Immortal Obsession

by Denise K. Rago

  “As I told you in my message, this affects us all. Please come upstairs.”

  Étienne stepped aside, allowing Gabrielle to go first, as her age and status dictated. Gaétan walked beside her into the foyer and up the long flight of stairs to the living room. He could barely hear her breathing as she floated up the stairs beside him. No sooner had they ascended the staircase than Solange appeared in the living room; her eyes dark and brooding.

  “What are they doing here, Gee?” She recoiled, pressing herself up against the fireplace.

  The two women glared at each other.

  Gaétan stepped between them. He could hear their thoughts in his head, an effect of the potent blood he had ingested.

  “Solange, I promised them no harm, do you understand? Gabrielle, Étienne, please sit down.”

  Étienne waited until Gabrielle was settled before positioning himself behind her. Gaétan watched his former lover glance nervously around the familiar living room, taking it all in. He took a seat in a large overstuffed chair opposite the couch and waited for the right moment to begin. He could sense their apprehension and fear.

  “Thank you both for coming.” Gaétan’s voice was raspy yet soothing. “Several months ago, I began hearing talk about a mortal in New York City who had a different kind of blood, a blood that gave us atypical powers. At first I dismissed the gossip, but it persisted. I made inquiries to either substantiate these strange rumors or quell them completely. Solange met up with a vampire named Gilliam who had been in a club in New York and fed from a young mortal there.”

  Gaétan watched the masklike faces of the two vampires who sat opposite him for some sort of reaction, but he found none. Solange had taken to twirling a piece of her highlighted hair. He knew she was restless, like a caged lion. He feared her inability to restrain herself and noticed that Étienne watched her as well.

  “Gilliam mentioned that this club, the Grey Wolf, is the hangout of Michel Baptiste and Christian Du Mauré.” Gaétan sensed a slight shift in Gabrielle. He thought he saw her face soften in the low lights.

  “I don’t think it is any surprise that this mortal sought shelter in this club, under the auspices of Christian.”

  Gabrielle straightened the folds of her gown, which distracted him. Solange had come closer; she was now standing beside Gaétan.

  He fought the urge to swat her away.

  “Is this fact, Gaétan, or merely speculation?” Gabrielle asked in a heavy French accent, her gaze drifting past him to Solange.

  “We sent Antoine and Lucien to kill the mortal,” Solange blurted out, a bold grin on her face. “Antoine lost his head, thanks to my father—”

  Gaétan reached up and stroked her leg. “Solange, please keep your mouth shut.”

  She sat down at his feet like an obedient guard dog, closer now to Gabrielle.

  “Solange speaks the truth. Not wanting this mortal’s blood to get into the wrong hands, I send Antoine and Lucien to do away with the boy. Christian ambushed them in Central Park, and although Antoine managed to slaughter the mortal, Christian took his head. Lucien went after the other one, but Christian drove him away.”

  “The other one?” Gabrielle blurted out impulsively.

  Solange snapped. “Amanda, his sister.”

  “Amanda?” Gabrielle whispered, as the name wrapped around the vampire like a fog. “There are two of them?”

  Gaétan focused on the murmur of traffic on the street below.

  A vision of Amanda filled his head as he fought another erection.

  Étienne shifted slightly, his leather coat rubbing against the leather couch cushion.

  “What proof did you have that this boy’s blood was such a threat?” He asked timidly. “Christian has been chasing these mortals for decades. Why the sudden panic?”

  “Good point. Gaétan, you mention blood falling into the wrong hands. Whose might those be?” Gabrielle smiled and turned her dark eyes on him. She folded her hands in her lap. Gaétan knew she was hiding her anger, trying to remain calm.

  “Lucien said the boy needed money for drugs and was offering himself up to anyone. He said drinking from him was like nothing he had ever tasted. It more than fed his craving; it had a power all its own. When I pressed him, he could not describe the sensations.

  I believe the word he used was ineffable. His said that his vampiric nature acquiesced to his mortal self and the sensation of the two opposite worlds blending was beyond imagination.”

