by Tanith Frost
I take a step toward her, then freeze as she looks up.
Her eyes are black, or as close to it as blue can be.
“Aviva Siobhan Walker,” she says as she steps toward me, weaving her way around a spindle-legged wooden table and stopping beside a heavy desk that’s set out from the wall, facing into the room. Her eyes meet mine. “Pretty name.”
“Thank you. I liked it.”
I haven’t heard my full name since I died. My parents called me by my middle name when I was alive, and my mother always shrugged when I asked why they didn’t just name me Siobhan. Or why she wouldn’t let me go by Aviva, which would have been so much easier to pronounce. If I’d heard sy-oh-bah-hawn from an annoying classmate or substitute teacher one more time, I might have lost my mind.
At least in death, I was allowed to name myself. It offered a necessary degree of separation from my living self, but I didn’t stray far. I wasn’t ready to.
Miranda smiles gently, as though she understands. She could be reading my mind, if that’s her particular gift. I can’t tell. Everything about her is so overpowering that I doubt I’d notice if she were hypnotizing me.
She glances at the papers in the file again. “Just twenty years living.” She clucks her tongue softly. “Origin of transformation blood factor unestablished, both parents predeceased, no family history of vampirism. Cause of death, gunshot to the…” She flips the page. “Abdomen. Correct?”
I nod. For a group of beings who are supposed to forget our pasts, we certainly seem to keep excellent records of them.
“Tea?” she asks, setting the file on the desk. I suspect she’s memorized its contents already, but is making a show of needing the records for my sake. She glides to a lace-frosted table next to the back wall, where a silver tea set awaits. I nod, but I’m not quite sure what to do. How to speak to her. I never asked.
Miranda gestures to a chair that looks like it belongs in a museum or period play, though I couldn’t say which period. History was never my thing until I realized I was likely to be seeing a whole lot of it go by. I sit, and she hands me a steaming cup of Earl Grey. We don’t eat solid food, but caffeine is the next best thing to blood as far as I’m concerned. I accept with thanks.
“You go by Aviva, then?”
“Usually. Trixie tends to call me Viva. I’m not sure whether she sees the irony.”
Miranda chuckles into her teacup, closing her eyes so that her long, black lashes rest against her pale skin. “Viva la vampire.”
I smile back for the first time. “Exactly. Ma’am.”
“Miranda will be fine.” She sets her cup down and leans back in her chair, studying me. Not unkindly, but a chill passes over my skin. God. Her power. I catch hints of it in myself sometimes, but not like this. No matter how fast I run, how high I jump, how feeding thrills me, I can’t shake the feeling that there’s more. That being a true vampire still lies on the other side of a locked door.
She clears her throat. “Daniel tells me your training is progressing well.”
“Does he? He never says so to me.” Though I suppose progress is relative. I started in a bad place.
“No, I’d say he wouldn’t.” She smiles warmly. She knows my trainer far better than I do. “Physical traits seem to be your strong suit. Dexterity, covert movement, strength, pain resistance, flexibility, all excellent as of his last report. Emotional state steady, particularly in recent months. Mental processes quick, extrasensory awareness average. Further skills thus far absent or not noted. Impressive progress, indeed. I know things were… difficult.”
I’ve never heard someone call “average” impressive. For the first time, I realize that I have no idea what standard I’m being held up to. What is normal for a vampire two years dead, after one year of training? I only have Daniel’s standards to judge by, and they’ve always been out of my reach.
“Thank you, ma’am. I mean, Miranda. Daniel is a good trainer. He’s trying to help me with my perception issues, and we’re still hoping I’ll find deeper gifts.” I should be grateful that that’s all there is to work on besides whatever I need to learn on the job. Daniel’s highly disciplined training style really has worked wonders.
“And you’ll continue to work with him on that.” She tilts her head slightly. “Tell me, does he seem to enjoy his current position?”
“Not in the least.”
