Out of My Grave

by Stephanie O'Hanlon

  I gave him a little smile. “Something tells me you do not care whether you make it into Heaven or not.”

  He smirked as he walked to the end of the dining table. “I suppose not.”

  He wore the usual aristocratic clothing, though he wasn’t wearing his frock coat—very relaxed, very informal. I suddenly felt overdressed.

  He had his dark blue satin waistcoat with swirling, bold gilded brocade designs over the top of his blouse. His neck cloth tucked under the knot neatly and the collar popped up stiffly and covering his neck, grazing against his defined jaw line. There was something about the way he wore the blouse, the way it hung off of his shoulders. The sleeves drooped romantically and puffed out until they tightened around his wrists.

  His breeches were the same color as his waistcoat, a dark blue, but solid, his stockings as white as any other as the buckles on his shoes caught the firelight. He looked just like any other gentleman.

  He approached me slowly, stopped in front of me, and held out the glass.

  I kept eye contact as I reached out my hand, taking the glass gently from him.

  He turned and dismissed the servants, putting out his hand to guide me over to the table where a lone place setting lay out at the end of it.

  I looked at it warily. “You do not think it will be a bit awkward? You watching me dine?”

  My eyes moved from the table over to the spot where he stood, but when my feeble human eyes reached it, he was no longer there. My eyes went back to the table where he sat at the opposite end, motioning to the end place setting once again.

  The chairs at the table were thin, the backs of them stretching up quite a way and covered with deep, blood-red velvet. It made the room seem higher classed, but again very much like an old fortress.

  I bit my bottom lip as I walked over and sat down, one of his servants rushing in and helping me in my seat, taking my glass from me and setting it down on the table. I turned and thanked the servant for helping me before he rushed out of the room again. I knew that Vincent and I would dine alone…another lie for my father and Bess, but it was unavoidable. I needed to talk to Vincent.

  I glanced around the room, I will admit, happily. It was only within the confines of my mind I had imagined such alone time with Vincent. We had our brief conversations, they were always out in the open where people could listen and there was no sense of privacy. Now we could talk openly about anything and everything we wanted to. He could tell me all the things I wanted to know. I needed to know.

  My eyes came back to him. He sat leaning against the side of the chair, his elbow supporting him on the arm of it and his thumb supporting his chin. His fingers curled in front of his mouth and rested against his nose. He sat and stared at me, shooting daggers almost, as if I had angered him. I quickly dropped my eyes to the floor, my excitement following.

  We sat silently while I ate, his eyes continuing to stare at me menacingly. I wasn’t frightened he would hurt me—I was actually frightened he was angered with me and wouldn’t want to see me again. I suppose my concerns were foolish. After all, he had told me he was a dangerous creature, with all seriousness.

  When I finished my meal, his servants took away the plates and disappeared once more. I finally spoke up. “So is this it? You invited me here to sit and watch me dine?”

  He sat silently for a moment before his voice rose softly. “No. You can…you can go now.”

  My brow furrowed, watching as his body turned so he could stare into the fireplace, which he was doing with quite a bit of intensity.

  “What? I can leave?” I asked, confused. I sighed angrily. “What was the bloody point of me coming here then?”

  “There is no point,” he said, shaking his head, as he kept his eyes on the fire. His voice rose again, very softly, bewildered. “You make it so easy, Annalee. No wonder I had to constantly watch.”

  My brow creased in confusion. “Make what easy? What the hell is going on?”

  He stood up abruptly, the chair slamming back into the wall behind him and startling me. “Why do you think I invited you here? I invited you here so I could kill you! So I could feed on you and be done with it!”

  I kept still, staring up at him.

  “What? Did you think I invited you here because I wanted company? Ha!” he scoffed, turning to the fireplace. “I have been alone for over one hundred years. I am able to sit in this empty home quite the same now as I did before.”

  I stood up, heated. “If you want to kill me, kill me! Here I stand!”

