The Night Within Us: Dark Vampire Romance

by Sylvie Grohne

  “Kaya, wake up, goddamn it. What's wrong with you? Come to!” The voice and the scent scratch away at my memory, and I know who they both belong to. I just can't put my finger on it, even though it's right there. Once more I try to free myself from the thick bog that has taken over my brain, and suddenly I see a bottle of whiskey before me. Jack. Jack Daniels. All of a sudden I'm overrun by thoughts and memories, and a quiet, rhythmic sound also finds its way into my awareness. My heartbeat.

  My eyelids only open sluggishly, but they open, and Jack's surprised face appears before my eyes.

  “Kaya.” I can clearly see his relief at my signs of life. “I was just about to get help. What happened, love? Are you okay? Shall I call a doctor?”

  I look at him in confusion, because his familiarity surprises me and also the fact that he's standing here in my bedroom before me. My throat feels sticky and gnarled, and I'm not sure if I'll be able to get a word out until I've had a drink. When I sit up, my gaze falls on my naked torso, and I inhale sharply in shock. I pull the blanket, which is only covering the bottom half of my body, hastily up over my breasts and look at him indignantly.

  “I'm sorry, I was trying to revive you. You had no pulse,” he tries to explain. “Because you didn't call me back, I thought I'd pop in briefly and tell you the news about the exhibition in person. I thought it was funny the front door was open, and I suddenly got the feeling I needed to check if everything was alright. Then I found you lying on the ground here. Without any clothes on.” His hazelnut brown eyes watch me, alert and interested.

  I gesture to the bottle of mineral water on the dresser next to the wine bottle, and he quickly comprehends what I want from him. Without hesitating, he pours water into the wineglass which is still there from last night and hands it to me.

  As I hastily drink, gulp by gulp, I can't get the image of Noah standing there, wings ablaze, out of my head. The sulphur-like smell of burned feathers is still in my nose and causes me to feel slightly nauseous. I have to be careful I don't bring the water back up. Fear for Noah grips my heart like an ice cold hand and makes me tremble.

  “You're shaking.” Jack reaches for my bathrobe, which is hanging up beside the door, and drapes it over my shoulders. “What on earth happened?”

  “I think I fainted when I came out of the bathroom,” I tell him as I try to slip into my bathrobe while protecting myself from view with the blanket, because he's only half-heartedly turning away. After all, I still want to be the one to decide who gets to see my naked body. He might have found me stark naked, but that's no free pass for him.

  The dizziness that overcomes me as I stand makes me sink back onto the bed. Heavens, what is wrong with me this time?

  “Are you sure you don't want me to call a doctor?” Jack sits down beside me and lays a hand on my shoulder, a concerned expression on his face. All my senses immediately center on the spot on my body where his hand is resting. It feels so nice, in such a confusing way, that I don't even want to shake it off and I'm almost inclined to lean on Jack, on my art dealer, who I really hardly know and who seems to trigger absurd feelings in me. I long for someone to comfort and support me, and say things like “It's all going to be okay,” but he's definitely the least suitable candidate. Only at the last second am I able to keep myself from actually leaning on him. Not only because it would be completely inappropriate in so many ways, but also because I'm not sure my second nature won't strike again.

  Once more, I've bitten someone I love. Someone I love more than I can put into words, and yet I was capable of severely injuring him. I can't trust myself anymore.

  “No, no, I'm fine. It's happened once before, I don't need a doctor.” Hey, that wasn't even a lie. Only today everything seems to be different than usual.

  “There's no way I'm leaving you alone like this. Shall I get you a little pick-me-up from the kitchen?” I nod quickly to give him a reason to let me be and also to buy some time.

  When he leaves the room, I reach for my iPhone. It's just after ten o'clock, which means I've been out between four and five hours. Shit. Where could Noah be now, and how is he doing? Has he hidden himself away in a cold room again for protection, or is he in one of the coldest places on earth, like he told me about? Did he even make it to safety without being tracked down by more watchers? What if he's dead and I'm responsible? I should have known it wouldn't work. Damn it, I should have known I couldn't tame the demon within me and my love would have a deadly end.

