The Night Within Us: Dark Vampire Romance

by Sylvie Grohne

  “The young man is an AD. He only has a few days left,” he explains. “With their winnings they might still be able to have a nice time.”

  I gulp. The idea of what it would be like to only have a few days left with Noah forces its way into my head and I immediately banish it from my thoughts again, because it's way too painful. We've got time. Loads of time. Who would have thought I'd end up being so grateful for my immortality? I certainly never could have imagined it.

  “Let's drink to having loads of time ahead of us for our burdensome lives,” I say and raise my pina colada. The glasses clink gently as we toast.

  “You're definitely my favorite burden,” he says smirking, and I can see myself in his shining eyes.

  We walk back to the hotel hand in hand, finding interesting things and people around us all the way to attract our attention.

  “Wait,” Noah tells me as I make to cross the street and pull him with me.

  I turn to him in surprise. “What's wrong? We said we were going back to the hotel,” I say. The pressure of his hand increases and the look he gives me makes me nervous. Suddenly I'm overcome with a funny feeling. It's the type of tension you feel when you know something is about to happen.

  “I hate to be in someone's debt. I owe you a wedding dress. Let me make that up to you now, let's go inside.” He gestures to the little, white chapel only a few feet away on the left hand side. The tension in me evaporates. Now I'm sure he's joking and I start laughing.

  “You lunatic,” I giggle, a little tipsy, and give him a bit of a prod in the chest, but the tense earnestness in his face doesn't go away and my laughter fades. Could it be, he really means it? I clear my throat to make sure my voice obeys me. “Did you just ask me to marry you?”

  “Oh, yes, right – I forgot something.” He slaps his forehead theatrically and fishes a white ribbon from his pocket, which has a silver diamond ring hanging from it. He takes my hand, turns it palm up and lays the ring carefully inside. Next to it, he draws the infinity sign with his forefinger. It tickles. A sideways eight, which also glints to the left and right of the diamond in countless tiny stones. He looks up and his eyes meet mine.

  “I. . . I don't know what to say. . .” I stutter, still in disbelief, heart racing way too fast.

  “No problem, a nod will do.” A fleeting smile flickers across his expectant face and makes his charming dimples visible again for a brief moment.

  I only notice I'm nodding when his eyes start beaming and he wraps his arms around me. Maybe my heart made my body speak for it, even before my head had the chance to think it over.

  “Hallelujah! Cash or credit?” the pastor of the white wedding chapel greets us and, after quickly running the credit card through his card reader, leads us into one of the side rooms of the chapel.

  “Here are the dress, bridal lingerie, and shoes you gave us to look after, Mr. Sandman,” he says, turning to Noah. Then he smiles at me and says, “My wife Rosie would be happy to help you dress. Just let her know when you need her.” The plump, dark haired woman standing behind him nods in agreement.

  “Thank you,” I answer, “but could you give us a moment?”

  “Of course,” says Rosie kindly. “I'll be next door if you need me.” They both leave the room.

  “You chose a dress for me?” My hands gently stroke the champagne-colored, pure silk material, whose quality I immediately recognize. “What if I had said no?”

  “You didn't say no.”

  “And what if I didn't like the dress?”

  “Don't you like it?”

  “I do. I like it a lot,” I admit and cast another glance at the immaculate dress. “I just never thought I'd wear a wedding dress.”

  “Believe me, it was beyond the limits of my imagination that I would ever buy one.”

  “And why did you do it? Why do you want us to get married?”

  “Well, to start with I've developed a little weakness for weddings since Four Weddings and a Funeral. Secondly, I know that you are and always will be the only one for me, and thirdly – we're in Vegas!”

  The second point on his list is responsible for me biting my lower lip fondly and smiling in probably quite a blissful way. “Your third argument sounds convincing.”

  “That was my joke.” He flashes me his dimples.

  “Okay then, I'll kick you out now and get dressed. Looking at all the buttons on the back, I doubt I'll manage it without Rosie's help.”

