by L.H. Cosway
Then the man falls to the floor and starts to convulse as though having an epileptic fit. A moment later he goes still as stone, then jumps to his feet, pulling a sharp silver knife from his coat pocket. He lunges at Howard, but the two burly bodyguards grab the tramp before he can get to the small man. They pin him to the floor, bashing his head off the hard tile.
“Get him out of here!” Howard shouts, glaring at the tramp with hatred in his odd yellow eyes that remind me of a serpent. “Drusilla! Drusilla! Get in here now!” At this, Dru rushes in and Howard takes her aside to whisper furiously in her ear, she nods, grabs the homeless man from the floor and lifts him out of the room, closing the door behind her. A cold sweat trickles over my forehead as I imagine what will become of the poor sod. Howard will obviously have to make an example of him, as I’m sure he can’t afford to be seen allowing random humans to make an attempt on his life and get away scot free.
“Did I hear that vermin correctly?” Antonia hisses in a shrill, almost hysterical voice.
“Whoever it was that put the spell on him,” Delilah speaks up, “they were clearly just trying to spook you by using that name. Theodore died way back in the sixties, it’s definitely not him who’s behind this. Perhaps they imagine the Governor will surrender at the mere mention of the name. It’s an obvious bluff.”
Antonia’s jade eyes flick to Delilah when she speaks, and they hold just the tiniest fraction of disdain. Perhaps she doesn’t like the fact that a dhamphir is allowed to live among vampires simply because of who her father was. Whoever he was. There’s still so much I don’t know.
“Yes, yes. You are right my child,” says Antonia, with false warmth. “Our people will discover the true identity of this assassin,” she pauses, with a sweeping glance over those present, lingering on Ethan for longer than necessary, clearly he’s not out of the woods of suspicion just yet. “And when they are caught they will wish they had never been born.” It’s a clear threat, and coming from this woman you’d truly believe her intentions to rip this enemy apart, limb by limb, shred by shred.
Antonia takes the hand of her husband, who dips his head respectfully to Ethan, and the two swiftly make their way out of the room, their bodyguards trailing along behind. Before leaving, Antonia pauses by me, her shrewd eyes taking me in. “She is surprisingly lucid for a blood donor, Ethan,” she remarks in that cutting voice, my heart shrinks. “And, I see no visible marks on her. I do hope you are not being foolish, my dear.” Antonia’s eyes glare in Ethan’s direction for a brief second.
“Of course not, my Governess,” replies Ethan. “I simply prefer to take my sustenance from a less visible part of the body.” He finishes with a heart stopping smile.
Antonia looks at him for a long moment before continuing out the door with her diminutive husband. I let my breath fall heavily, not having noticed I’d been holding it. What can I say? That woman scares me. I thought we were caught out there for a minute.
The second they’ve gone Delilah sags down into a chair. Tentatively, I go to sit beside her.
“I’d say thank God they’ve left,” says Delilah. “But this last development has me even more worried.”
“I thought you said it was only some wannabe impersonating Theodore,” says Lucas sharply. “If that’s the case then why are you so on edge?” he asks.
“Of course I don’t really believe it’s an impersonator, I only said that to reassure the Governor.” Delilah hisses. “Although I don’t know why I bothered, did you see the way that bitch Antonia looked at me. She’s thinks she’s so superior, do you know I heard she has a penchant for young unwilling human males. She uses her compulsion to force them to let her feed from them.”
“Quiet the two of you,” Ethan interrupts. “We have all been expecting this. The only question was when the Sorcerer would return. It’s widely believed that he faked that theatrical death of his.”
I speak up. “Um, who exactly is this Theodore character anyway?” I keep my voice low, so as not to come across as presumptuous.
“You don’t need to know about him,” Ethan tells me. “Now, come along, I’m taking you home.”
I’m about to protest, but then I remember just how tired I am and just how much I couldn’t give a shit about all this vampire drama. Silently I rise from my seat and follow Ethan out of the office. We walk quietly down the darkly painted corridor. My heart almost jumps out of my chest when we’re leaving through the exit and bump into Dru slipping back inside the club, wiping what looks very much like fresh blood off of her knuckles.
