Novel Hearts

by Rebecca Boucher

  Shiloh leaned her head against his shoulder, exhausted from her efforts, watching everything pass by as Laurence carried her back up the stairs to her bed. She wanted to say something, but the moment he laid her down, he stopped her. “Why do you act so reckless? You sent the doctor away … without his healing, you will die,” he protested, clearly worried about her. For some reason, she was delighted. During her time in the house with him, she had always considered herself a victim who couldn’t leave. Somehow, when he had told her to leave and that she meant nothing, she realized that she wanted to stay for Laurence and not for any other reason.

  “Why are you going to send me away?” she asked, her voice faint and gentle.

  “I cannot keep you. You are sick and you need a doctor,” he said with a sigh, then took her hand into his own. It was the most expressive and personal he had ever been.

  “I won’t be sick if I stay with you … if you make me one of you, but only if you want me …” Shiloh found it difficult to get her words out. “If you don’t want me here when you can’t feed from me …”

  Laurence stopped her with a kiss. “I feared you did not wish to stay. I was afraid to ask in case you did not wish to,” he confessed, giving her hand a squeeze. Shiloh smiled, but she felt so weak that she decided not to bother waiting any longer.

  “Turn me, Laurence, and I will stay with you forever,” she promised in a whisper. Her voice wasn’t up to much more. “But you must choose … I do not feel well at all.”

  Laurence was worried about the confession and how quickly she was deteriorating. The doctor already warned him that she may have been ill for a long time, before he was able to taste it within her blood. Without him, she may never have known of her sickness until it was too late. Now that they had prior warning, he agreed that he had to make a choice. He tried to move from feeding from her to becoming more personal, but all attempts had been met with stony silence from Shiloh, and he understood that at the time. Without being able to make personal progress, it seemed wrong. He didn’t want her to feel compelled to love him just because he fed from her. “If you love me, I will turn you,” he promised finally, smiling hopefully. Shiloh appreciated the compromise and agreed, only just managing to lift herself to kiss him. It wasn’t easy and she smiled as he took a gentle grip of her shoulders and eased her back onto the bed. “Do not move until you are well again. I will turn you, if that is what you want,” he agreed, waiting for her nod of agreement before lowering himself to bite her neck.

  Shiloh’s blood was like a favorite childhood blanket, warm and comforting, always guaranteed to do what was needed. Laurence fed from her until he felt her heart falter. He hadn’t done so before; he had never pushed his feed so far, for fear of hurting her, but now he knew it would save her life. Her heart attempted to keep beating, but found it difficult, and finally, when he felt the moment it stopped, he withdrew. Without wasting time, he pierced a wound in his own wrist and held it to her mouth. Turning her was his only option if he was going to save her life. When she pulled back, he knew that she had fed enough. He waited patiently, sitting on the side of the bed, as her eyes slowly closed and she allowed his blood to do its work. Over an hour passed and Laurence was beginning to worry that he had waited too long to act, but eventually, Shiloh opened her eyes. There was such a life in her as she moved toward him that he knew the transition was successful. He gave in to the passionate kiss she gave him, and relished the thought of spending eternity with her. And for the first time in her life, she had someone of her own … maybe there was something lucky about Valentine’s Day after all.

  September 1888

  He couldn’t believe his luck. Just when he thought it was safe to prowl the streets, Jack the Ripper had struck again. Twice in one night. There was no way he was going to be able to feed now.

  Wilhelm retreated from Whitechapel and returned to his carriage, directing it to take him home. He lived not far from that seedy place that Jack had made his haunting grounds, but by all rights, Wilhelm had the monopoly on its inhabitants. He had been hunting there for decades, long before Jack ever came to be. Now, he was being ousted by an equally bloodthirsty rookie. Maybe it was time to give in, time to hang up his coat one last time. Maybe he should go to his clan elder and ask to have it over with?

  Actually, Wilhelm didn’t mind. He liked the smell that Jack’s handiwork gave the streets; a stench of blood and fear that he fed from almost as much as the blood itself. The moment he was safely inside his cab, he drew the curtains and took a brief peek outside every now and then. It was dangerous being a single man out on the streets at night nowadays. With Jack the Ripper remaining so mysterious a character, no one knew whether he was rich or poor, tall or short; any man seen walking alone after dark could be accosted by the police, especially if there was any sign of blood on him. Wilhelm had just escaped being interrogated that night.

  She was young and unusually pretty for that area, especially for being out at that time of night. She didn’t reek of alcohol like the others, but of the sweetest perfume. She had been on her way to work, a long walk in a dangerous place. Wilhelm smiled to himself as the carriage drew him home; her smell, her skin, her eyes. They were all so expressive of who she was … or had been.

  He could remember the way the wind had caressed her scent through the air towards him. She hadn’t been his original target; he had been looking for a more susceptible woman. He would probably have ended up with another prostitute, hanging around some corner or other, only too happy to go off into the shadows with a man, had she not come along. He didn’t know her name, but then, he never knew any of their names. Not unless he chose to make them special. And this girl was indeed very special.