  “Where is Lucien? I would question him myself.”

  “Funny, but he hasn’t been around lately.” Solange said with a shrug as she ran her hand slowly up and down Gaétan’s calf.

  Gabrielle met his stare and Gaétan knew she was probing. He quickly glanced past her toward the book case.

  Étienne leaned forward. “I don’t quite understand the threat, Gaétan.”

  Gaétan ran his hand through his hair, debating whether to tell them any more of the powers in the blood. Étienne continued to stare as more thoughts took form.

  “This boy was a perceived threat to you, and you took care of it, Gaétan. What is the need for this meeting?” He leaned even closer to the older vampire.

  “My father is watching over Amanda like a bull in heat,” Solange blurted out, still rubbing her lover’s calf, arousing Gaétan despite his focus.

  “Enough, Solange,” Gaétan whispered, rubbing her head.

  “Oh, come on, Gee, he wants her blood for himself, that selfish bastard. Then he will become all-powerful and try to reclaim Paris again.” Solange smiled up at her lover.

  Gabrielle jumped up. “You impudent brat! Have you no manners, no self-control? I cannot believe you are your father’s daughter. If he is protecting her, it is not for her blood. It is to keep her away from monsters like you.”

  Solange rose to her feet as well. “You make my father out to be so goddamned noble and high-minded. Where was he when I was dying?”

  “You stupid girl.” Gabrielle hissed, stepping closer to her. Étienne placed his hand on her shoulder and she stepped back, composing herself.

  “What is it that you want from us, Gaétan?” Gabrielle snarled, her usual composure beginning to erode.

  “I am worried that Christian is keeping the girl for himself and that if he does take her, he will become powerful enough to return home and slaughter us, taking control of this city.”

  “I can’t believe you are suggesting such a thing. All he has ever wanted is to be left alone. Why can’t you let your hatred and jealousy of him go for Christ’s sake?”

  “I fear for us, Gabrielle. If he could behead Antoine, there is no telling what he would do to you or me.” Gaétan smiled, his dimpled cheeks and full lips changing his entire face, giving him a warm, welcoming presence. He dared step closer to his former lover.

  Étienne stepped between them, feeling the need to defend his old friend. “He has made no contact with us for centuries, and we have worked hard for this truce. Why do you think he would suddenly want to hunt us down now?”

  How could he tell them the truth? He killed Lucien and took the jar of the mortals’ blood for himself, that he wanted Amanda like nothing else in his life. He was packed and ready to leave Paris. None of them would try to stop him, and only Solange would want to tag along. She had always been curious about Christian, but the last thing he wanted was her with him in New York. This was something he needed to do alone, and perhaps with their blessing he could carry out his plan. Gaétan sat back down.

  “There is something I have not told you both.”

  Gabrielle and Étienne took his lead and sat down, while Solange lingered back near the fireplace watching them. Gaétan studied Gabrielle as she never took her eyes off Solange.

  “This blood gives a vampire the ability to walk in the daylight hours, impervious to the sun’s rays.”

  Étienne jumped up off the couch. “Is this a joke?”

  “I wish it were,” Gaétan lied, trying to conceal his own dependency
on the blood from them, looking past them with feigned worry.

  “Lucien told you this… … he experienced walking in … living and breathing during the day?” Gabrielle shook her head in shock.

  “This is what he said.” Gaétan shrugged, thinking back to the morning after the first night he had tasted Ryan’s blood. Solange had already drifted off to sleep, and he too had felt the dawn approaching and sleep descending just as it had every day for the past four hundred and fifty years. Then, just as the sun rose over the Louvre, the feeling had lifted. He stood at his living room window as the sun bathed the room in light, covering his skin and hair in a yellow glow, caressing him in warmth. Yes, it is ineffable …

  Étienne sat back down on the couch. “There are those that would view this blood as a gift and others who would see it as an abomination, a horror.”

  “Exactly, and if Christian can walk during the day, he becomes a god with an advantage over all of us.” Gaétan was suddenly on his feet. “I need to destroy this mortal girl before someone else finds out about her.”