“I see you didn’t give much heed to the idea of ‘don’t shoot the messenger’ Drusilla,” says Ethan sizing up her dishevelled appearance.
“Don’t ever call me that, Blondie,” she retorts through a tight jaw. “And I was only following orders if you must know.”
“So said all those Nazi soldiers back in the 1940’s,” Ethan smirks.
“Yeah, yeah, go and guilt trip someone who’s actually capable of the emotion,” she replies breezily, before clocking me standing behind Ethan.
“Hey cutey, I thought I smelled ya there,” she says with a grin. “I’m off duty now you know, you busy?”
I try not to think too much of what I might smell like to vampires. Although I do recall Lucas mentioning his appreciation. I shiver.
“Yes. She is.” Ethan snaps. “So keep that wandering nose of yours to yourself.”
“What can I say, you got yourself one special girl there, Ethan. You’d better keep an eye on her though,” she continues, gaze on me. “Somebody just might steal her.” Dru’s words make me feel edgy, and not because I’m embarrassed by her forwardness. She looks like she might eat me, and being a vampire, I’ve no doubt that she could.
Ethan ignores her threat. “Go clean yourself up, Dru,” he tells her in a clipped tone before swiftly guiding me out the door.
Chapter Fourteen
Goth Girls Stick Together
Inside of Ethan’s car I’m greeted by a welcome gush of warmth from the heater. It’s a pleasant contrast to the frosty cold night outside. The kind that leaves black ice. The digital clock on the dashboard reads 12:34. With any luck I’ll be nicely tucked up in bed before one.
Strange things occupy my mind. I can’t stop thinking of Dru after we’ve left her at the club. Goodness, she has that kind of magnetism, you know the kind of charisma that everyone wants a piece of.
Ethan looks from me to the road ahead of him, and then back to me again. “What’s different about you?” he asks in a thoughtful voice, with eyes that suck everything in. No tiny change could get past them.
The last twenty-four hours flashes through my head. “Different as in how? I didn’t go to the hairdressers or anything, if that’s what you’re asking.” I bluff, curious as to what he can see in me.
Does a change occur in a person when they’ve discovered what they really are? Who knows. Perhaps my eyes betray some sort of new wisdom.
“I can’t quite place it,” he says. “You seem – I don’t know – enlightened somehow, but at the same time entirely lost.”
He’s more perceptive than I might have given him credit for. Then again, I do know next to nothing about his species. Their senses could be ten times more heightened than those of a human. Their brains capable of deciphering so much more information. If they live a thousand years instead of a paltry eighty or ninety, then it’s only to be expected that they can process things quicker, more efficiently.
Anyhow, be that as it may, it doesn’t mean I’m going to inform him that he’s hit the nail on the head. Rita telling me about how the vampires are only out for what they can gain rings in my ears. It stops me, halts me in my tracks from being as open with Ethan as I might be with a normal friend.
“I’m extremely tired,” I tell him in response.
“Close your eyes then. Sleep,” he says, in a low, soft, seductive voice. I could almost obey. Almost. I give him a look of warning.
He flattens out his
palms on the steering wheel. “No hidden agenda. Just sleep. I’ll carry you in, put you to bed. Let me take care of you, little one.”
The suggestion is tempting. Too dangerous though. This creature has ripped out throats, chopped off heads. Drained bodies of their life force. Remember that. I may be self-loathing at times, but I don’t hate myself to the point of allowing a killer to become my carer. I think that would be the final step towards self-destruction, since all the drinking and smoking hasn’t killed me yet.
“No thanks. I’ll wait, we’re almost there anyway,” I say quietly, slowly losing the battle to keep my eyes open. That’s the last thing I can remember saying before I wake up in my bed, underneath the fluffy softness of my duvet, wearing only a t-shirt and underwear. A wave of confusion slips over me before I realise that I must have fallen asleep in the car after all. Silly. Silly.