  “You don’t think that is what I have been trying to do?” He quickly turned back to the dining table, standing by his chair, his hand resting on the back of it. “It is so easy to seduce you, Annalee. It is in everything about you. You crave how different I am from those around you, from other men. I can see it in the way you stare after me, the way you look at me.”

  Shock parted my lips. I walked a few steps towards the fire, before I turned towards him. “And if I do? What does it matter?”

  I could see he was thinking, his hands gripping on the chair harshly, the wood creaking from the stress. “In your bedchamber, you just sat and stared, you just…looked.”

  “My bedchamber?” I squeaked lightly. I felt my heart freeze. He had been in my room! I wasn’t hallucinating!

  His grip tightened around the chair, creaking violently. “It is a different look than the others. You do not have the same look in your eyes. I can see it.”

  My eyes left him for a moment but suddenly he was nearly beside me, only a few strides away from me. He walked closer to me, his eyes constantly sweeping over me. His voice came out soft and listless. “Do you want this body? Is it my face that concerns you?”

  I studied his face, examining his features, the dark brown hair sweeping down his neck until it was pulled back and held with a satin black ribbon at the nape. I met and held his piercing green eyes for a moment before allowing my gaze to touch his flawless skin. I could only imagine really touching it and how soft it could possibly be.

  His voice broke my trance. “See. Even now all you are doing is admiring my features. You are imagining touching me, my skin grazing up against yours, thoughts of a sexual nature.”

  He turned away from me, back towards the table. I was unsure if his thoughts were to convince me, or perhaps himself that I was not really of interest.

  I felt my skin blush pink, my embarrassment rushing over me. “What do you expect? You are beautiful. You are flawless, perfection! For a mere mortal it is impossible to ignore! Now, why were you in my house, in my bedchamber?”

  He turned towards me, almost smiling. “I followed you about. As you said before, you interested me.” He then seemed angered again, shaking his head. “Then I learned you constantly need attention, always getting yourself into trouble.” His gaze met back with mine again. “But it is only my body that entrances you? There is nothing else? What about my voice? No doubt you sit in the darkness of your rooms hearing it echo off your ears and whisper sweet nothings across the way, or else you would not have thought I was a hallucination both times I was right in front of your eyes.”

  “And if I do? Is that some sort of crime? To want someone, to feel desire! And no, it is not just your face or your voice that often entrances me. It is everything…absolutely everything. It is not just your voice, but the thoughts that are carried out by it, when you are not shrouded in silence and shooting daggers at me.” I pointed to the dining table before I turned away from him. “You make it absolutely impossible for me to want to look away from you. I am sorry if I am weak-willed and succumb to my feelings of desire.”

  I tried to make my back like a wall, separating us, staring into the fire as I turned directly away from him. I wouldn’t have known he was standing behind me if I hadn’t had that familiar feeling of someone watching me closely. My eyes moved to the side, seeing him out of the corner of my eye staring at my hair and his hand reaching for my elbow, his fingernails glistening in the light.


  I couldn’t hear him breathing or even the rustling of clothing. He was very close, closer than he had ever been to me before, especially to my bare skin, my sleeves cut off midway down my arms and shaped like a large bell with the lace surrounding it. I couldn’t feel his breath on my neck, though his lips were inches away from my hair.

  “You are trying to say you see something beyond my physical presence but you do not see the monster within me?”

  I noticed then his voice was never gentle. But, it had a texture to it, being either soft of rough. When he was trying to be charming as he did at the masked ball it could be like satin or possibly silk, soft, irresistible. When he got upset like he was at this moment it was like velvet, rough, but still irresistible, and soft if rubbed the right way.

  I shook my head. “No. Even at the very moment I realized last night you were the fiend who took those young girls lives, I never thought you a monster. I still don’t think you a monster.”

