It was the first time a man had ever made love to me. Not savage sex, not the animalistic punishment I had received from Julian nightly. He made slow, sensual, languorous love to me. Gliding, sliding, whispers and caresses and kisses. The man stole my breath and my heart with his careful attentions.
I couldn’t get enough of him, and he couldn’t stop giving it to me. He had the stamina of a bull. A perfect pet.
After a time he simply held me, stroking my back with his strong warm hands.
“So you like that, do you?” He spoke with a lazy smile as he stroked my hair from my face. “Can’t say as I have any complaints either.” His heart beat strong against my breasts. “Sure would be nice to know who you are, or even what you are.”
I smiled and bared my teeth to show him the truth.
“Perhaps it’s better I do not know.” He had that fear in his aura again.
How can such a man fear anything? He was so formidable, so strong.
“Yes. Let us pretend you are just my woman, and I will be your man. I think I like that game.”
I popped my hips to dig in, still impaled. He grabbed me and rolled us over, settling his weight and cock firmly. And I bit him again. He was a fountain of blood on my lips. Could I ever drain a man so large?
He made love to me as if I was the only person on the planet, as if there were no tomorrow. And I knew he was the one, my perfect pet.
* * * *
I became part of his life as he became all of mine. He liked to talk, and I liked to listen.
“The stupid Nazis drove me from my land. I killed three of them. But I knew they would send more. I had to leave. All my cattle, horses, my crops in the field. It was the second season of the year.” He whittled away at a piece of wood with a knife as he spoke.
“Connards.” I shook my head in disgust. I regained my speech little by little, one word answers, then two and three words at a time.
“They are gone now, I should return to my farm. It is still mine. I would take you with me.”
The Germans had been driven back farther east, and the countryside settled into peaceful silence as the bombs and tanks chased them towards their own land.
I grabbed his arm, shaking my head no. Civilization would not suit us. We needed our privacy. I wanted to take him to Paris, but this place was better for us, for me. The peace and tranquility of my life with Arnaud affected a balm to my tortured soul.
“You are right, of course. No one would understand what we have.”
He read me so easily, our connection had sunk deep. I felt him always, his need for me. He had an ever-present desire for my bite. No matter how many times I bit him, he wanted more. It was becoming a problem through the daylight hours.
“Mon amie, I need your help. I cannot take it anymore. The pain is too much for me.” He reached out to caress my cheek, his finger slipping into my mouth to touch my fangs. “I need this while you sleep.”
I had no idea what to do for him.
“Look at me, a full grown man, descended from Vikings. No man can stand against the strength of these hands, and yet you bring me low, woman.”
He brushed his pale blond curls out of his light blue eyes. A direct descendent of the Viking bloodlines in Norway, he had moved south to France to take advantage of the extra farming season. A man of the land. He had been surviving off the woods and stealing what he could from the local villages for the entire four years of the occupation.
A true Viking raider in the flesh. I loved him with all my heart, but I hurt him daily.
He withdrew a syringe from his leather pouch by the fire. He had stolen it the night before from the nurse’s station. He pointed at my teeth. “It hurts too much when you sleep. Please help me.”
I glared at him, wondering what he had in mind.
“I need your venom.” He held my jaw in his hand, squeezing the gums, a look of concentration on his face.
I batted his hand away and growled. “Non!” I did not know what he wanted, and I didn’t like it.
“Please, ma chérie, I beg you to help me.”
Then I understood, and I knew I could do it. Only for him would I do it. I snatched the cup off the table and unhinged my jaw, opening wide, my teeth fully extended. I held the cup there under my teeth, catching my venom as it dripped down.
He shuddered to watch me. He preferred to live with a certain amount of denial. He loved me as a woman and didn’t like to think of the monster beneath my skin. When I accumulated enough, he drew it into the syringe and set it aside for the next day.
“Merci beaucoup, mon amie. You have saved my life.”
I couldn’t bear to look at him. I did not save him, I simply prolonged his condition. In three weeks he had already lost thirty or more pounds.
* * * *
Over two months passed as we lived our secluded, quiet country life, oblivious to the ravages of war sweeping across Europe. Arnaud had lost almost a hundred pounds. His flesh hung slack on his massive frame. His eyes had a sunken bruised look. The fierce light of the Viking warrior had dimmed to a spark in his pale blue eyes.
I no longer played wrestling games with him. I had become his nurse instead, tending him as his body wasted away before my eyes. He aged years in days, his bright blond hair taking on a greyish pallor to match his sickly skin color.
He knew his fate, as did I.
“Mon amie, I cannot do this anymore. You have to end it.”
I shook my head. “Non! I will not! Non!”
I feared descending back into the darkness of grief and feral madness I lived with before he came along. I needed him for every moment he could give. His power of personality and endless good cheer mended the broken pieces of my life. I was selfish.
“You don’t know what it’s like! So much death. I cannot stand to be alone again.” I railed against him, and he held me tight with arms so weak he could barely move.
“You have given me happiness few men have ever known. But it’s over now. Gift me this last request. Give me an honorable death. Let me die in your arms as a man. If you love me you will do this!”