I turn over and my heart stops. There is a very real man lying stretched out beside me. My hand falls on his bare chest. I pull it away instantly, but he grabs me by the hips and drags me closer to him. I struggle in fear for one, two, three seconds before I see the golden hair, and then the face, and realise that the man is Ethan. Ethan wearing nothing but a pair of boxers. My fear transforms into anger.
“Let go of me!” I hiss, failing to break his iron hold.
“Hush, go back to sleep beautiful,” he whispers, his breath tickles my ear. My brain goes on a brief holiday. It feels good. He feels good. And warm. His almost naked body next to mine, our legs touching. I refrain from struggling.
“Why are you in my bed, Ethan?” I ask, a fraction less angry now – more something else.
“I wanted to lie with you,” he answers, voice low.
I glance at the clock on my bedside table. Ten to three. I cough despite the fact that my throat isn’t scratchy in the slightest, and then bury my head into the duvet. The moment seems to go on forever. I’m about to open my mouth and order him to leave when I realise that I kind of don’t want him to. It’s been so long since someone’s held me like this. His arms completely surrounding me. It’s definitely some sort of screwed up nourishment that we all pretend not to need.
I lift my head and rest my cheek against his collarbone. A sigh. From both of us, I think.
“You can stay,” I tell him. “But no funny business.”
“Funny business?” says Ethan, testing the phrase out on his lips with humour. It sounds like he’s never had occasion to use it before. But of course, English was never his mother tongue. “What’s that?” he continues. “Is this funny business?” he asks, as he trails fingertips along my inner thigh.
“Don’t…” I whisper, but before I know it he’s flipped me onto my back and is leaning over me.
His lowers himself, and dips his nose to the inch of skin between my t-shirt and pants, brushes his lips over my stomach.
“You smell so good,” he breathes. I exhale on a shudder and try to pull myself together.
“Don’t distract me Ethan. I need to sleep,” my voice is almost pleading. I struggle on. “S-some of us aren’t lucky enough to be nocturnal. Some of us have to get up in the morning and go to work.”
My scolding is tragically half-hearted. Who could resist this man? Even the fact that he’s some sort of monstrous alien species doesn’t deter my skin from rising in goose pimples at his touch. He presses a hard kiss onto the thin cotton of my pants, causing every tiny hair on my body to stand on end.
“You still want me to stop?” he asks, face pressed into my most intimate of places.
I gasp. “This isn’t fair, Ethan,” a squirm. “You know it isn’t – fair.”
At this he nips the cotton material softly between what I assume are his fangs.
“I never agreed to fairness,” he replies, and I can imagine his smirk, hidden beneath the covers.
Suddenly he emerges, and looms over me, eyes glittering, chest rising and falling steadily. His lips are open and his blade sharp white fangs are peeking out. He looks like some male model doing a horror themed photo shoot. He looks like trouble I could do without, but can’t help wanting.
“Let me bite you,” he whispers.
The words Ultimate Power drift at the back of my consciousness. Two words. Two little words that mean Ethan can never drink from me. At least, I can never allow him to. If he does he might not stop until my weak human heart fails to beat.
“Honey, you can’t,” I whisper back, and my use of affection surprises me. Saddens me. I don’t know if it’s my tone, or my face, or his extra perception, but Ethan’s eyes tilt down in understanding. While not knowing why he understands.
He draws near, presses his face to my throat, and breathes in. “You smell like every summer day I’ll never enjoy,” he speaks into my skin, and the sound vibrates through me.
I know that a single drop of my blood could possibly give him those summer days to enjoy. And I can’t tell whether it’s fear, or selfishness, or simple self-preservation that causes me to withhold this gift. Keeping it secret. After all, how do I know if Ethan even deserves such a gift? How many lives has this beautiful creature ended, if not at least shortened? If my mother went to the trouble of hiding the truth about me then surely it is vital that it remains hidden.
Ethan brushes my messy hair away from my face, and his touch is soft, private, intimate. It makes me want to spill my guts out to him. Tell him all of my secrets and let him decipher the mess. Do what he will with the base facts of my existence.
“I love your black hair,” he breathes, eyes travelling over me, mapping me out, “and your big, bottomless, bright blue eyes.”
