by Lisa Olsen
“Ah, come on in,” I invited him again, leaving him to close the door as I gathered up my fluffy blanket from the couch, folding it into a fat square.
“Well, I’ve got a date to get ready for, so you two are on your own,” Bridget announced, disappearing into the hallway after a last amused look in my direction. I took a seat on the couch and gestured for him to join me if he liked, and Bishop sat beside me without exploring the apartment that time.
“I’m assuming that since you have all these questions, you haven’t heard from him yet?”
“Heard from who?” Why did he always ask questions I had no idea how to answer?
“Isn’t that game getting a little old?” His eyes narrowed.
“Bishop, I promise you, I’m not playing any games,” I replied earnestly.
“Anja.” He took my hand in his, the one with the amber ring and I looked down at our joined hands. “You’re cutting things a little close, don’t you think? The sun goes down in about two hours.”
“What does that have to do with it?”
His brows drew together into a single dark line. “You really don’t know, do you?”
“Haven’t I been saying that all along?” I couldn’t keep the exasperation from my voice. “I’m completely in the dark here. All I know is I haven’t felt like myself since I died, and now… now I think I might be going crazy.” I blinked away the tears that sprang unbidden, desperately trying to hold it together long enough to get some real answers.
“You’re not crazy.”
I almost believed him, he sounded so calm and rational. “You haven’t heard my theories yet.” My head fell forward in embarrassment, hair falling forward in a protective shield.
Bishop reached out to tip my head up by the chin, studying my features carefully as if he was looking for something. “I can guess.”
“Motherfucker!” Bridget’s voice rang through the apartment, loud enough to make me startle away from his touch. “Shit, Anja, can you come here a sec?”
“I’ll be right back,” I murmured, already rising to my feet, but Bishop caught my arm, holding me in place.
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” he said in a low voice.
“It’s fine. She’s a little melodramatic sometimes, I’m sure it’s nothing. Um, feel free to help yourself to a soda or something from the kitchen if you want.”
“Anja… we don’t have time for this, you have some hard decisions to make.”
I had no idea what he meant at the time, and looking back now, I wonder why he let me go. He could have easily stopped me if he wanted to. “I’ll be right back, I promise.” Pulling my hand gently from his grasp, I headed for the bathroom to see what Bridget needed. For all I knew, she needed to borrow some feminine hygiene products.
Pausing at the doorway, I caught sight of Bridget perched on the side of the bathtub, a bloody washcloth pressed to her hand. My hand clutched at the doorframe, hard enough to make one of my fingernails split, but I didn’t care; all I could focus on was the growing crimson stain on the washcloth.
Bridget looked up impatiently. “Finally, I thought I was gonna bleed to death here. I dropped that stupid glass and cut the shit out of my hand.” My head nodded slowly, but no words came as I clung to the doorway, fighting the urge to pounce. The blood was like a beacon, my eyes drawn to it, everything else blurring indistinctly.
“Hello, Earth to Anja… could you give me a hand with this?” Bridget pulled away the washcloth to reveal a nasty looking gash on the web between her thumb and forefinger, the blood instantly welling to the surface without the cloth to keep pressure on it.
“Of course.” I nodded, my voice sounding hoarse as I picked up the bandage from the counter. The gauze trembled and fluttered in my grasp, and I swallowed as my mouth started to water. I took a step closer to her, and then another, arguing internally that if I got the Band-Aid on her, then I wouldn’t have to see it anymore. Out of sight out of mind, right? I had enough self control to keep from attacking my friend… at least, that’s what I told myself. Only the closer I got to her, the harder it was to resist the call of the blood.
“What’s your deal, are you gonna help me or not?” she complained, no doubt confused by my hesitant approach. There was a sharp pain as I felt my teeth lengthen and sharpen. “Anja…? An… Holy shit…” Bridget gasped, and I knew what she was seeing. Half mortified, half stunned, we stared at each other across the bathroom. All at once I rushed her, lunging for the open wound and bringing it to my mouth, my sharp teeth tearing the tender skin, enlarging the blood flow.