  The ice cold hand around my heart squeezes again, and I'm having trouble breathing. We thought we had freed ourselves from one curse, but we far underestimated another, which might now be our undoing.

  When I look at the display again, I discover a message from Airas and open it.

  Hey, little one, we've arrived safely and I've seen the most beautiful sunrise in ages. Don't worry about me. Love you! Airas.

  Life has got to be taking the piss, surely. The day my brother is doing noticeably better and we've got cause for celebration is precisely the day I'm living through an absolute nightmare.

  In spite of the dizziness, I force myself to walk the few feet to my dressing room. There I let the bathrobe fall to the ground, put on a bra and shirt and slip into a comfy pair of jeggings. I can forget about freshening up in my bathroom, because when I open the door I'm greeted with thick smoke, so I close it again right away.

  Then I return to my bed. Back to the place I died this morning. Sunbeams fall through the slits in the blinds and light up the ground in thin strips. If I didn't know for certain the drama here a few hours ago really did take place, I would assume it had been one of my nightmares, because everything looks so peaceful and clean, as if nothing ever happened here.

  Stop! What's that? Just next to my feet in the middle of one of the strips of light I discover a gray-white feather. Carefully I get on my knees and lift it up. It shows no sign of being burned and feels incredibly soft. Even before I smell its scent I simply know it is one of Noah's. Anyway, it couldn't be one of the watcher's feathers, because his were black through and through. Suddenly the memory of the figure with the snow white wings comes back into my mind. Was that a watcher too or only a hallucination before I lost consciousness? I quickly lay the feather in the top drawer of my dresser, with the letters from Cassie and all the other items which mean something to me. My mother's necklace, the big, gorgeous mussel from Amrum and the shimmering, multicolor stone from Almería I took with me on the ship back when we left our homeland. Things I still have, even though I've lost so much.

  Suddenly my gaze falls on the smartphone lying next to one of the books. It's Noah's phone. So I can't even try to reach him. Crap, this can't be real.

  The dizziness won't let up, but it doesn't keep me from following Jack into the kitchen. I'd prefer to avoid another encounter in my bedroom.

  Just before the kitchen we almost run into one another, and he skillfully rebalances the coffee cup in his right hand. In the left, he holds a plate with two slices of toast which, as it would seem, probably have strawberry jam on them.

  “Nice to see you're doing better. I could only find strawberry jam. Where shall I put it all?” He raises his eyebrows questioningly and I take the plate of toast from his hand.

  “You're really too kind. We can go into the kitchen. I can get some milk there too, because I hardly ever drink coffee, and when I do then it's basically milk with a bit of coffee. Actually I'm more of a tea drinker,” I tell him and go ahead of him into the kitchen.

  “Don't you want a coffee. . . Jack?” I hope my voice sounds more confident than I'm feeling right now.

  “Sure, I'd love one, but I can just as well get it myself, I know where the cups are by now. You sit down.”

  While I watch him self-assuredly getting another cup from the cupboard and pouring some of the coffee from the coffeemaker in, I jiggle my feet nervously under the table. Maybe I shouldn't even be sitting here, I should be out looking for Noah. Right now he's freezing his arse off in
a cold room somewhere, if he's even alive, just because I hurt him. I lit the flare he always talks about in regard to angel blood. And even if I can't really help him, then at least I'd know he's okay.

  “Are you alright?” Jack sits down beside me with his cup, takes a sip from it and gives me a searching look. The amber brown of his eyes seems much lighter than usual now, and I have to admit he really does look quite attractive. But that alone can't possibly be the reason he has my emotions all over the place. Or am I really such a victim to my hormones? I can no longer deny it, I feel drawn to him and I want to hit myself for feeling this way.

