Killing Kiss

by Sam Stone

  ‘So you isolate yourself? Don’t get involved? Is that what you’re saying?’

  How strange that I am having this conversation with her, so similar to the one I had with Lucrezia all those years ago but with one major difference - I will never desert my creation.

  ‘I dip in and out of lives. Share them for a while and move on. Lilly, you don’t want to sit back and watch people you love die around you. Isn’t it better to remember them at their best?’

  Her eyes are discs of frosted glass. ‘My parents ...’

  ‘You have to say goodbye to everyone.’

  ‘What am I to do?’

  I feel her fear. It is like a closed coffin with limited air. Suffocating. She gasps, unable to breathe as the panic rises in her chest. Clearly she still does not understand how she will live without these comfort zones. I at least can relieve her burden with the practicalities.

  ‘There really is nothing to be afraid of. I’ll take care of you.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘When you’ve been around as long as I have you learn to accumulate money through investments. These days I let stock brokers do it for me, it attracts less attention. What I’m saying is - you’ll want for nothing.’

  ‘You misogynistic bastard! What the hell gives you the impression that I would let you “take care of me”?’

  She stamps about the room, a red faced angry child. It is so endearing.

  ‘How dare you come into my life and just change everything. I never asked for this. You’ve made me into some ...’

  ‘Monster?’ I fold my arms, leaning back on the wall.

  I watch her coldly. This is an old and tired argument. No one knows it better than I.

  ‘Yes. That’s one way of putting it.’

  ‘That’s the only way of “putting it” and I’ve tortured myself for years, looking for any other way of looking at it. I didn’t have anyone willing to “take care” of me,’ I spit. ‘I had to find my own way, so don’t come all high and “feminist” mighty with me, Lilly! I was around when the first woman burnt her bra and even then someone else had done it first.’

  She stares at me. ‘Don’t treat me like a child. You don’t own me.’

  ‘I don’t want to. This isn’t how things were meant to go.’

  She picks up her glass, swigs down the sharp liquid inside.

  ‘In that case, you shouldn’t have picked me to be a life-long companion without consulting me. What is it with you? One shag and you think I belong to you?’

  I say nothing. My heart is like yesterday’s pasta. I feel my colour drain away as she turns her angry eyes on me.

  ‘What was with the Carolyn shit? Were you trying to make me jealous? As I recall I helped you two get together.’

  ‘I thought I wanted her,’ I say lamely, my own anger dispersing.

  I don’t want to go down this road, it will only lead to one place and that will displease Lilly even more.

  ‘Oh.’ She stops. Her eyes fall on the cabinet and the lockets; her skin looks sickly. ‘Carolyn was ... a meal, wasn’t she?’

  I don’t reply. I hope she’ll leave it now. Her anger deflates in a sudden rush. She looks tired and strained. It’s been a hard night for her and she hasn’t yet addressed the death of the drug addict.

  ‘I’m sorry. I guess in your world, you’ve bestowed something of an honour on me.’

  ‘Making others is a rarity,’ I agree.

  ‘I want to live as you do, Gabriele,’ Ysabelle said quietly.

  ‘You don’t know what you ask.’

  Twelve months had passed since the night I had dispatched the braves and taken her and the children under my protection. Now Ysabelle begged me. How could I refuse?

  ‘Every day you grow more beautiful. At first there were fine lines around your eyes, like any man your age should have ... but they fade, Gabriele, and your skin grows smooth and youthful.’

  I had observed the changes but thought little of them as I recalled how perfect and ageless Lucrezia had been. Ysabelle was not a beauty and I wondered if she had ever been more than youthful and innocent when we first met. She saw herself aging and she wanted youth again. Like most mortals, she was terror stricken at the thought of deterioration through age, while all this time I grew stronger and younger as if to taunt her. Ysabelle did not know how difficult my life was. For the most part it was little more than an annoyance, but the changes brought with them the onslaught of a terrible hunger. As the months drew on, the need grew until some nights my stomach knotted and cramped and I lay doubled up in my four-poster bed in crazed agony. Or I stalked around my room, tearing at my clothes, a hellish fever raging. However, I could always hold out until morning, and with the dawn came some temporary relief from the torment. This was the way I lived, hoping always that I would never again be reduced to drinking blood. Hoping it was possible to abstain.