  Angered, he walked across the room to the table again before he turned to me. “But I am a monster. I have done those things. I kill. I like killing. I love it. I love the feeling of my teeth sinking into that soft supple skin and the blood pouring into my body, feeling the life slowly flowing out of their bodies and into mine! The feeling is something you could not even begin to understand! I will continue to kill. I am a killer—it is in my nature. What makes you think you would be safe in my arms? That is why I invited you here! That is why I began to watch you! Even now I am looking over you and I have a hunger to consume you. I could easily be over beside you, sink my teeth in and you would not know what was happening, even when your heart slowed and you hit the floor.” With his last words, he turned to the chair beside him and kicked it violently before he turned to the wall.

  “So what stops you?” I turned to him, his words not paining me, but still concerning me. I thought I knew all his secrets, but I was wrong. What a mystery he was in my eyes.

  He put his hands on either side of his head, ripping at his ears angrily, frustrated. “I don’t know! You have no idea the ache, the want I feel! It is like I suddenly have a conscience and what is worse, when I feed upon others I sit there unhappy with the fact it is not your blood running down my throat, but at the same time that thought comforts me. You have no idea my frustration! Especially that night at the theatre.”

  I sighed and bit my lip, my eyes cast to the floor. There were many things I wanted to say. I wanted to tell him I understood the feeling, I understood wanting someone. I knew he would turn to me and say I didn’t.

  His preternatural desire to consume me was far different from my mortal want for him to touch me and be with me. He had a thirst, an appetite, an animalistic nature he was more in touch with because of his state, because he was not technically human. I was nothing but a mere mortal, unaware of my animalistic tendencies. I had never been in touch with them.

  I looked up to suddenly see him beside me, looking me over.

  “Why do you do that?” His eyes were on my lips and continued to stare, seemingly fascinated by them.

  My eyes went to his as I shook my head. “Do what?”

  “You bite your bottom lip. You do it often. Why? You do it while you read, while you are in thought, while you listen to people,” he said softly, his eyes never leaving my lips.

  I looked around as my mouth scrunched to the side.

  He smiled lightly. “And that…you do that also.”

  I couldn’t help smiling. “I don’t know, I just do. Certain things are habit I suppose, I just do them. I am not even aware I do.”

  I glanced to my hands and then over to his, watching as the fire danced off of his white skin. I had an urge to touch his hand, to feel it. I wondered if it was warm or cold, if he had a heat or an icy chill.

  He stepped away from me. “You are doing it again. Lusting after me.”

  I felt my skin flush again, the word ‘lust’ making me feel as if I had sinned. I stroked my cheek, trying to calm my blush. “I’m sorry! I cannot help it!” I felt myself growing in frustration, turning away from him, my hand not leaving my cheek. I felt a twinge of anger build in me as a realized something. “You know you do the same. Lust after me. You said you wanted my blood, wanted to consume me.”

  “Annalee, it is a very different type of lust.” He looked at me from the corner of his eye.

  I walked up to him. “So, you are telling me you feel no physical desires? You never look at mortals as anything other than a meal? You never think about how beautiful a woman is, you never look her body over and feel a desire to touch her?”

  His voice rose in anger. “No! Not…not until you! You drive me mad! I do not understand anything anymore and it is making me ill. All I can think about is touching you, caressing your skin, kissing you. But it angers me, because the more I think of these things, there are no feelings of hunger, only feelings of endearment.”

  I stared at him. He thought about me as I did of him and it was driving him to the point of madness, just as it was driving me! I felt happiness wash over me, a sigh of relief my feelings were returned, even though it was in the oddest of ways.

  He looked up, over to me. “This pleases you?” He was confused, as if he couldn’t understand.

  I smirked a little. “Yes. It really does. Why do you not understand me? Why do you not understand mortals? You were not always a vampire. You were human once.”

  I was suddenly confused—he didn’t seem to understand anything about me, anything about human emotions.