  “Or my father takes her for himself,” Solange snarled. “Kill them both, Gaétan.” She rubbed up against him like a cat rubbing up against its owner’s leg for affection.

  Gabrielle was off the couch as well. “Christian would never harm her, you fool. He has such an exaggerated sense of right and wrong … trust me. She is safest with him and Michel.”

  Solange rubbed up against Gaétan again. “Bring the one called Michel, the dark one back for me. I want to taste him.”

  “Why don’t you send Philippe or one of your other lackeys?” Gabrielle asked, trying to control her anger.

  “Exactly, my love. Why do you have to go?” Solange grinned from ear to ear as she wrapped her arms around his legs.

  “Look what happened to Antoine!” He shrugged innocently. “I thought he could do the job and he was slaughtered.”

  “Perhaps he just wants to protect the girl,” Étienne chimed in. “I cannot imagine Christian using her for his own gain.”

  “We have no idea who he is anymore, Étienne. Who knows what he thinks these days.”

  “If killing the girl means keeping the peace here, then you have my consent, but that is all, Gaétan.” Gabrielle waved a long finger at him. “Anything more I will view as a declaration of war, and I doubt either of us is up to it.”

  “Thank you Gabrielle.”

  “How much time do you need?” Gabrielle asked curtly.

  “Give me six months.” He smiled into her dark eyes and took her hands. “I promise you I will return with her head.”

  “I trust your word on this, Gaétan. No harm to Christian or Michel.”

  For a moment, the walls dropped between them. The centuries of bloodshed and pain vanished, and he felt her as she must have been as a mortal woman, centuries before he had met her. It is the blood, he thought, still holding her hands.

  “I thank you both for coming.” Gaétan escorted them to the door with a pang of regret when they were gone.

  Her perfume lingered in the living room.

  “Please come to bed, Gee.” Solange whispered, running her hand over his crotch. She wrapped herself around him. He could feel her need, her desperation as she tried to arouse him, but he was already gone, lost in the sights and smells of his new home, New York.

  PART TWO

  NEW YORK—SIX MONTHS LATER

  Chapter Six

  IT BEGAN TO snow just as Amanda left the museum for the night. She headed down the stately front steps and crossed Fifth towards Park Avenue. After returning a skirt she felt she could not afford, she decided to see if Detective Ross was in his office. It had been six months since her brother’s death and two months since she had heard from anyone at the NYPD. As she headed back toward the Central Park precinct, she studied the faces of the passersby out of habit, forever searching for the stranger who had saved her life. I may never see him again, but I will never forget him, she thought, dodging the sidewalk full of rush hour commuters.

  The last six months of her life felt like a dream. After the attack, she had spent the weekend in St. Vincent’s hospital being treated for shock. Since then, she had continually relived the events in the park, trying to make sense of it all. Bethany Daniels, her best friend and roommate, professed to believe her descriptions of Ryan’s murderer—a madman with fangs and a knife—and the tall blond-haired man wielding a machete. She wondered if Bethany was simply humoring her. The road back to her normally sedate life had been rocky at best, and the disturbing memories of that night continually haunted her.

  Her cell phone rang, interrupting her ruminations. Glancing at the incoming number, she smiled. It was Thomas, a night shift guard in the European Decorative Arts and Sculpture galleries. She had noticed him one night about five months ago. Whenever Amanda found herself working late on exhibitions, they always managed to run into each other and he would say hi. One night she was on break, sipping a cup of coffee in the cafeteria, when he happened to come in on his break, too. From then on, whenever she worked late, they somehow managed to end up in the cafeteria at the same time. He would join her while as she ate a quick dinner or had a drink, but his visits were always brief.

  As they got to know each other, they scheduled their breaks together. It seemed as if he had the uncanny ability to know when she needed a break, usually inviting her for a cup of coffee in the museum cafeteria just when it felt like her eyes would fall out of her head and she could not type or read another word. Sometimes he would translate French texts for her, and although she insisted on buying him dinner, he always refused, telling her how glad he was just to help her out.

