up the stairs. The warehouse is empty on the main floor. We walk to an old freight elevator and wait for it, taking it to the fifth floor.
The interior is open space with a series of rooms to one side and looks as if construction is still underway. Plastic tarps separate areas that aren't finished from the rest. The whole floor has shiny dark hardwoods and exposed brick and ductwork. Huge multi-paned windows reach to the ceiling in every room, revealing a panoramic view of the city to the north and east.
In one corner of the main room beside the kitchen sits a grand piano with sheet music spread out on the stand. It looks like a brand new Steinway. Beside it is a music stand and a violin case. In the west, walled off by wooden dividers, is an office-like space with desks, computers and a wall of security monitors showing different views of the warehouse exterior.
Julien opens a door and enters a bedroom. Inside is a huge four-poster canopy bed with a lush white silk cover and gauzy white drapes. The windows look out over the river.
"We sleep here." He points to a door. "There's a washroom if you need it. I'll have a man go to your place and get some clothes for you." He turns to go. "Now I have work to do."
"You mean I sleep here, don't you?"
"I mean we, Eve. You're mine. Get used to it."
"You really think I'm just going to hop into bed with you?" I say, frustration filling me. "Just because you look like him doesn't mean I'll want you."
He grabs my hand and pulls me close against his body.
"Michel said you lie to yourself. You've already thought of being with me." His gaze moves over my face and I feel him at the edges of my mind, trying to get in. "This is war, Eve. Now's the time to just obey."
He closes the door, leaving me alone in the huge room. I sit on the bed and just cry.
I go to sleep, lying on my side on the bed, and its only much later that I wake. The sun's down and Julien’s under the covers with me, spooned against my body. I gasp when I remember who it is beside me and my body tenses.
Despite my grief, my body betrays me, warming to him immediately and I remember how much lust I felt for him after drinking his blood. I try to block those thoughts out of my head, for I don't want him to read them. I dig my nails into my palms once more.
"I already know," he whispers, and squeezes me. I want to scream at him because I hate how he knows. I hate him and his brother and all vampires. They've ruined my life.
"You were crying in your sleep," he says, his voice soft in my ear. "Now, shh," he says and strokes my hair. "Go to sleep. Don't worry. I said I'm not a rapist and I meant it. I'll wait until you're ready. Your body already is, but your mind isn't. I'll wait until you offer yourself to me. Don't make me wait too long, or I'll make you do it on your hands and knees."
"Don't hold your breath," I say. "I'll never go on my hands and knees to anyone." But then I think, famous last words, Eve.
Despite my arousal, I can't keep my eyes open and my body is helpless to fight him. I drift in a drugged-like warmth, my eyelids heavy.
The next time I wake up, I'm alone in the bed and I feel like I have a hangover. I get up, and in the bathroom is a
box of my clothes from Michel's house, including a makeup bag with my personal things. I take off the cocktail dress and pull on a clean pair of jeans and a sweater, but I have no bra since I only brought the one I was wearing yesterday. I wash my face and put on a touch of makeup and check out the bite mark on my neck. How come I didn't wake up when he bit me? Did he drug me? How come I didn't see the bite mark in the morning when I looked in the mirror?
Then I sit on the bed with my iPhone and check my mail to see if I have any messages but there's nothing – just the usual spam and news headlines in the feed I subscribe to. In a desperate bid, I send Michel an email, but it bounces back with an error message that says the email is no longer valid. Then, I post a message to the message board where I first contacted Michel.
"Michel, please come back to me! I can't do this!" is all it says.
The door opens and Julien comes in, and he seems different, as if he's changed, as if being with Soren has done something to him. He seems harder, no longer playful. He's wearing Army fatigues and a t-shirt that reads Navy SEAL and I Survived Hell Week.
"I heard you were up," he says. "Come out and have something to eat."
I don't look him in the eye and follow him out into the main living area, padding behind him in my bare feet.