  “I'll send her in. But first you have to give me the ring back for the ceremony.”

  I slip it off and lay it on his open palm. He kisses me tenderly on the forehead and leaves the room.

  “You look stunning,” Rosie gushes once I finally have the delicate lingerie and the wedding dress on, and all 60 silk buttons on the back are done up. I'm delighted with my reflection too. The dress sits perfectly. The long skirt falls in soft folds and has a train over six feet long. The ivory bodice is slightly padded at the hips and tight at the waist, reminiscent of Victorian times. The décolleté, shoulders and arms are decorated in fine lace with an exquisite flower motif.

  I have to smile as I slide the blue, elastic garter up over my leg to my thigh. I like the idea that he even picked out this intimate detail for me. I like it a lot.

  Finally I slip on the bridal shoes, which Noah thought of too, and turn back and forth in front of the mirror. I really do look as if I've stepped straight out of a fairy tale.

  Rosie attaches a veil to my head, which goes all the way down to my behind. I notice once more how little danger there is now for the people who get close to me.

  “Your fiancé's eyes are going to pop out of his head,” she says, tugging on the dress a little more, then places a wedding bouquet of white roses in my hands. She looks at me with satisfaction and presses her palms together before her ample bosom as if in prayer, while I feel the excitement rising within me.

  “I'll take your purse into the ceremony room for you if you like,” says Rosie, and I nod. “Would you like me to have your clothes sent over to your hotel tomorrow morning?” Rosie apparently thinks of everything.

  “That would be fabulous. Thanks,” I answer her.

  When I step inside the wedding chapel Noah's eyebrows rise as he catches sight of me, and the moved expression on his face touches me deeply. I notice with surprise that the speakers are playing the song I heard a few hours earlier in the car. 'Larger Than Life'. That can't be a coincidence and I realize he had this all planned before we even arrived in Vegas.

  “Seems like we've got ourselves a song,” I whisper as I stand close by him. He gives me a conspiratorial wink. The music stops and the pastor appears behind the altar. A photographer also steps up to us and takes photos.

  “Simply leave out the bits about God and all that jazz, like we discussed. Only ask us the important questions.” Noah gestures to the slip of paper the pastor has in his hand.

  He clears his throat now and puts on his glasses. “Okay, then let us begin: Do you, Noah Elyas Sandman, take Amkaya Álvarez to be your lawfully wedded wife, to love and to cherish till death do you part. . . and even beyond?”

  “I do.” Noah's voice is soft but adamant at once, just like his gaze, and I feel myself trembling with excitement.

  “Now present her with the ring as a symbol of your love and devotion.”

  He takes one of the two rings from the satin cushion Rosie is holding out to us, and with a deep look in my eyes, slips it on my right ring finger.

  Now the pastor turns to me.

  “Do you, Amkaya Álvarez, take Noah Elyas Sandman to be your lawfully wedded husband, to love and to cherish till death do you part. . . and even beyond?”

  I gulp, fearful my voice will fail me.

  “I do,” the words pass my lips, sincere and certain in spite of my fear.

  “Now present him with the ring as a symbol of your love and devotion.”

  I take the other ring from the cushion and am about to slip it onto Noah's ring fing
er, but I drop it from sheer nerves and it falls to the ground. Noah calmly picks it up and gives it back to me. The second attempt is successful and I exhale in relief.

  “I now pronounce you husband and wife, forever united by a love eternal and undying. You may now kiss the bride.”

  Noah's lips are warm and his hands which rest upon my shoulders are too.

  “Congratulations!” The pastor and his wife shake our hands. “May I point out once more that this wedding ceremony is of no legal consequence. This is a commitment ceremony, as there is no marriage license. So I won't be able to provide a marriage certificate.”

  “We don't need a certificate,” says Noah and pulls me with him, out of the chapel and into the night. Rosie only just manages to pass me my purse at the last minute. The quiet rustling of the dress and the train as they glide over the floor accompanies us back along the strip.