The corners of her eyes crinkle as she presses her lips together, suppressing a laugh. I think I like Miranda, terrifying though she is. It can’t be easy to keep a sense of humour when you’ve seen as much of the world as she has. “As I suspected. Well, do take advantage of his expertise while you can, though I suspect he’ll need his space during the investigation. You won’t be taking an active role, but it will be a chance for you to hone your skills. Assist, observe, learn as much as you can. You’ll have access to some of the best hunters in the field. Listen to them and do as they say.”
This advice is unnecessary. I’ve already learned to respect authority, and every older vampire is in a position of authority over me right now. I lower my gaze and nod.
“You have great potential, Aviva, and we need all the help we can get right now.”
Her admission surprises me. I’ve never seen so much as a crack in Maelstrom’s perfect marble facade.
“It’s rogues, right?” I say. I keep my expression even, but can’t hold off the chill that passes over my already cool skin. It might be unfair to say I’ve never faced anything so dangerous. I have, after all, been murdered once before. But we civilized vampires are quite comfortable in the system we have set up, with our consensual feedings and victims who walk out of the club alive, if weak, when we’re done with them. The rogues threaten everything my elders have worked for so long to establish.
I’m struggling to remember what I’ve learned about them, but I’m not coming up with much. They’re savage. Cruel. They kill their victims and dump the bodies. They’re often driven to it after committing crimes that get them banished from their clans, which means they have nowhere to feed legally. Banishment pushes them to crimes punishable by true death, and therefore oblivion.
It seems strange that we don’t just execute them for their original crimes to prevent them going rogue, but I’m not about to question the wisdom of ancient creatures. Maybe on some level even monsters believe in redemption.
I’m hoping Miranda will fill in some blanks for me, but she merely pours more tea. “That is the issue, yes. Daniel will take you and Trixie to the crime scene tonight. Normally we’d leave it to more experienced hunters and let you two sit this one out, but we’re a little short on help. Bram moved to Washington to assist with some quiet lobbying, and Katya has been in London on a diplomatic visit and hasn’t returned yet. We need bright, observant minds on this. Daniel thinks you’re ready. Would you say the same?”
I straighten in my chair. “Absolutely.”
Bright minds. I had one when I was alive, even if I realize now that I wasted it. I have one still, and I know that I can use it to become so much better. I’m not great yet, but I could be. I can see it now.
And according to Miranda, Daniel sees it too. That shouldn’t matter to me. In fact, he’s probably hidden his approval because he knows I’d thrive on it. My need for outside validation could cost me greatly in this world.
Still, I can’t help feeling better knowing I’m more ready than I realized.
Miranda’s mouth quirks up at one corner. She is reading me. I know it.
“Any other questions?” she asks.
Of course. So many, and the most important ones have nothing to do with rogue vampires. I want to know why we are what we are, and more than that, who made me what I am. Who sensed the transformation factor in my blood before my death and changed me after. I’d wager that the answer to that last question is in that file on Miranda’s desk, but I won’t ask.
I can’t let her see that I care.
“I think I can ask Daniel anything else. I do
n’t want to take up any more of your time.”
She chuckles, low and cold. “My dear, all I have is time. You’ll understand that someday. But I imagine you’re hungry.”
I rise, eyes wide, as she touches a panel on the wall next to her that slides back, revealing dozens of vials in more shades and tones than I’ve ever seen, far beyond what living eyes would recognize. All clear, all in the same round, pointed-bottom shape, resting in rows of metal rings affixed to the wall. “Choose what you like.”
I approach slowly, taking in the full array. In one sense, it doesn’t matter. Blood is blood. But I’ll take something from my victim’s mood when I feed, and I want all the help I can get tonight.
Yellow will bring happiness, and the various shades might narrow that to joy, pleasure, ecstasy, contentment. Red enrages them—a challenge, and one that might be worth experiencing someday should I find a willing and worthy human to take it. We can’t always predict the exact effect on an individual, but it’s reasonably consistent.