When we enter the kitchen, wonderful aromas reach my nose. I see an older man fixing something on the stove. He's the one I saw with Michel before.
"Vasily will fix you a plate," Julien says and points to the stool by the island that separates the kitchen from the rest of the living area.
" Hello little Ballerina Girl." Vasily smiles at me. "We finally meet."
"Ballerina Girl?"
"Boss says you were dancer as girl?"
I nod, and check over my shoulder to where Julien is standing, looking out the window.
"I've cooked some good Russian food," Vasily says. "Will make you feel better, give you some meat on bones, you are so tiny like little bird." His voice is deep and he has a very thick Russian accent. He places a plate of food in front of me. It looks like a roast of some kind with gravy, cabbage, and other vegetables.
"Thank you, but I'm a vegetarian."
He frowns. "Eat," he says. "You must regain strength. At least have some bread and gravy."
I sit and take a bite of the vegetables but everything's covered in a meat gravy. Surprisingly, I eat it anyway. It's so good, and I eat happily, not realizing until now how hungry I am and how much the taste of the meat appeals to me. I gaze out the window at the city skyline. To our left is the piano.
"That's a beautiful Steinway," I say, awed at its beauty. "It looks new."
"Brand new," Julien says. He comes to stand in the kitchen beside me, touching my cheek with the backs of his fingers once again. "Delivered yesterday. I got it for you. You should play."
I pull away from his touch, not wanting him to read me. Then he goes to the counter and pours himself a glass of something from a carafe, the liquid thick and crimson. It must be blood. He tips the glass up and drinks it down without stopping. When he turns to me, his eyes are red-rimmed, his pupils huge.
"That's blood?" I say, a bit shocked. I'd never seen Michel drink any.
He licks his lips and smiles. I can see his canine teeth briefly and they're bloody.
"Good old AB negative. Universal recipient." He smacks his lips. "I shouldn't drink it because it's so rare, but I have a donor on tap." He examines the empty glass. "I don't really like prepared blood. Has an artificial taste due to the anti-clotting chemicals they put it in and the preservatives. My current preference," he says and leans on the countertop, eyeing me, "is for fresh body-temperature B positive with a slightly Northern Ireland flavor, but you take what you can get."
I shiver and make a face, disgusted at the sight of him drinking a glass of blood.
"That was a reference to you, by the way, so don't make a face," he says. "If it keeps me from feeding on you, I'd think you'd be raising a toast to me."
He pours himself some more blood and then shoots it back, making a satisfied sound when he's done as if to irritate me.
"You can tell where my ancestors are from by my blood?"
He smiles. "You drink enough blood, you get to know genotypes. Like good wine."
I push my plate away, leaving the rest of my food unfinished, whatever hunger I had gone. Vasily clucks his tongue and eyes the plate.
"You don't like my cooking?"
"Your cooking's wonderful. I just lost my appetite all of a sudden when I realized I'm food, too."
"We're all food for worms," Vasily says and takes my plate away, scraping the leftovers into a trash bin. He then puts the dishes in a dishwasher and I'm amazed at how domestic he is considering he looks like a Russian Mafioso. "Why don't you play piano," he says, pointing to the Steinway. "Boss said you play. I'd love to hear."
"I'm not in the mood."
He clucks his tongue again. "Boss goes to all this trouble to get it for you and you refuse to play? Maybe you two play duet?"
I turn to Julien. "I saw a violin case. Do you play?"
He shrugs, noncommittal.
"Boss is very good on violin. Plays beautiful Tchaikovsky. Makes old Russian like me cry."
I turn and look at Julien with fresh eyes. He plays violin? I've always thought of him as just a soldier. A knight, maybe, from Occitan nobility, but still a soldier.
I glance at the Steinway. I must admit I'm dying to play it.
"It won't bother you?"
"I'd really like to hear you play," Vasily says. "Boss said you were child prodigy."