  “I try to keep myself separate from mortals,” he said softly. “Being immortal, you experience things differently, you see everything differently. So a touch, is not just simply that, it is not just a touch. You feel everything, the warmth of blood rushing through veins, the skin pulsing, hair moving, all things you would never realize if you had the senses of a mortal man. It is almost painful, everything being so loud, so constant. It is also an intimate thing.”

  He went silent, the silence echoing off the walls and booming loudly in my ears. My eyes were only to the floor awkwardly for a moment until suddenly he was beside me again, looking me over.

  “Tell me how you want me to touch you.”

  Shocked I looked up to him, my eyes wide. “You what?”

  His voice went velvety, soft yet with that rough texture. “Tell me how you want me to lay my hands on you.”

  I had several flashes in my mind of fantasies I had of him laying his hands on me, my eyes wide. They were all romantic ways, brushing my cheek, perhaps stroking my arm, running his fingers through my hair. Then other fantasies flashed before me, still romantic but a little more…inappropriate. I swallowed hard, each one seeming to speed up and make my skin grow hot and flush.

  They were not the thoughts a young lady should be thinking.

  I peered into his eyes, and then down to his cheekbones, down to his mouth where my eyes paused to stare. I could only imagine how soft his lips were. They pouted slightly, covering his sharp fangs that were always present but no one noticed. Even I hadn’t noticed until that moment. I didn’t even care about the fangs. All I could think about were his lips.

  He kept his eyes on mine, though my own were preoccupied elsewhere. His voice went even lower, even more velvety. It smoothed over my ears and made me shiver, as if his lips had brushed up against my neck. “How do you want me to touch you?”

  I tilted my head, my heart speeding up as I slowly leaned into him. My lips were so close to his, only a moment or two away when my hands began to shake violently, my heart pounding in my ears. Suddenly a gust of wind burst through the window, extinguishing the candle sitting on the small table, the flowers knocking over.

  He didn’t look over towards the candle—he kept his eyes fixed on mine as he stepped away from me slowly. “You should get home. It is late.”

  He stepped over towards the window, looking out it, watching the curtain fly about not taking notice of the mess at his feet.

  My eyes fluttered aro
und the room, dazed, until I shook my head. “No, I want you to—I mean, why?”

  He kept his back to me, his head falling back, his neck craning slightly. “Annalee, I am not only a dangerous creature, I am a confused dangerous creature. I have never encountered this before and…as much as I want to hurt you I don’t…want to hurt you.”

  He turned towards me, looking me over. In the blink of an eye he was beside me looking me over once again.

  “Now, you are going home.”

  He led me into the foyer where his servants brought me my cloak, which I put on my shoulders, fixing the clasp at the neck of it.

  I longed for him to grab my hand, make some physical contact. I wanted him to walk me to the carriage, his hand on the small of my back and his body up against my own. I could see these things before my eyes, yet all he did was extend his arm, guiding me in the direction I should go, stopping short in the foyer.

  He took a deep breath, letting it out. “I apologize for my behavior tonight. I do not want you to think I do not enjoy your company. In fact, do you enjoy the symphony?”

  I nodded. “Yes, I do.”

  “Good. I have tickets to Haydn’s. Would you like to join me tomorrow night?” His voice seemed more composed then earlier.

  I smiled, nodding. “I would love that.”

  “We can have a late dinner here, at my home afterwards.” He nodded, his eyes going to my hand.

  I knew he wanted to be polite, do as all gentlemen would and kiss the back of my hand, just as he had in town, bowing to me and wishing me a good evening.

  I lowered my voice, stepping closer to him. “You do not have to be formal. A promise of seeing each other tomorrow is enough for me.”

  He looked into my eyes, staring in silence. “You have no idea the things I want to do to you, Annalee.” His voice was low. In a way, I thought it should have frightened me.

  I whispered to him, “I suppose ripping my throat out is one of them.”

  He shook his head. “No. I want to make love to you, which can be just as dangerous.”