I shift beneath him, and a question both strange and completely logical passes my lips. “Would you ever end me?” I ask.
Ethan twists a lock of my hair around one finger. “Never,” he answers, not for one second frowning in confusion over what I have asked him. He gets it. Gets my misgivings. My wariness of his nature, his capabilities. That fact that he doesn’t blather on about “extreme circumstances” or what have you brings forth a sliver of peace in me. Perhaps he really would never kill me for his own benefit, or if push came to shove. If things got messy. Perhaps his admiration for me means he could never bring himself to hurt me, even if the occasion called for it. Or perhaps he’s just an exceptional liar.
“Promise.”
“I promise,” he responds without pause, lifting his hand to his heart.
Then he draws near, and experimentally touches his lips to mine. Gentle at first and then increasingly more urgent. I run my hand down his spine, up again, over his shoulder blades. He pushes my top up, plays with the white lace of my bra. My throat goes all strange and ticklish. Ethan laughs, low and intimate. He unclips my bra, then discards both it and my top, pulling them up over my head with care. He runs his hands over me, fondles with the edge of my pants. Resists lowering them.
In the dark, under the covers, we explore each other with our fingertips. Light and curious. His skin is like hard silk.
“Can I keep you?” he whispers in my ear, holding himself above me, peering down with inky dark blue eyes.
“I’m not worth keeping,” I answer, my words barely audible, a quick defensive smile on my lips.
Ethan grins slowly. “Only a true treasure has no idea of its worth,” he tells me before planting butterfly kisses along the curve of my collarbone.
His hands move about me, probing, exploring. Each touch brings its own tiny explosion of pleasure. I hadn’t realised just how much I wanted this until now. For you can tell the extent of your anticipation from your reaction once the waiting has ended, and I’d be lying if I said I’m not surprised by how much I am falling into this man. This vampire. I never expected this feeling of clean, pure heaven from him. Honestly, I’d anticipated a pleasurable fall into treacherous fiery depths. That’s what monsters like Ethan are supposed to bring, isn’t it? Anything but this. This thing of beauty and warmth and something else.
He’s kissing his way up the inside of my
leg when I pull him up to me, and – experimentally – initiate a soft, unsure kiss. He returns my advance, and presses his lips to mine while laughing gently, the sound goes through me. Marks me.
“You are –” he begins, “nothing like what I expected,” while doing something amazing to me with his fingers. He gets there so quick, I didn’t notice until it was happening. I half gasp, half sigh.
“And,” he continues, “so, so soft. I like that sound, do it again.”
I blush and tense up. Self-conscious of how much he sees me. A thin shaft of grey morning light shines through my open curtains.
“Ah,” says Ethan. “The earth’s rotation does not wish me satisfied,” he exhales gently, his sweet minty breath brushing over my cheek. He pulls back, places a kiss on my forehead, and rises from the bed, grabbing his discarded jeans from the floor.
“You’re leaving?” I ask in a quiet voice.
“I must get home before sunrise,” he answers, and smiles tenderly. “But don’t worry, angel, I’m not finished with you yet,” he sighs, while buttoning up his dark shirt. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be.”
And then he’s gone.
You’d think I wouldn’t have gotten much sleep last night, especially since Ethan left so suddenly. But I actually slept like a log, all the lost hours must have caught up with me. My conscious mind checked out. This was a blessing since I would have spent the minutes and seconds and hours thinking of Ethan’s effect on me. His touch. Taste. I know I’m a complete fool to be falling for this, but I don’t think I care much anymore. I might as well enjoy myself if I’m going to be stuck in this situation either way.
Although perhaps the instantaneous sleep wasn’t so much of a blessing since he occupies my thoughts now, as I’m tying little handwritten brown paper price tags onto some home-made therapeutic bath soaps. Marcel is out as per usual, and Gabriel’s working on the cash register. Right now I’m eavesdropping on a conversation he’s having with a customer, a middle aged woman asking him the difference between Hatha and Ashtanga Yoga, and which book he would recommend buying.