Bridget screamed, but all I could think about was the delicious nectar my mouth was clamped down around. I had never tasted anything like it before, and in the years that followed, few experiences would match that first taste of blood. It transcended mere food to something more. I could feel the life force pulsing from her body into mine, giving me strength and fueling my lust for more. I knew with a certainty I could never be satisfied with a taste; I wanted all she had to give and more.
In a blur I was dragged away from the sweet oblivion of my feeding frenzy, barely conscious of being hauled over muscular shoulders and tossed onto my bed like a sack of potatoes. I opened my mouth to lash out at my attacker with my newfound weapon, but a cool hand clamped over my lips before I had time to even finish thinking about it.
Bishop’s scowl appeared before me, fairly sparking with annoyance as he held me to the bed. The hand was instantly replaced by the butt end of a stuffed animal that tasted like moldy socks, and I thrashed violently, attempting to spit it out. In that moment, I wanted to tear him limb from limb for taking me from my feast. There was no recognition that what he was doing was for my protection or Bridget’s. I had no thoughts for consequences, the call of the blood was too strong.
Call of the blood… I’ve often thought about the sway that it has over vampires. Even now it’s hard to resist its pull, but back then at the first taste, I was little more than a ravening beast. There was no Anja, only a sharp, burning need to feed. I didn’t give a damn about Bridget or what she must be going through. She could have been lying bleeding to death on the bathroom floor for all I cared, I only knew I wanted more.
While I was doing my best impression of a hell-cat trying to scratch his eyes out, Bishop retained that icy calm exterior, easily keeping me in place with one hand while he searched for what he wanted, making do with what was at hand. To my growing indignity, I found myself trussed up on my own bed, the stuffed animal bound to my mouth to keep me from making any sound. My eyes shot him daggers, the only defense I was allowed, and his face lit with a trace of amusement at that. I never wanted him more dead than in that moment, but he seemed only vaguely amused at my fury.
“There… now sit still, I have to go clean up your mess.” His scowl was firmly in place as he looked down at me, surveying his handiwork.
My mess… he meant Bridget. The realization that he might truly leave me trussed up like that all night fueled my rage. I screamed impotently into the stuffed animal, my wrists and ankles straining against the clothes that bound me. All the while I wondered, who was this psycho and what would he do with me when he was done with Bridget? Did cleaning up my mess mean killing her? All my struggles did was make my wrists and ankles painfully raw. Soon that became the least of my problems as I began to shake uncontrollably from head to toe, my skin burning like it was on fire.
I lost some of my anger as fear began to set in. Maybe if I had known what to expect I might not have felt so out of control, my panic fueling the growing sensation that I was truly dying. I screamed against the gag in agony instead of rage, as I grew increasingly sensitive, painfully so. Sweat ran down my body in rivulets from the exertion of the transformation, and I began to wonder if it was possible to actually set my bedding on fire if my skin got hot enough.
And then he was there, gathering me into his arms. I shivered at the touch of his cool limbs, wondering if he was coming to kill me now, take care
of this mess as he called it. At the time I didn’t even care, I wanted the pain to stop. Even death would have been a blessing in the face of the all consuming fire that burned me from within.
My eyes grew blurry and unfocused as I shivered weakly in his arms, my body trying desperately to create even more heat to fight off the infection of vampirism. Dimly, I registered that he lifted me from the bed and carried me somewhere, and then I heard the sound of running water into the bathtub. All at once I felt him lower me into the cold water, clothes and all. I hadn’t the presence of mind to object, all I could feel was the immediately soothing effects on my burning limbs.