I ran from him, out into the night. I considered the coward’s way, to leave now. If I left him he might survive. I knew his need would be great, and it could kill him, but if I stopped feeding from him he might live. I couldn’t stand to leave him, and I knew he would follow me. If he had to crawl all the way to Paris, he would follow me.
Not even Julian was so cruel. He always killed the bloodslaves before they deteriorated to this point.
I roamed for a time, thinking the unthinkable. I could feed Arnaud my blood as Julian had done with me. I could make him what I was. But what right did I have to pass on Julian’s wicked disease to a kind soul like Arnaud? I would lose him just the same, and in his stead gain a monster.
Père had been fond of the saying, “The blood will tell.” And it was true. I recalled a line Tante Agnes quoted to me from the Bible, Leviticus 17:11, “For the life of the flesh is in the blood ... for it is the blood that makes atonement for the soul.”
No atonement in my blood. Mine was the wicked blood of Julian Gautier.
I steeled myself to do what I must. I returned to my lover. “I will do it.”
I removed my only dress that he had stolen for me weeks before. I stripped his clothes and bathed him in water warmed from the fire.
I made slow, sensual love to this wonderful man who had stolen my heart and returned my sanity in exchange. And then I drained him of every last drop and he died in my embrace, smiling.
* * * *
I could not stay in the countryside.
The villages I encountered on my way to Paris were mottled with freshly dug graves, still reeling from the devastation. We were free again, but at what terrible cost.
I found Paris in much the same condition as I left it. The fighting had been minimal there. Various factions of the résistance had coordinated with labor union strikes to cripple the Germans at the critical moment.
&
nbsp; I soon gravitated back to the dark alleys and streets of the endless Paris nightlife. Sliding from party to party, I tried to attend balls and other social events. But I had to avoid the upper class elite, they all knew each other, and some of them had met me years before. I learned to stay out of the limelight. Brothels and bars met my needs perfectly, anonymously.
I practiced my ‘petit apéritif,’ taking only a small sip, a short momentary feeding from several donors a night. I returned to the role of escort and prostitute out of necessity. These brief liaisons helped assuage the loneliness, helped me pass the nights with a smile. But I never connected with the men. I never met the same man more than twice.
I returned to the mansion to find my father’s will named me as the sole heir to the massive house and his accounts. I could not bear to stay at the mansion for long. I lived in simple apartments, occasionally a hotel. I liked to live with a view of the river to remind me of those golden years with Agnes in the loft.
I had no relationships apart from the law firm that managed my father’s estate, my inheritance. I had little use for the money. Men would give me anything I wanted. Wealthy men offered their entire fortunes if I would stay with them. But I did not.
The law firm changed employees, partners died, were replaced, the firm was bought and sold twice over, and then incorporated as a banking and trust entity. They maintained my accounts and holdings throughout the years. The corporate faces changed so frequently that no one realized this beautiful twenty-six year old woman was forty-fifty-sixty years old on paper.
I feared someone would notice eventually. I arranged for my own death. Michelle de Mornac died, and her grand-daughter carrying the same namesake inherited her wealth and the mansion. It was relatively easy to pay off the right officials for the paperwork. France has always had a healthy supply of corrupt bureaucrats.
I lived a safe, comfortable, simple but lonely life. I refused to make more monsters like me. I feared creating another Julian. I conveniently remained solitary, unattached to the world around me.
My simple, unfettered existence changed drastically two months ago on that fateful night I met Aaron Pilan. I threw all caution to the wind, and took a chance on Aaron. I saved a life, for the first time ever.
Me, the monster, I saved his life.
And now I had a wonderful lover, friend and companion to show for it. No regrets, so far.
* * * *
Chapter 17
Aaron reeled his mind away from Michelle, withdrawing back into himself. He took a minute or so to reorient. He had existed in her mind and body, experienced her memories firsthand. Their joining had been the most intimate experience of his life, two minds sharing one body.
As he remembered himself, his identity, Michelle’s gruesome history hit him like a slap to the face. The bloodslaves, the Germans, the French cops, she had murdered them all. Cut them to pieces.
Hundreds.
She killed them a dozen at a time, a blood-thirsty feral creature.
Her soul held a dark and wicked stain from those years of murder. This was not the Michelle he fell in love with. This was not the Michelle he met on the streets of New York. This creature sitting beside him, holding his hands, was a monster.
A killer extraordinaire.
Serial killers could not begin to compare to Michelle’s reign of death.
“Oh. My. God.” He backed away from her quickly. “All those people. You killed all those people.”
“La guerre, c'est l'enfer.” War is hell. She could hardly look him in the eyes. “I had not learned control. Julian did not have any control. I was what he made me.”
Aaron shook his head, trying to dislodge the horrible memories. A useless exercise. The mind, stretched to new dimensions by images, thoughts, and ideas, can never return to its former shape.
“Seventy years, Aaron.” She stood up and advanced on him, bravely holding his accusing gaze. “I have changed. I learned to respect life.”
As she stepped towards him, he backed away. “You didn’t have to kill Arnaud. You didn’t have to kill those bloodslaves. All they needed was a blood transfusion, some medical care, a nurse or doctor, some food. Most of them were starving!”