  He had changed course the instant her smell had captured his senses. It wasn’t difficult, as no-one ever noticed him lingering in the shadows. He had been silent as he walked up behind her, his eyes closing as his nose explored the smell of her dark hair. They were just inches apart. He closed the distance, whispering soft Latin words to her that held her spellbound to do as he pleased. With a smile, he stepped up beside her, extended his arm and reveled in the sensation that swept through him. She blushed and placed her arm through his. Wilhelm had never known a smile so captivating before.

  Even as he sat in his carriage heading home, he couldn’t stop thinking about her. Even as he peeked out at the street he passed, watching the groups of men going through each alleyway, trying to make it harder for Jack to prowl the streets, he thought of her; mysterious, and wonderful, nameless her. Even as he cursed the confounded Mr. Lusk for setting up such a neighborhood scheme, he thought only of her. He cared not that his hunting ground would be off limits until Jack was caught or disposed of. He cared not that he may have been seen with that wonderful woman and become a suspect for being a single man out alone with a woman so late at night. None of it mattered.

  Wilhelm waited just a few moments, seeking the shelter of shadows, before brushing her dark hair back from her luscious neck and swooping in to claim his prize. He didn’t have the patience to wait any longer. He could still feel the ache of his fangs in the carriage, aching for her, for her blood. He recalled the faint gasp of breath that left her lungs as his fangs pierced the delicate, beautiful flesh of her neck. The taste had been intoxicating. He knew then what he was going to do. He hadn’t done it often; there had never been any reason to. He had never cared if his victims lived or died once he was through with them, but not with her. He couldn’t allow her to die. The moment he felt that small flutter of her heart, ready to give way to his hunger, he had stopped and gazed down at her for a long moment. Then, doing something he had never planned to do that night, he bit into his own leathery flesh, creating two small puncture marks on his wrist and then held the bleeding wounds to her mouth with such force that she couldn’t resist.

  Wilhelm knew at the time that she never would resist him. His Latin spell had worked too well for her willpower to make a difference. She had gulped down his bloo
d by natural instinct to stay alive, and yet, even as he felt the bumps of the cobbled road through the carriage, anger and frustration welled up within him, for she was lost.

  Moments after he had withdrawn his own blood from her lips, he had been about to carry her to his carriage waiting just a few feet away, but those wretched men were there, still trying to scare off Jack the Ripper. They had been far too close to discovering him with a bleeding victim in his arms. He only had time enough time to cover her with his cloak in the darkest part of the alleyway before retreating to his carriage, knowing that he would return for her soon, before she starved to death. He only hoped she didn’t die. If she did, they might have another Jack on their hands. He wouldn’t rest until he found the person who kept him from his prize.

  “Master,” a voice drifted into Wilhelm’s thoughts on the carriage ride home when it came to an abrupt stop. He looked up from the window toward the carriage door in front of his house. His footman was holding it open, waiting for him to exit. With a sigh, he stepped out and withdrew into his unassuming home. It wasn’t in the least ostentatious, but it wasn’t really home either. He had been in voluntary exile from his vampire community for far too long. If it hadn’t been for the girl, he might have stayed away indefinitely, but now he thought that perhaps he might go back after all … if only to show off the beauty he had discovered when he reclaimed her.

  Wilhelm was lost to his own thoughts as he entered the library and took a seat before the fire his housekeeper had prepared for his return. He always felt the cold lately—ever since he left his family and friends. He knew fine well that vampires weren’t supposed to live alone. They became dangerous to others as well as to themselves, they stopped taking care of themselves and their feeding, they got caught and punished, or heaven forbid, sloppy. He would never be accused of such things. He hadn’t forgotten the old ways.

  He picked up a book, to take his attention away from his thoughts, when he was surprised by a faint, but somehow familiar smell. It tickled his nose and his senses alike, until he was forced to look up from the cover of the book he held, only to behold an even more enrapt beauty. “How is this possible?” He asked aloud, fearful that his senses had deserted him. Had he not fed enough? Was he drifting into that dangerous starvation that could kill him, or was he really hallucinating?

  Wilhelm knew he wasn’t imagining anything the moment the young woman stepped forward, placing her body before his. She was the most beautiful creature he had ever known. As he reached out his hand to caress her face, her features distorted to mirror his own hunger. Her blue eyes blazed almost transparent and her fangs descended. They faced each other, vampire to vampire, for barely three seconds before she threw herself at him and bit into his neck. Wilhelm held still. His beauty, his creation was still weak. He could hear her heartbeat fluttering, trying to decide whether to die or fight, but she had made her choice out of hunger. She came to him to feed from her sire, to grow strong, so Wilhelm helped her. He held one hand to her raven dark hair, leaned his head to the side and used a strong arm to hold her to him until she had fed adequately.

  He was so enchanted by the flow of energy between them that he barely noticed time slipping by, until he found himself, once again, face to face with her beauty. “What is your name, child?” he asked as she wiped a spot of blood from the crease of her mouth.

  “I am Victorie, sire,” she replied as she curtsied, as was fitting to his high born status and her low birth.