  ‘I want to live forever, Gabriele. I want to be ...’ More.

  ‘Ysabelle, I think you are lovely as you are. I ... don’t think I can give you what you ask.’

  ‘I have appreciated all you’ve done for the children and I asked for nothing for myself ...’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘But I do want this.’

  I fell silent, pondering. I did not know what to say for a while, unaware that my silence gave her hope. I raised my head and gazed at her through my lashes. She looked at me anxiously; her eyes bright and shining with expectation and my heart fell into my bowels.

  ‘I don’t really know how this happened,’ I lie, trying to let her down lightly. ‘I don’t know how to give you this one thing.’

  My hands formed into a prayer position.

  ‘I see.’ Her head bowed and sadness pulled at the corners of her lips.

  ‘Please be happy. I will give you anything else. You will want for nothing your whole life, Ysabelle. This I can promise.’

  ‘You have been more than generous.’

  ‘Then let this go,’ I pleaded.

  But she couldn’t. Her haunted face hounded me. I felt her warm heart harden and grow more distant and angry with every passing day.

  ‘You don’t think I am worthy,’ she yelled a few days later, ripping the lilac dragon dress to shreds in a fit of temper.

  I saw then the first sign of human insanity, born of a lust for immortality. Her anger pierced me deeper than the sharpest stiletto ever a brave could wield. I was afraid for her. I loved my children and I had developed a certain fondness for Ysabelle that was more about friendship than love. I began to realise that someday soon I would have to slip away from their lives or else risk driving Ysabelle completely mad; but the thought of leaving them, losing my children so soon after discovering them, was enough to send me into the deepest depression. Though I hid it with rage.

  ‘Ysabelle!’ I shouted, gripping her hands. ‘Stop this insanity.’

  I had never raised my voice to her and she stopped. Her face was blurred with shock.

  ‘I cannot do this!’ I panted. ‘And if you persist in your pursuit of this insane request ... I shall have to leave. Believe me ...if I knew how, if I could be sure ...’

  ‘I’m sorry ...’ She ran from the room.

  For a few days I frequently found Ysabelle crying. Her sorrow was an axe that cleaved my heart. Our life had changed and this new relationship lacked the trust and tenderness that had grown over the past year. She grew quieter, more distant. I began to believe that we would never again recapture affection; that my family life was some hopeless dream that I had allowed myself. It became apparent that I might never be able to live as a mortal man again. It was the first time I realised that sharing my life with mortals could only lead to pain.

  Ysabelle was not the same and our familiarity had become detachment, but our world began to
settle once more into something that resembled quiet domesticity. Her anger was replaced by remoteness but I was grateful for the recession of Ysabelle’s demands and as weeks ebbed into months she began to accept the finality of my answer.

  A vulnerable contentment returned to the house and I allowed myself to regain some of the previous happiness I’d had as I watched my children thrive. Then I received a letter from my Uncle Giulio.

  ‘Gabriele, I implore you to return as soon as possible. Your darling mother was taken from us suddenly. I would have written sooner but in the beginning it only appeared to be a mild ailment ...’

  I was consumed with remorse. I had not seen my mother in over ten years. I knew that my uncle had always taken care of her but, as her only son, I should have at least taken the children to see her. I had fathered children illegitimately. Mother would not have approved, but it would have given her pleasure to meet them nonetheless. She had frequently asked me in her letters when would I marry and would I ever give her grandchildren. Regret at never having told her tortured my nights.

  And now, despite my uncle’s plea, I couldn’t return to Florence. I was too afraid that they would realise I had changed, that I was, as Lucrezia had said, evil. I should have returned home before grief and stress, coupled with the hunger, began to effect my judgement and I made the most hideous mistake I could ever make.