I reach for a vial of nearly clear liquid, tinted slightly toward turquoise, and let my hand hover near the glass. I’m not sure what the colour means, but it feels right. I lift it gently by the neck and cradle it in one hand.
“Your friend has darker tastes,” Miranda observes with a mysterious smile. The dark vials rest in the bottom row. I don’t care to look at them.
“She always has. Thank you for this.” We never see this kind of variety out on the club floor. This is the good stuff.
“Enjoy.”
With her dismissal, my thoughts turn toward the club and the stock roaming the floor. My muscles tighten and my skin tingles as I stalk back up the hallway in long strides, and I become overly aware of the sharp length of my fangs.
All thoughts of rogues and questions about my origin fade from my mind, and the fact that Daniel hasn’t waited to see how I made out barely registers. For now there is only the scent of blood filling the edges of my awareness, the throbbing heartbeats of the living, and a craving that pulls me far from any affinity with humanity.
Tonight, they are my prey.
4
I spot my target immediately after I’ve slipped from the quiet hallway into the low, throbbing hum of the club floor. He’s beautiful. Big and strong and handsome, just a little rough around the edges, dressed in old jeans and a new white t-shirt that clings to his working guy muscles. Ears a tiny bit too big, brown hair a little shaggy, one tooth crooked when he casts a nervous grin over his shoulder. Just imperfect enough to be perfect. I suspect that even if I were still alive I’d be tempted to consume him whole.
The guy he’s standing with says something, and he laughs a little. He drinks his whisky in short sips as his gaze wanders again, taking everything in. I hope it helps him relax. I want him, but it can wait a few minutes. No point pushing when he’s on edge.
But I find it so hard to resist. It’s the life in them that sustains and strengthens us, and he’s got more life in him than most of the stock here tonight. Something in him burns brighter than in his companions, warm and solid and so deliciously alive that it comes off him in waves, even from where I’m standing.
I can’t remember the last time I needed blood this badly. Perhaps our vacation was a lesson to teach us to appreciate what will happen if we find ourselves cast out from vampire society and starving. That would be just like Daniel.
I take a half step closer and inhale.
This is why we only drink from live stock. They’ve tried banking in the past, but we waste away on a diet of harvested blood. Our brilliant scientists can do many things, but it seems there’s no way to preserve or replicate the spark that feeds us. It has to come from the source. So we offer them a seemingly safe place to enjoy the pleasure of our poison.
The stock always seem to think the relationship is symbiotic. Really, we’re more like keepers of a free-range flock. They mean no more to us than sheep or cattle.
Ideally. I’ve never seen a cow that looked this fuckable.
“Virgin,” Daniel whispers in my ear. He’s seen me watching, and I hear the smile in his voice. “I saw the blindfold when they brought him in.”
“I’m not surprised. He’s lovely.”
“I saved him for you. Trixie wanted him, but I didn’t think her tastes would lead to him coming back any time soon.”
“I’d say not. Thanks, boss.”
I glance up at him, and he grins. He knows I’ve never had new blood before. “Watch yourself, there,” he murmurs, and then he’s gone.
My prey sees me coming and nearly drops his glass as he takes me in with wide eyes. “Shhhh,” I whisper, locking his wandering gaze with my own. He smiles, and though there’s still some nervousness there, he clearly likes what he sees in me. Petite frame. Decent tits shown off spectacularly in this shirt. Pretty face, flawless skin. Death does have its benefits.
I motion him closer, and he leans down so I can whisper in his ear. “You ready to have some fun?”
He pulls back and looks down at the vial in my hand. “Is that going to hurt me?”
“No, my love,” I say, adopting the local pet name bestowed on friend and stranger alike. “If anything’s going to hurt you, it’ll be me. Only for a second, though.” I smile slowly, revealing just the tiniest glimpse of fangs. “You’ll love it.”
He looks back at his friend, who grins and waves him off. I move with exaggerated, seductive grace toward an unoccupied alcove. My prey follows as though hypnotized by the sway of my hips, radiating excitement, fear, and life burning so bright and beautiful that I could cry.