  “Hey, watch where you're going,” the drunken man in an Elvis costume we just about ran into yells at us, slurring his words. “Inconsiderate lowlifes!”

  The look Noah gives me makes it clear this man is an AD, and I start to giggle. “We can't kill Elvis,” I whisper in his ear.

  “Yeah, go on, make fun of me,” the drunk shouts and staggers on out of town.

  “He's already as good as dead anyway.” Noah watches him go.

  “Are you hungry?” I ask him and he looks at me.

  “Only a little.”

  “Don't worry, I know this bride, she's so hot for you dressed up in your fine suit, I can guarantee you won't go hungry tonight.”

  “Are you trying to drop me a hint? You don't like me as much in jeans and leather as you do in this suit?”

  “Oh, no, you look fabulous in them too. But this is just. . . something different.” I laugh and he pulls me into his arms.

  “Aha, so you like variety,” he says in an amused tone. “Apropos hunger – since we're making confessions, then I have something I need to say to you too,” he murmurs in my ear.

  “And that would be?”

  “I'm afraid, tonight I'm going to be insatiable. I'm having sex with my wife for the first time.” The slight flutter between my legs proves that his words are not without effect.

  “What a coincidence. I'm going to bed with my husband for the first time tonight too.”

  “There's no such thing as coincidence, my angel.”

  In the elevator of the hotel the sizzling tension between us is already almost unbearable. When we reach the 51st floor and hop out, he lifts me up without warning and carries me along the corridor to our room.

  “The key is in my pants pocket,” he grins. I fish it out and open the door. He makes a point of carrying me over the threshold and only lets me back down once he is standing in front of our bed.

  “Cake?” He gestures to the little, lavishly decorated, white layer cake with pink Japanese cherry blossoms which rests on the table.

  “So you even thought of that,” I grin and I'm impressed with his well-organized 'Operation Wedding'. “If it tastes as good as it looks, then it must be delicious.”

  “Do you want a piece?”

  “Later,” I tell him and gaze into his eyes. I still can't believe we got married. Noah is my husband now. We may not have a legally binding document, but I can sense that our vows were no meaningless lark. It was and is real and meaningful for both of us.

  “You are truly the most beautiful woman in the world to me, Amy, but in that dress you drive me out of my mind. I have to fight the urge to tear it off your body, because I don't want to spoil the pleasure I'm going to take in leisurely opening every single one of the buttons and unpacking you.” The hoarse voice betrays his desire. Heat surges up inside me, creeping over my cheeks and increasing the irresistible need to surrender to the weakness tugging within me.

  “I'd enjoy either option.”

  His blue eyes flash and right then the phone rings in my purse. We freeze and look at one another in hesitation.

  “You should get it,” Noah suggests, in spite of his unhappy expression.

  “I can call back later,” I tell him and push my bag off the bed.

  “You realize that 'later' could potentially be a lot later? Maybe you should answer it. It doesn't ring often.”

  He's right. Grumbling a bit, I rummage around in my purse for my cell phone and find it. It's Wilson.

  “Miss Álvarez, I'm sorry to disturb you, but it's urgent.” It's not only his words but also his voice, which is unusually high for him, which tell me something is wrong.

  “What's the matter, Wilson? Did something happen?”

  “It's about your brother. I had to promise him not to say anything to you, but now he hasn't been in touch for several days, so I thought it best I let you know.”

  “Let me know about what?”

  “Your brother has been having problems for a while now, but he asked me not to tell you because he didn't want to worry you.”

  “What kind of problems?”

  “He didn't want to go into the details, but it was to do with his self-control. The jobs on the East Coast were only a pretext so he could be alone and get the problem in hand. I had to promise him not to tell you about his situation. In return he promised to call me daily. But now I haven't heard from him for three days and I can't reach him anywhere.”

  “Where did he call you from last?”

  “New York.”

  “Got it,” I murmur, although I'm not sure if I really get what has happened at all. My own blood is whooshing in my ears, rising to a dull roar.