  “Yes, I'm fine. That is, no, not really. I just remembered I have something important to take care of and I really don't have time to spare. I'm very sorry, but could we take a rain check? Right now I can't even concentrate on it. But we'll definitely make it up soon.” Even I can tell how distressed my smile must look, but today I haven't got the energy to put on a show. My paintings and the exhibition suddenly seem so trivial. I can't and won't worry about them today, and I want Jack gone too. He only makes the chaos inside me worse.

  This time too, he takes me kicking him out in his stride.

  “Are you sure I should leave you alone? Shall I perhaps call someone? After all, your heartbeat kept stopping when I found you.”

  “My heart was beating when you found me?” I ask in surprise.

  “Yes, but it kept stopping for long periods. That's why I was trying to revive you, of course. I was afraid it might stop altogether. Maybe you should go see a doctor? Just to be on the safe side?”

  In the space between life and death there is no heartbeat and no breathing either, I know this by now. So I wasn't even dead when he found me? His statement confuses me even more. If I wasn't dead and my heart was beating, then why couldn't I react?

  “I will. I'll go to a doctor. Later. And we'll have our meeting another day too. I'll be in touch,” I promise him and walk him to the front door.

  “I certainly hope so,” he answers and holds his hand out to me, which I take hesitantly. Not unjustifiably either, since the contact intensifies once more that which I don't want to feel. Attraction. Luckily he lets my hand go relatively quickly, turns and leaves.

  “Jack?” When I call him once more he is almost at his car.

  “Yes?” He turns toward me expectantly. His dark-blond hair immediately looks much lighter in the sun.

  “Thanks.”

  “Don't mention it,” he answers, lifts his hand once more to wave goodbye and climbs in.

  32

  Amkaya

  The whole day long I've combed every goddamned cool room in the city for Noah; gained entry into the various companies and buildings with the most outlandish stories and thought manipulation; searched a multitude of cool rooms and whispered his name with lips trembling from the cold. To no avail.

  With a tea to go and some baked goods I return shortly after eight in the evening to a home that for the first time ever feels way too quiet.

  Although I almost completely emptied the cup of tea in the car already, I don't feel at all warmed up, and for a moment I lean against the inside of the front door, exhausted. The uncertainty and fear for Noah are difficult to endure. As are the many other questions and thoughts which wouldn't leave me alone all day. If only I could stop thinking for a moment. The fatigue is bone-deep, but I don't want to sleep in my bed. The memories of what happened this morning are too closely linked to it. I inhale deeply and make my way into the living room, where I switch on the large smart TV on the wall and flop onto the sofa. It feels good to finally be able to take my shoes off, but I leave my jeans and shirt on. Not only because I'm cold, but also because I don't have the energy to take them off. After flicking around a bit, I stick with the film Some Like it Hot, and while Marilyn Monroe tries to distract me in the gangster comedy, I reach into the bakery bag and stuff one muffin after the other into my mouth. I tip the rest of the – by this stage cold – tea down after them and wrap myself up in one of the two woolen blankets lying on the sofa. My attempt to get into the film doesn't really work though. Reality simply won't let go of me. Nor will the cold, which is why I take the second blanket too and reach for a cushion to lay my head on. Curled up in the fetal position I try to escape the thoughts which torment me and go to sleep.

  A loud laugh wakes me, and while I rub my eyes and shake off the haze of sleep, I realize it belongs to the host of the morning show. Yawning, I switch the TV off with the remote, have a good, long stretch and try to chase off the dream of the previous night which is still echoing in my head. Not only the fact that after the catastrophe I still actually dreamed of fantastic sex with Noah makes me feel guilty. No, it's especially because halfway through Noah turned into Jack, and I still continued to enjoy it undeterred. I feel like a traitor. Does my subconscious really have to parade my undeniable attraction to Jack Daniels around in front of me like that? And still no news of Noah. I tug at my hair in irritation and unwrap myself from the blankets.