  “Yes you are … you are my Victorie … and mine you will stay.” Wilhelm wasted no time in reveling in his victory. She—such a beautiful, wonderful she—was his, and her name epitomized everything he had suffered in his life. She was his final victory, and he celebrated it with a kiss. Now he had something … someone … to live for. Now, he had love and romance and hope in his life again, and he had the silly thought of doing something spectacular for her, for Valentine’s Day.

  Valentine’s Day 1892

  Damian could never understand why a simple name was so difficult to get right. He had adopted the surname Gray over the last ten years as a necessity to ensure that his real name did not continue creeping up on the census. But what was so difficult about Damian that he changed it to Dorian? That damned writer had really messed things up now.

  Damian recently read the published version of his life story, Dorian Gray, and he was not pleased. Since when had he been anything of the sort? Of course, his best friend and brother-in-law Trey found it most amusing, but Damian did not. The only portrait picture hanging on his wall was without a photograph. It represented a life, a family and a wife he had long since lost. There were no photographs of Angela, so he kept the empty frame above his fireplace to remember her by … to remember their life. That small offering was even more important on her favorite holiday, Valentine’s Day ... the day he missed her the most.

  “You must forget about this silly book and come hunting with me. I really am very hungry and you are the worst host for not offering me sustenance,” Trey teased him, taking the hated book from his hand and throwing it into the fire, to signify his agreement to how little it represented the man before him. Damian was a vampire, that much was true, and he could live forever, his features never changing. That was also true. But he was in no way cursed never to look upon an image of himself for fear that all his years would return to him. Where the silly man had got that idea from, he didn’t know, but Damian was brooding about it. He hoped for something true to life, something that explored his pain and anguish and the loss of his dear, deceased wife, Angela.

  “I should have asked that Doyle chap to write my memoirs instead. He would have done it justice,” Damian lamented with a sigh, before forcing himself out of his seat. “Very well. We shall hunt,” he reluctantly agreed.

  He had always hated feeding from humans. It might have been the only thing to sustain him for his unnaturally long life, but that didn’t stop him from wishing it were another way. Prowling through the darkness, creeping up on victims, watching the light go out in their eyes if he fed too much were all the things other vampires loved, but Damian hated. However, it wasn’t his choice; he had to live the life he was given. So he threw on a cloak and stalked to the door after Trey.

  It was foggy outside the clan house, dark and depressing. Trey laughed and talked of how the hunt would be easy, but Damian wasn’t so sure. Something felt wrong. It was nothing he could pinpoint exactly, just something not quite normal. They walked for ten minutes, chatting quietly about this and that, until they reached the outskirts of their town, Avelina. This was where vampire land ended and human territory began. They could smell the difference. The human land stank of beer, cheap perfumes, sewage and unwashed bodies. Damian wished he could just turn around and go home again, but as was Trey, he was starving. He needed blood, so he pointed silently at a small barn that led away from the center of the village, as Trey nodded in agreement.

  Damian headed toward the barn and sank down in the hay, waiting patiently, while Trey walked into the human village and into the public house. He would bring back two warm bodies that he and Damian could feed from; he was better at retaining his human nature than his brother in law. “Who is up for a round of drinks … on me?” Trey asked, laughing as he approached the bar. A few eager eyes turned his way and he immediately spotted two women, probably from the brothel upstairs, eyeing him like a prize turkey. If he had money enough to buy lots of drink, they might try and get their share from him, as well. But Trey spotted an even more intriguing dinner in the corner of the room.

  Two young girls sat in the corner, trying to avoid being seen. After a quiet chat with the barman, he discovered that their carriage had broken down on the road going through the village and they were forced to stop while the blacksmith worked on it. Trey tipped his hat to them then walked across the room to their table. “Good ladies ... if you do not mind my inquiring, what prevents your carriage from going further?” he asked politely, not presuming to sit down as the two y
oung women glanced up to see a well dressed gentleman sitting beside them.

  “Our carriage wheel has broken sir, and our horse is lame. Once the blacksmith has replaced a broken shoe and the broken wheel, we shall continue our journey, though it may take hours,” one of the young women replied.

  Trey nodded and smiled.

  “If you do not mind my suggesting, there is a very elegant home just in the next village. Its inhabitants would very kindly offer you rooms for the night … away from this outrageous crowd,” Trey suggested with a twinkle in his eyes. The young girls glanced at each other and then at the gentleman, considering the matter seriously. Then, eyeing their concern, added, “Of course, I will accompany you to ensure that you will not be harmed.”

  Trey knew he had won them over already, but for good measure, he assured the young women that there were many ladies already within the elegant house who would gladly care for them, and the matter was settled. He walked out of the public house with the two women, and led them toward the barn where Damian waited. He ventured in alone. “My brother, I have found some lovely young girls to join us, and they will be returning home with us. Can you fake an injury of some sort? Or shall I claim you shy?” Trey asked in amusement and laughed when Damian threw a fistful of hay at him. Shy, he decided. He exited the barn with Damian, and presented him to the young ladies, as his brother-in-law, widowed and painfully shy in company. They each looked upon him favorably, and gave their apologies for the loss of his wife, as they walked the short distance to Avelina.