Gradually I became aware that I was no longer tied up and the gag had been removed. Bishop spoke soothing words of comfort I couldn’t quite make out, blended together all soft and sweet as he held me in his arms, bringing water to my brow. At one point I could have sworn that I heard him call me Carissa, but I was too tired and worn out to object. My whole world was the cocoon of his arms and the blessedly cool water that bathed my fevered flesh. I whimpered in response to his gentle murmurings, no longer having the strength to struggle or scream.
“Am I dying?” My voice was little more than a whisper.
“No, you’re being reborn.”
“I don’t want to be reborn.” Not if it meant I’d have to keep feeling like that.
“You should have thought of that before you chose to become a vampire.” I thought I heard a smile in his voice, and I wanted to hit him in the worst way, even though he was helping me.
How long I lay in the shelter of his arms I’ll never know, but at one point I looked up in wonder to see his cheeks wet with tears. Or was I mistaken? Had he merely rubbed his face with wet hands? Once Bishop noticed me looking at him, his expression unfathomable, I began to have my doubts.
“Welcome back,” he said softly, and I fancied I saw a bit of relief behind his eyes. He looked different to me now, in a way I couldn’t quite put my finger on. He looked… more. More everything, more handsome, more tired and drawn, as if everything about him was exaggerated. He’d always been an appealing man, but there was an irresistible lure to him now that made the air whistle softly through my teeth at my quick intake of breath.
“Hey…” I replied, my voice sounding strange to my ears. Not hoarse as I might have expected from all the screaming, but low and throaty, almost… sexy. I cleared my throat and scooted up higher in the tub, noticing I could tell how cold the water was, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. There were no goosebumps on my skin and I wasn’t shivering at all. “How long…?”
“Less time than you might think,” he interrupted, disengaging himself to reach for a fluffy blue bath towel.
It had felt like an eternity, but I have often observed that as fleeting as pleasure can be, conversely, torture can go on endlessly. Stepping out of the bathtub, I allowed him to wrap me up as I dripped onto the bath mat. “Am I…?”
“Yep, you made it through the worst of it, welcome to the vampire club.” A half smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he rubbed at my wet skin with short efficient movements.
“The vampire club,” I murmured dazedly. Would membership have its privileges? It was ironic that this happened to me. I was never a night person at heart, so you can see right off the bat why a vampire was the very last thing I would have chosen to be. All at once I realized I’d completely forgotten about my attack on Bridget, I was so wrapped up in my own drama. “Is she…?”
“She’s fine. Dead to the world, as in sleeping the sleep of the innocent, not actually dead. She won’t remember a thing in the morning,” he assured me.
I waited for a moment to see if there was more forthcoming, but he seemed content to remain mute as he finished toweling me off. There was a curious sense of surrealism as he lifted one of my feet to gently dry off my toes. Here was this complete stranger, drying off my little piggies so I wouldn’t slip and fall and break my neck. Not that it would have killed me anymore…
I cleared my throat again, pulling my foot from his grasp, a little unnerved by the innocent touch. “Will anything like that happen to me again?” I asked, with not a small amount of trepidation. If that was going to be a regular occurrence, I might as well go find a stake and be done with it.
“Like I said, the worst of it is over. You’ll have an adjustment period while you get used to your new abilities. Your senses might go a little haywire from time to time, but nothing like what you went through tonight, I promise.”
That was comforting. I wasn’t sure I had the strength to go through something like that again. I didn’t know how I would have survived without Bishop to bring me through it. Did all vampires experience such a thing? The way he’d known exactly how to care for me seemed to indicate they did.
“So, what happens now?” I asked, wringing my shirt out into the sink.
“You find your Sponsor, and get me your license and registration. Then you and your Sire can feast on your friend all you want, as long as you clean up your own mess from now on.” He gave a half shrug, tossing the towel carelessly aside and leaning against the counter.
Ugh, there he went about the license and registration bit again. And what was that about my Sire? I was about as well read on vampires as the next girl, maybe moreso. I knew he meant the vampire that turned me into one, but I really had no idea who he was talking about. “I told you, I don’t know who did this to me.”