"More like child automaton," I say, trying to downplay the prodigy bit because it really means nothing. Child prodigies and normal virtuosos end up at the same point eventually and sometimes, the child prodigies burn out from all the work. Like me.
"Please play," he says. "I never had lessons and have great regret. If you can play, you should. Music has charms," he says and raises his eyebrows, gesturing with his head towards Julien.
I smile at Vasily. He's so sweet, and I'm surprised because it's so at odds with his physical appearance, with his puggish face and short steel-grey brush cut.
I go to the sink and wash my hands first, and go to the Steinway, approaching it like it's a rare animal. It's huge – a concert grand, its ebony exterior shining in the overhead pot light. It must have cost over a hundred grand. I glance through the music on it – it's all mine taken from my apartment. I lay my hands on the keyboard, the keys smooth and cool under my fingertips.
"Any requests?"
Vasily comes over to the piano and stands beside me.
"Play your most favorite piece," he says. "The one that you love the most."
I think for a minute. "I have a new favorite. Chopin. Nocturne in E Minor."
"Why you love?"
"It's Michel's favorite," I say, and glance at Julien. Julien has his back to the room, watching out the windows.
I start to play and glance up to see Julien watching me from the bank of windows, where he stands in the darkness. The piece is very passionate, and I suspect Chopin was struggling with some kind of teenage angst but it just reminds me of how sweet and emotional and passionate Michel is and how he said it made him think of his own heartbreak when he was seventeen. I wonder what price he's paying living with Soren.
The piece ends on a more uplifting note than it starts and I look up at Vasily, who's smiling broadly.
"You got a beautiful touch," he says, standing there beside the piano, his hand resting on the ledge as if he were my teacher.
"She does." Julien says, emerging out of the darkness to stand on the other side of the Steinway. I avoid his eyes, and just sit there, running my fingers over the smooth ebony finish of the keyboard. He searches through the sheet music and selects a piece – Ballade No.1 by Chopin.
"Play this. Michel said he wanted you to practice."
I move it out of the way, replacing it with a new piece I was working on before final
exams stopped my practice. A Bach prelude.
"No, this one," he says and puts the Chopin back. "He wanted you to learn to play it through."
I can't speak for a moment, a choky feeling in my throat.
"I don't want to play it today."
"Eve," he says. "This isn't about what you want. You said all in to Michel and Michel says you're to obey me as you would him. I want." He takes the other music off the stand and replaces it firmly with Chopin. "Think of it as repaying a debt. I did save your life."
"It's because of you that it's in danger."
"Eve. . . " He turns and frowns at me. "You're really pushing me. Vasily was Michel's servant and now he's mine. Even he would never deny me a request and he's a cold-hearted killer. Hey, Vasily!"
Vasily pokes his head around the office divider. "Yes, Boss?"
"Would you ever tell me no if I told you to do something?"
"Never, Boss, unless I wanted to push up daisies."
"Should Eve play the Chopin when I ask her?"
"She should play."
"See?" he says and turns back to me. "Even Vasily's obedient to me. Now, play the piece."
I sit with my hands in my lap. "You can force people to obey. You can't force them to like it."
"Some people actually like to obey orders. It makes them all breathless…" He waves at the keyboard and says nothing more, waiting. "Play," he says and waves me on. "No excuses."
"I'll play more if you play something for me."
Julien frowns. "That's not how this chain of command works Eve. I'm the one who gives the orders. You're the one who obeys."
"Please?" I say, smiling sweetly. "I want to hear you play the piece that made Vasily cry."
Julien shakes his head, smiling back, exhaling in exasperation. Finally, gives in and picks up the violin case. He removes the bow and adjusts it, then he takes out the violin and spends a few moments preparing, tuning the instrument, warming up.
"What will you play?"
He runs the bow over the strings a few times, the instrument resting against his chin and shoulder, his head tilted, his eyes closed.