  It has been a long time since I felt such an urgent need to paint as I do today. I can feel it from the tips of my toes to the roots of my hair, and I make my way up to the studio without even a detour past the kettle. My gaze over to the bridge which, as it so often does, lies amongst clouds of morning mist is only fleeting, because in my head I'm already mixing the colors I need. I can already see the completed painting on the white canvas before me, because I have it perfectly clear in my mind's eye. From a whole line-up of paintbrushes of different shapes and widths I select a medium sized one and start applying several colors to a palette and mixing them together. The first brushstroke is always connected with a very special feeling. Something new is beginning, and I'm as full of wonder and excitement, so close to the emergence of it, as one can possibly be. Maybe authors writing the first sentence in a novel, or musicians playing the first notes of a new song feel the same way. The famous magic which lives within every new beginning.

  My paintbrush fairly flies over the canvas, and I can't even apply the colors as fast as I would like. Every brushstroke, every shade I place precisely where I already saw it in my head. Over and over, I apply colors to the palette in my left hand and mix them together, only to then paint on fervently.

  With the last brushstroke, a mixture of relief and disappointment about being finished descends upon me. To be able to see the picture better, I take a few steps backward, until my back touches the cool stone of the opposite wall. There I sink to the ground, exhausted, and consider the painting.

  It's Noah, and his blue eyes stare at me penetratingly. It is as if I can see his wild and yet gentle nature in them. Dressed only in a towel, he stands before me with his large, imposing wings, and even as a mere likeness in paint I can still barely turn my gaze away from him.

  I pull my iPhone from the pants pocket I had it stuffed in, and get a shock. Not only that I've lost all track of time, since it's already afternoon, but also that I've missed two calls from an anonymous number. Damn it, I must have accidentally set my phone to silent. What if it was Noah?

  And then there's a message from a number I'm not familiar with. I open it:

  I hope you're feeling better. If you need anything – anything at all – don't hesitate to call me.

  Jack

  Where the hell did he get my mobile number?

  My bladder pipes up with an uncomfortably sharp pang. I clamber up and decide to go downstairs. There's no point driving myself even crazier than I already am – before I do anything else I need a shower, fresh clothing and a hot tea. Yes, I especially need the latter quite urgently right now.

  Of course the telephone rings right when the water starts to rain down on me in the shower. With sopping wet hair, I rush over to the hand basin and look at the display. It's another anonymous call.

  “Yes?” My voice sounds fearful, and I can feel how tense I am from the suspense.

  “I miss you.”

  Oh my God, it's really him! His warm voice is lik
e balsam to my soul. Suddenly I'm freed from the pressure that has weighed on me since he disappeared.

  “Noah! God, I'm so happy to hear your voice. Where are you?” I reach out with one arm for my bathrobe and pull it on somewhat awkwardly.

  “Geographically, not really near you. But in spirit I am.” I can hear him smile.

  “Your wings. . .” I blurt out.

  “They're healing. Don't worry, you'll have me back soon, good as new.”

  “But when? When will you be with me again? I miss you.” More than words can even say, I add in my mind and feel the longing tugging painfully within me.

  “You know full well I'll be back as fast as I possibly can. I'd love to swap my icy accommodation for our warm bed.”

  “Don't tell me you're in Siberia?”

  “Okay, I won't tell you, but the Indigirka River where I put out my wings is really damn cold.”

  “You're actually in Siberia?” I immediately picture him freezing in the middle of a bare, icy wilderness, a layer of ice forming over his skin and wings. Once more he has to suffer because of me. Damn it, it's all my fault.

  “I wish you had taken me with you, and I was with you now.”

  “Don't misunderstand me, angel – I really would love you to be with me now, but I'm glad you're not. This is no place for you. I wouldn't have taken you even if you were already dead and it had been possible. It's safer for you where you are now.”