  One evening, soon after receiving the news, I arrived home from singing in the salon of the Countess Montesquieu. It was almost midnight. I was exhausted; miserable and wracked with remorse. I had left the party as soon as possible because I found it increasingly difficult to avoid a certain lady well known for her sexual prowess.

  I undressed alone, sending my valet away, and collapsed exhausted onto to my bed. It was a cool evening but I lay naked as the lust coursed through my body like a malarian fever. The balcony windows were open overlooking the canal. The moon shone bright and full like an exclusive and perfect pearl in a black ocean. The Luna beam found me, falling across my face and chest like the caressing fingers of a lover. A cool breeze wafted in as I tossed and turned; rabid and demented. My thoughts were full of my youth and the loving care of my mother.

  My fevered brain vaguely registered the muddy outline on the balcony. I felt rather than saw the heated gaze that fell on my bare torso. Ysabelle entered. She wore a simple white robe, reminiscent of the one she wore in Madame Fontenot’s. Her black hair was loose, like a black satin shawl over her shoulders; it shone in the moonlight, clean and fresh.

  My head was thick and woolly as I watched, paralysed. She crawled across the bed towards me, her calloused hands, rough and obsessive, explored my naked chest while her finger tips excited my nipples. Her lips found mine; her mouth was lavender and her small pointy tongue swept my lips as though I was sugar on top of sweetmeats imported from Syria. I took her in my arms, my hands engulfing her boyish waist. I pulled her to me, eating her lips; devouring her tongue. She shuddered under my touch, allowing the robe to fall open, and my mouth found her breast. Goose flesh sprung up as the cooling night air caressed her bare skin. Her body burned, the fever burst from my skin into hers and she whimpered softly as my hands parted her legs, explored the soft velvety flesh between.

  ‘Gabriele ...’

  She gasped as I explored her, her head tossing from side to side on the pillow as my lips traced downwards to meet that sensual point that my fingers teased. The touch of my tongue brought her off the bed, her back arched up to me in response.

  Aching, I slid back up her body, stretching out above her, my own body so hard and erect; I was so desperate for human contact that I never considered the consequences. As I penetrated her, her body curved to meet me. My teeth stretched and grew as an extension of my sexuality. The pain in my jaw increased the pleasure and I licked her throat until she squirmed, rolling her hips faster into me.

  ‘Oh ...’

  Her skin grew hotter, her blood pumped faster through her swollen veins. I fed on her desire as she bent into me, swooning with feminine angst, until her heart pounded against her ribs; almost as though it would burst through her flesh into mine. My jaw ached, the fangs pulled at my gums with a life of their own. She turned her head, offered her neck as though it were a flavoursome morsel. What harm could it do? Just one small taste; the hunger cried to be fed. I rubbed my cheek into the veiny flesh, whining like a puppy whose milk is withheld.

  Torture, though delicious. Her blood sang a soothing lullaby and my heart thumped in rhythm with the melody.

  ‘Take me,’ she sighed even though I already possessed her as any man could acquire a woman.

  In response my teeth ripped into her. Clumsy. Greedy. I tore at her skin like a dying man eating his last meal. Her blood gushed, a potent cascade, bursting up into my waiting mouth. My powerful arms were unsatisfied until they crushed her diminishing body closer and my gluttonous jaws gulped up her last drop. Her life evaporated and I satisfied my lust little knowing that I had destroyed the mother of my children along with any hope of living a normal life. As the newfound power pumped strength into my limbs, I lolled on the sheets beside her; a lazy satisfaction sucking me into a dreamless sleep.

  Chapter 19

  A black satin push-up bra lies side by side with a small pile of colourful thongs in the top drawer of the old, battered chest of drawers in Lilly’s room. Girl’s boxers, marvellous, so like French knickers but much more fitted and petite - I can almost imagine her in them. I am bedazzled by her underwear ...

  ‘Hey! Clear off.’