  “I'm afraid I wasn't able to find out which hotel he is in, but my bags are packed and ready. Shall I fly to New York and look for him?”

  “No,” I decide, following my gut. “You hold the fort and let me know if you hear anything from Airas. I'll look for him.” I hang up, depressed, and look into Noah's questioning eyes.

  “I'm sorry honey, but I have to go to New York. As soon as I can. Airas is in trouble. I have to find him and. . . I. . .” I have difficulty going on, because I'm nauseous. I seem to be about to have a panic attack.

  “First, take a few deep breaths,” Noah interrupts me and lays his hand soothingly on my upper arm. I slowly exhale and start counting my breaths. By the third one I'm already much more calm and collected.

  “We'll make up this night another time, my angel. For now, you need to book a seat on the next flight to New York.”

  “And you? Will you come?” I ask, surprised.

  “No, I'll need to feed soon, so I wouldn't like to be stuck on a plane. Especially not with you. I'll take you to the airport and follow after as soon as I can.”

  “I know a way we could travel together.” I begin to unbutton his shirt seductively, but he stops me and I flop back onto the bed. “We didn't even get the chance to try out this cool bed. If we did, we'd be able to satisfy your hunger at the same time, and then you could beam us to New York together. Then—”

  “. . . it would be the first step toward making something wonderful into something purposeful,” he interrupts me. “Besides, it's too dangerous.”

  I reach for the hand he holds out to me and he tugs me up into his arms. “We can't allow anything to spoil the special feeling I get, without fail, every time we make love. I don't want to lose that. Anyway, you yourself know how unpredictable the length of time you're away is and I'm not taking any risks. Not tonight and not in the future either. Can we agree to that?”

  I nod, and feel both ashamed of myself and happy about the fact he feels that way.

  28

  Amkaya

  The blustery wind in Central Park is already sweeping the first bright leaves through the air, making them dance before my eyes. I breathe in the crisp September air of New York City as my gaze roams around, searching. I have to find him. I simply have to find him.

  During the time I was travelling all across North America with Noah, I thought about Airas far too seldom and lost sight of him, something for which I'm reproaching myse
lf now and also harboring fury toward Wilson. Regardless of what my brother told him to do, if he knew what was wrong with Airas the whole time he should have told me. In hindsight I realize why Wilson began acting strange weeks ago. And while I sensed something was up, I suppressed the feeling. Damn it, why didn't I listen to my gut feeling?

  Although the wind is tugging at my hair more and more violently, I unfold the current edition of the New York Times and stare at the headline.

  Gruesomely Butchered Corpse Found in Central Park

  Going by what is written in the article and what Wilson has told me, I'm afraid it really is Airas who triggered this headline. Two pages on, they're also lamenting the unusually high number of missing persons in the past few weeks. That could easily be chalked up to him too. A thought which I don't want to admit could be true, which I want to shake off, like a dog does the fleas that bite him. But I can't get it out of my head. Airas of all people has lost control and killed so many? Why? What happened? And why did Airas only confide in Wilson and not me? Wilson's phone call pulled me brutally back down from the clouds I was floating on. But who could have guessed my brother would lapse into killer mode while I was having the time of my life?

  Still lost in thought, I stuff the newspaper into the trash can next to the park bench and set off home to the townhouse hotel on the Upper West Side I checked in to a few hours ago, which is only ten minutes away from Central Park.

  I urgently need some sleep, because I can barely concentrate anymore and yet I absolutely have to keep a clear head. How else am I supposed to find Airas in the pandemonium which is New York? But the five hour flight here, the time difference and the many hours spent wandering around looking for him have used up almost all my energy.

  Just before I reach the hotel steps, a dog howls at the sight of me and, panic-stricken, tries to pull its owner in the opposite direction, tail between its legs.

  “What's the matter? What is it, Oscar?” the man on the other end of the leash asks his four-legged friend, clearly confused, but the dog won't calm down. Only once I've made it up the eleven steps to the townhouse hotel and slowly disappeared behind the front door will Oscar be convinced to follow his owner again.