She shook her head, her eyes willing him to understand, to forgive. “I learned control. I have never taken another bloodslave. This is why I forbid you to do it.”
“Liar. You enjoyed it. You reveled in the carnage. I was there, and I know how you felt.”
“I am sorry. You were not ready for this.”
“I was ready for the truth, but you’re not. The bloodslaves died because you didn’t give a shit, didn’t know any better. With a little care and caution, and medical treatment, I could have as many bloodslaves as I can handle.” He pointed a finger of righteous indignation. “I am nothing like you. And I refuse to live this lonely half-life because of your foolish superstitions.”
“You would take bloodslaves and watch them die, like Anastasia?”
“Bullshit! She died from that trigger-happy asshole Colombian! I didn’t kill her!”
“You would have. Only a matter of time. They are cattle, there can be no life with them.” Her hands shook as she reached for him, beseeching him to see reason.
“Oh that’s just great. Now you’re quoting that fucking psycho Julian? He really fucked your head up. You still can’t admit the truth after all these years? They died because you killed them.” He stabbed his finger at her, sinking home the accusation. “You refuse to have more bloodslaves, because you refuse to face the fact you murdered Lucas and Arnaud and all those other women. It’s a self-serving superstition based in denial. Michelle, if you had taken care of them, they would have lived to a ripe old age, and happy. Lucas would be eighty-something years old. He loved you. They all loved you. And you gave them only death.”
“Non!” She lashed out at him, lethal claws slicing through the air as he danced back out of her reach. “Tu es plein de merde.”
“I’m full of shit? You’re the one always talking about control. You know damn well we can feed from three to four donors a night, and it doesn’t hurt them in the least.”
“And what would happen if we did this to the same people every night? They would die!”
He finally took her hands, to still their lethal flexing. “Michelle, you’re wrong. You’ve been in denial for so long you can’t see the truth. We don’t have to live alone. Medical science, nutrition science, it’s all so advanced now. We can keep a group of people completely healthy. There are all kinds of supplements now, protein shakes. Shit! We could afford a full time nurse to take care of them.”
He became intoxicated with all the possibilities. He imagined a harem. Michelle’s massive mansion could easily house five to ten beautiful women. They could be friends, lovers, companions, a family of sorts. He pictured women like Cécile and Anastasia at his side, just like it was in Vegas.
His fantasy bled through his psychic bond to Michelle and her eyes darkened with hatred. “You would do the same as Julian? You want to fuck and abuse the women like Julian?” She started growling, a low threatening rumble.
“Non! I will not permit it! You cannot hurt the women! No more bloodslaves! You do as I command!”
Her words flowed in the unmistakable timbre of compulsion, enslaving his will to hers. Her murderous gaze raked him up and down, as if he were a piece of meat to slice and dice like she had so many others.
“Does it help to cancel out the old wounds, Michelle, knowing that you can force me to dance to your tune?” He drove his spear of truth painfully deep.
She hissed in menace.
“Do it, Michelle. Do it while you’re angry enough to justify it.” He lifted his chin and let his hands fall to his sides, palms up in submission, wide open for the killing blow. “Go ahead, kill me now. Do us both a favor. I don’t want to live for decades alone, hiding from the world. If you can’t see reason, then just do it. I know you’ve thought about it several times.”
H
er hands flexed, razor claws itching to give him what he asked for. Seconds ticked by as she considered him. Something of her distress slipped past his indignant wall of anger. Her hands clenched, her face contorted in a mask of confusion and anguish. Before he could pull back from his avalanche of accusatory judgment, she turned on her heel and marched out of the room.
He let her go. The front door slammed. The sound echoed through the empty mansion.
“Shit!” He’d been so caught up in the adrenaline rush of her poignant memories, he’d gone too far. She needed time to come to grips with some hard truths. “Fuck!”
He wanted to smack himself. He probably deserved a good ass-whooping from her. He had let his passion and temper run free. He had mocked her, called her names. She didn’t deserve his scorn or condescension. She had confided the deepest, darkest secrets of her soul, and he spat in her face for it.
“Aaron, you are so stupid.” Alone in Paris, an hour before sunrise, and he didn’t know how to get back to their hotel. “What are the odds of finding a cab at this hour? Idiot!”
He headed downstairs, hoping to find a basement or some room sealed against the coming sunrise. After a little exploration he found what he expected, a room in the basement without windows. Small details showed evidence Michelle had stayed there at times. Her perfume lingered on the bedding and some of her clothes hung in the closet.
He lay down on the bed, savoring the scent of her perfume, wishing he could take back his hateful words to the woman he still loved, despite the dark corners of her soul.
* * * *
Michelle arrived at the Hilton minutes before sunrise, wondering if Aaron would be there waiting for her with his accusations. She remembered very clearly the judgment in his eyes, the condemnation and disgust on his face.
She had shown him things he was not ready to see. He didn’t understand the true nature of this life. And his words had cut her to the bone.
The Nightlife: Paris (The Nightlife Series) Page 11