Life. It’s almost mine when I feed, but not quite. The great frustration of vampire existence, I suppose.
Before we step behind the curtains, I pour my vial into his drink. “Go ahead,” I whisper. He can’t hear it over the music, but he’s watching my lips and gets the message. He only hesitates for a moment. Good boy. I love it when they follow orders.
His face goes blank. Then he smiles. “It’s beautiful!” He looks down at me as though seeing me for the first time. “You’re beautiful!”
I laugh and grab him by the front of his shirt. “Come on, big guy.”
He follows willingly. His friend might have given him some idea of what to expect, but his friend’s recollection will have been fuzzy, the exquisite pleasure being the only clear memory. Enough to keep him coming back until the addiction truly sets in.
I draw the curtains closed. It’s black as a cave in the alcove now, and I make no move to turn on the lamp. I can see him well enough, though he’s as good as blind. I push him gently down to sit on the leather-upholstered bench against the wall, and he holds his hands out in front of him. Searching. I could step into them, let him touch me. Instead, I sidestep his grasp and wait until there’s room to move between his hands, then I sit on one of his thighs, perched side-saddle. He jumps in surprise, then smiles uncertainly.
“Relax,” I whisper, letting my breath caress his ear. “You can touch. Mind your manners, now.”
I want him to chill out. I don’t need his nervousness affecting me later. I have more than enough of my own.
The drug works its way deeper into his mind, and his tension drains away. I didn’t give him happiness, but something like it is moving through him. I chose well.
“That’s it,” I murmur, rubbing the back of his neck. “Just enjoy it.”
He draws a quick breath as I graze the underside of his jaw with my nose, drawing in his scent. He’s followed instructions well. He’s clean, but didn’t shower with strong soap right before coming to the club, and he wears no scented lotions or colognes. The smell is all human, and all him, whoever he is.
It’s always different, and always fascinating.
He rests his back against the padded wall and finally seems to remember his hands. They roam freely over my body, gingerly at first, gently tracing the curves of my breasts. I press forward into his grasp, letting my body awaken. He grows bolder, lifting and grasping, l
ightly pinching my hardening nipples as I trace my tongue over that magical spot on his neck where his blood, his life, pumps so close to the surface. He groans and tries to kiss me, but I push his face away.
That could be pleasant, but it’s not what I came for. And I don’t want to mar his beautiful face if I lose control. I’m so close to the edge now that I can imagine it happening.
He hooks one arm around my waist, pulling me closer as his other hand continues to explore, pulling in frustration at my belt before slipping under my shirt. He groans as he pulls my bra down and caresses the cool skin beneath. His skilled groping is distracting me from my mission, sending delightful tingling sensations shooting from my breasts down to the apex of my thighs. I let him continue as I press my body harder against his, kissing his neck down to his collarbone, nibbling a little, teasing myself until it’s unbearable.
I could have had him by now, but it’s so much more satisfying to make it last.
His rapid, ragged breathing tells me that he’s enjoying himself already. I trail my hand down over his chest, over the hard muscles of his stomach, lower. Just to be sure.
Hey, there.
I laugh softly in his ear. “You like that?”
He whimpers in response, and I spin around to face him, straddling him, grinding my pelvis against him. He groans. I can only imagine what he sounds like to any keen-eared vampire standing outside the alcove. Still, they won’t judge. We enjoy them as we see fit, and it’s certainly no worse than whatever Trixie might be up to in one of the soundproof rooms at the other end of the club.
My mouth finds his throat again. My lips are drawn to its heat, to that thing that goes beyond physical senses and calls to something deeper within me.
His hands are warm, and it doesn’t seem to bother him that I’m so much colder. Perhaps it excites him, as it does so many others. He pulls me closer and moves his hard body beneath me, and I wonder whether perhaps feeding couldn’t wait just a few minutes longer. I’ve never had a living man while I fed from him. Haven’t allowed myself this pleasure with anyone since I died.