  She pushes me aside. Scooping into the drawer she grabs her clothing and hugs them to her chest with irritation rather than embarrassment. She turns to the single bed dropping the pile on top in plain sight and I lean back against the wall to watch. She lifts up the two holdalls that lie open and packs them meticulously.

  ‘It’s nothing I haven’t seen before ...’

  ‘Why did you have to come? Did you think I’d run away or something?’

  Yes.

  ‘No.’

  She tuts. It echoes around the semi-empty room.

  ‘I thought you would need some help with these heavy bags.’

  I open another drawer. Hold-up stockings; a miracle of modern invention. ‘Mmmm ...’

  ‘Stop it!’

  She tosses the stockings quickly into the bag, all sign of tidiness disappearing as she pulls the zip closed. It judders like a train stalling on the track. I reach for the bags but she slaps my hands away.

  ‘I don’t need your help. I’m female, not disabled.’

  Irritably she thrusts past me, her hand reaching for the brass door handle. ‘I’m not happy,’ she continues.

  ‘So you’ve said.’

  ‘And ... I hope you realise, although I’m coming with you, I’m sleeping in the spare room.’

  I keep my face still and blank, even though I am disappointed. I had hoped for some more mutual sexual release. Lilly’s raised eyebrows dare me to argue. Am I so easy to read these days?

  She turns the door handle, pulling in one liquid movement. Her delicate fingers transfer traces of the heat from her skin, which evaporates, outside edges first, leaving a faint misty stain that mesmerises me until the last blotch disappears.

  As the door swings open I tear my eyes away from the condensation as it finally disperses and I find Carolyn with her hand frozen, fist clenched in the air, exactly where the white painted door had been.

  ‘Jay? What’s going on?’

  Her gaze flutters between us. Her slender face is pinched. Carolyn knows, but doesn’t believe.

  Lilly is silent, her face a closed book. I can’t tell what she is thinking nor do I try to speculate. Even though her eyes seem to say, ‘you started this ... finish it!’

  ‘Lilly and I are getting married,’ I say coldly. ‘We’re leaving.’

 
‘M ... m ... m ... married?’ Her voice is falsetto.

  Everything is in slow motion. Carolyn reaches out, her fingers grabbing for Lilly’s luscious blonde hair, but Lilly easily sidesteps as the sharp nails rake the air where moments before her face had been. Caught off balance Carolyn tumbles forward and I catch her before she falls into the open doorway.

  Her eyes are autumn.

  ‘I d ... d ... don’t understand. What’s happened?’

  Her touch pours liquid fever into my skin, where it dies. The lust no longer recognises her. Not even in the sexual sense. The Game is over and my prey has escaped unscathed. I’m not sure how to feel.

  ‘I don’t love you,’ I tell her softly, honestly. Over her head I catch a glimpse of some raw longing burning in the ebony pinpricks in the middle of Lilly’s gaze, before she blinks and the moment is lost.

  ‘You’ve lied to me ...’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  Carolyn sobs, pushing away from me, and I let her go. I know she will run straight into the arms, and bed, of the ever-amorous Steve. I predict a life for them. Even marriage. Perhaps happiness may feature somewhere in there. Although my romantic soul knows better ... Mortals rarely are ever satisfied with the simplicity of their humanity.

  ‘We should go,’ Lilly says softly.

  I nod.

  ‘Jay, I thought at first ... you were cruel, but in the end ...’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘You did the right thing.’

  Subtle as the burn of a sea breeze, something has changed between us. Lilly thinks I did something right; things are looking up.

  ‘I love you,’ I tell her.

  ‘No you don’t. You want to shag me again. That’s all. And ... we’re alike now.’

  ‘All true. Any chance?’

  ‘None at all.’

  She smiles, holding out one of her bags to me but her eyes are serious.

  ‘So now you’re disabled as well as being female?’ I laugh.

  Her hand brushes mine as I take the holdall and it is like liquid nitrogen has been poured over my fingers. Yet it is hot. There is an awkward silence. I step closer to her.