  “How’s my favorite researcher?” A sultry male voice asked her.

  “TGIF.” She smiled to herself as she crossed over Park Avenue and headed back toward Fifth.

  “My God, Cole doesn’t have you guys working on the dinner dance yet?”

  She dared not tell him that Cole Thierry, her boss, had scheduled their first staff meeting about the infamous April dinner dance that afternoon.

  “Hey, it just started snowing, it’s so beautiful.” There was something about the snow that hypnotized her, although it reminded her of her father’s death on a March day over a decade ago.

  “I’ll take another look at that book on Monday night. I stopped by, but you were gone already.”

  Amanda had found an old French volume under some papers on her desk. It was not the first time she had inexplicably discovered a book on her desk that was useful to her current research project. Whenever she showed one of these books to Thomas, he would close his eyes and hold the book to his forehead as if he could magically discern its contents. Then she would hand him a pair of gloves and he would open it carefully, his long thin hands gently turning each page as if he were caressing a lover. No one in her department could figure out where the volumes came from, and they disappeared just a mysteriously, as if the lender knew when she was finished with them.

  Working together had brought Amanda and Thomas together professionally, and she had felt an instant attraction between them, but she was keeping her distance. They had an easy rapport, but she had been distracted, not sleeping well, and lost inside herself. Is it me, she thought, approaching the precinct. Am I just too fragile and distracted, or is it that I keep holding out for him?

  “Thanks again, Thomas.”

  “Any plans tonight?”

  She was so tired of having none, yet too honest to lie to him. “No, just thought I would take it easy. Maybe I’ll rent a movie.”

  “Listen, Amanda,” he said with a sigh, “I would love to take you out sometime. I haven’t pushed … I figured you needed time.”

  She slowed down as she turned onto 84th Street.

  “Is it that obvious?” She felt tears well up. “I guess it would be naïve of me to think you hadn’t heard the gossip about my brother’s murder. Everyone talks, I know, but it’s …” She took a deep breath.

  “It’s not som
ething I talk much about.”

  “I don’t want to upset you—”

  “No, it’s just so … It feels like a bad dream that I keep hoping to wake up from, but I don’t—”

  “I’m sorry for bringing it up, Amanda. The last thing I want to do is push you away from me.”

  She felt her knees buckle as his voice, with just a trace of a French accent, caressed her.

  “It’s not you, Thomas,” she said with a sigh. “I’m just so distracted.”

  “I don’t want to lose your friendship mon cherie.”

  “You won’t, Thomas. It’s just … There’s so much about my brother’s murder that’s unresolved for me, and I can’t seem to focus on much else. Call me obsessed.”

  “Even the obsessed need to go out dancing.”

  It had been so long since she had been on a date with anyone.

  Even before Ryan’s murder, she had rebuffed an intern in the legal department. Maybe if she went out and got her mind off her brother and the mysterious stranger, she might have a good time. Why can’t I stop thinking about him? She stared up at the street lamps and watched the falling snow, illuminated by the city lights.

  “Amanda, are you there?”

  She desperately needed to feel wanted, desirable. The stern face of the blond stranger loomed in her mind’s eye. Then she thought about Thomas, with his bright brown eyes and dimpled cheeks. When he smiled, his face lit up. What harm could come of one date?

  “I’m here, Thomas,” she whispered into the phone.

  “There’s a dance club over on First Avenue and 54th called Zero Hour. Why not meet me there tomorrow night for a drink. Say eleven? I happen to have the night off.”

  Silence.

  “I’ll tell you what. I’ll be there if you decide to come. Otherwise, no hard feelings and I’ll see you next week.”

  “Thanks, Thomas. I’ll think about it.”

  “Have a good weekend.”

  Thomas had a habit of never saying good-bye when they spoke. She stood at the doors of the Central Park precinct, not sure whether coming here had been a good idea. Just go home, Amanda. Watch a movie and go out with Thomas tomorrow night. Try to have a normal life.