“He hasn’t tried to contact you at all since we talked last night?”
“No, not a word. Honestly, you’re the only one who keeps popping up in my life. Well, besides the police.”
“It doesn’t make sense.” Bishop paced the length of the narrow bathroom. “Why wouldn’t he show himself? You could have ended up feral if I hadn’t happened to be here, or dead if you hadn’t fed before sundown. Why go through all the trouble to turn you if he’s willing to let you die?”
The news that I might have died if I hadn’t tasted Bridget’s blood eased some of the guilt, but I wish someone had told me that beforehand. “Maybe he would have shown up if you weren’t here?”
“That’s possible, he probably wouldn’t have come if he knew the Order was involved,” he allowed.
“Why not?”
“Because he obviously has something to hide. I’m guessing he didn’t have the proper license for turning you or he wouldn’t have run off like that. Letting you go to the morgue without intervening was a pretty serious infraction. He’s either stupid and careless, or considers himself above the law. The Order takes that sort of thing pretty seriously.”
I felt like I was only grasping half of the conversation. “What is this Order you keep mentioning?”
“The Order of Jacari. We uphold the laws, not that there are many between vampires. Our greatest duty is to mask our existence from the world and punish those that threaten to expose us.”
So he was a cop of sorts… I guess my instincts hadn’t been that far off, only it all was sounding more dangerous by the moment. “By punish you mean…”
“Exterminate.”
I swallowed past the uncomfortable lump that rose in my throat. “So ah, what happens now?” I repeated, starting to grasp why the paperwork was so important to him. Paperwork I didn’t have.
“Look, I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to take you into custody until we can straighten this out.” He didn’t sound happy about it, but it was nothing compared to the anxiety that twisted my stomach into knots.
“Are you serious? You’re taking me in to vampire jail?” I’d been a model citizen my entire life, I’d never so much as littered before, and now I was going to jail for something completely out of my control?
“I guess you could put it that way. I’m sure you’ll prefer that to the alternative.”
“Which is?”
“Unlicensed breeding is punishable by death.” His lips compressed into a grim line.
“To the breeder or the breedee?” He didn’t reply, and I had my answer when he
couldn’t meet my gaze. “Do you think that I could maybe get dressed first?” I gave him a tremulous smile.
“Of course,” he nodded succinctly, stepping away from the door.
“I’ll be right back.” As I squeezed past him in the tight quarters, I prayed he didn’t have any vampire mind reading powers, because I had no intention of coming right back. Once inside the sanctuary of my bedroom, I pulled on the nearest clothes I could lay my hands on, hardly caring if my shoes matched. All I knew was, if I went with him, I’d end up dead. Well, deader.
Fully dressed, but without the convenience of my purse or cellphone that sat out on the coffee table, I painstakingly eased up my window, not wanting to draw his attention. The ground below looked impossibly far away, but in theory I should be able to survive falling three stories, right? Like it or not, I was a vampire now, it was time to start using it to my advantage. Swinging my legs out over the windowsill, I jumped for my life.
Chapter Six
Bishop had no idea what he was doing. It was not a normal thing for him, not by a long shot. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d gone so far off book. It was supposed to be a routine call. Check the girl’s papers, fine her Sire for letting her turn up in the morgue pronounced as dead, and do what he did best - scare the hell out of him to keep him from ever getting sloppy like that again. So why was he standing in her living room holding her purse while she made herself pretty?
He wasn’t used to letting a slip of a girl wind him around her little finger, but there was something about her… When she first opened the door the night before, she’d knocked him speechless. For a moment he almost thought he was seeing Carys again after so many years.
She wasn’t, of course. They had the same long, golden hair, the same heart shaped face and her innocent, blue eyes were close. But her mouth was wrong, the lips too full, her smile too hesitant. Not that there was anything wrong with the girl’s lips… why was he thinking about her lips again?