William

by Claire Cray

  Luckily, and unluckily, Merrick finally pulled his lips away from mine. "So help me, William," he said huskily, holding me tightly by the waist, "I want to be done with this at once so I can have you to myself.

  "Is that so?" I asked, a bit breathlessly, and a bit hopefully. It wasn't only his kiss that had aroused my lips and tongue. My entire mouth was singing with the craven desire to bite something, and I knew exactly what that something was. I found my eyes drawn to certain lovely features in particular—the high angle of his cheekbone, smooth and healthy, the delectable curve of his chin—and frustrated by his high collar, which prevented me from looking at his throat. The scent of his blood was fueling these new and impatient persuasions, but even that was not precisely what I craved. Instead I thought of the students on the balcony; if only they were here now!

  The thought was startling, but even more startling was the extent to which it aroused my desire for the man who held me against him now. My thirst and my lust chased each other round and round, and I was not sure where the line was between them. It felt rather like a snake going after its own tail.

  Without thinking I gripped the back of his neck and pulled his face to mine again, sealing my lips to the scrumptious edge of his jaw, hooking my thumb beneath that blasted collar to pull it down and taste what I could uncover of his throat. Desire rolled through me like a tide rising in a storm, and the proof was growing rapidly between my legs. Once upon a time, before I accepted my cravings for this inscrutable, beautiful man, I had been embarrassed of such displays. Now the stiffening itself was a pleasure in its own right, another example of my newly heightened senses, and I could not resist the instinct to rock my hips against him just to revel in the pressure.

  Merrick exhaled roughly, his hands tightening on my back, and his lips started to form my name. Sensing the possibility of a protest, I cut him off with a kiss. Devil take me, when had I ever approached him with such brazen aggression? Even that thought was thrilling—this was becoming ridiculous! My passion was so monstrous it was consuming every random thought and turning it into fuel. So be it, by God, as long as the object of said passion was here in my hands. I slanted my mouth over his again and again, ravenous, determined; he plunged his fingers into my hair, groaning softly into my mouth as his tongue danced with mine. Gradually I was out kissed, yielding to his skillful lips with my own pleasured moan. I had just reached for the waist of his trousers when I tasted his blood.

  Thirst. Thirst. It blinded me for an instant, and I made to bite down again before his hand tightened in my hair and pulled me back, causing me to gasp so sharply it seemed to ring out all through the Common.

  Merrick's lip was bleeding, but it was plain to see he wanted no apology. In his coppery eyes I saw my own fever reflected, and when he ducked his head to take several deep breaths, I knew he was fighting to regain his self-control. I, on the other hand, gripped the edges of his waistcoat to pull him close again.

  "No," Merrick said roughly, holding me back by the shoulders now. "Not yet. Not now."

  My teeth were practically chanting—primal, wordless demands that rendered me completely speechless. I made a sound of protest when he removed my hands from his vest, but he squeezed them and bid me to look into his eyes. I found them hot and gleaming and dark with intent.

  "Hold, William." His tone was thick with desire. "We must drink first. Your thirst has come on more suddenly than I expected." Seeing my gaze drop down to the ruby smudge glistening on his lower lip, he cleared it away with his tongue. That certainly didn't help to settle my senses. I closed my eyes and took a breath, collecting myself with great difficulty and a measure of thoughtless irritation. All I wanted was to strip him bare and devour him under the elm trees—was that so much to ask?

  "All right," I whispered at last, and cleared my throat. "All right. Certainly." I went back over his words, slowly grasping their meaning. Drink first. "Right."

  "We're going to visit some neighbors now."

  "Yes," I said, my frenzy of lust gradually giving way to dazed understanding. "Right." I ran my hands through my hair, puffing my cheeks and blowing out another breath. "Very good."

  A soft laugh escaped Merrick's lips and he moved as though to kiss me again, but thought better of it and settled for a peck to my cheek. "Come. The night’s only just begun."

  "Sorry," I said, trying to remember more words as he took my arm to steer us away from the little hillock. "If I hurt your lip."

  "It doesn't hurt at all." His hand tightened pleasantly on my arm for a moment. "Quite the contrary."

  "That's very good," I whispered, schooling my eyes on the path ahead.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The wind picked up as we walked down the hillock and around the edge of the pond, riffling the leaves of the elms and tousling my hair like a gentle phantom. I looked up at the dark canopy of limbs above us. After a few minutes my senses had calmed down, but there were stranger feelings yet. There were feelings of absence, a sense of rooms within me that had been cleared and swept, and which were now being painted a different hue.

  Blast it, I thought to myself as I studied the swaying boughs. Theo was right. I looked down at my own hands, as if the lines of my palms could spell an explanation for the strange sensation that had by now reached every last inch of me, sparkling, dark, ominous and thrilling. "Merrick," I said uncertainly.

  "It's all right, William." When I glanced at him, he met my gaze with a knowing look. "It's all right," he said again. "You need not explain a thing. You’re thirsty, and so am I. We're going to see to it."

  I swallowed and nodded. After so much beating around the bush, his straightforward proposal pleased me greatly, as did the old confidence in his tone, which I had been longing to hear more consistently for months. Still, the prospect! I was feeling increasingly snug in the grip of an anticipation and a need that I could not justify, and yet knew I would not resist. Thank heavens he seemed prepared now to lead me in this endeavor, for I was not certain I could think through the steps on my own without paralyzing myself.

  We stepped onto a pathway beaten through the dark green, and presently I saw it, perfectly obvious for what it was: the Great Elm, and just beyond it the gallows. Both were cast in vivid silvery blues and grays, the permanent moonlight by which I would see for the rest of my vampire life. I looked for only a moment before I turned my eyes ahead again, winding my arm around Merrick's.

  I leaned against him as we walked, relishing every intimate moment possible before we would step back out of the Common and into public again. He walked purposefully, as he damned well should, for I had no idea where we were going or what we were to do, apart from the most basic understanding. Yes, we were going to drink, which meant we were going to kill. And, yes, I had ideas about what it would be like—fantasies, really, sudden dreams that rose like wisps of smoke from the new instinct within me. I had a feeling of what it would be like to sink my teeth into a naked throat. I had total certainty that it I would revel in the act. And I had only the barest, most distant fragments of my previous reluctance to kill.

  My lack of apprehension was, paradoxically, the only thing that now made me nervous. And it made me quite nervous, indeed, this lack of nervousness. I kept circling my own mind in search of familiar ground, and finding none I would think, To Hell with it; but then, still feeling restless, I would circle again. There was nothing else to do about it. I had an iron grip on his hand by the time we reached the edge of the Common, and only when I had to, I let him go.

  Just a short walk from the downtown crossing was a small, dark house set back from the road by a rather unkempt garden. Merrick touched the small of my back as we approached the gate and leaned in to murmur, "Two thieves have lived here for weeks. I had word sent earlier that we would be by to purchase a number of their goods."

  I blinked at him, my attention sharpening. The lesson had begun, then. We walked up the path and stepped into the crooked stone portico, but before Merrick could lift the knocker,
I caught his arm. "What shall I do?"

  Merrick looked at me fondly. "Try to behave as my apprentice, William."

  Taking comfort in his calm eyes, I mustered a smile. "Yes, sir."

  Returning my smile, he reached over to adjust the end of my cravat, a simple gesture that sparked a rally in my heart. And then, after giving me one more reassuring look, he knocked on the door.

  There was silence. After a moment, Merrick knocked again. At last we heard some movement from within the house, and a man barked from behind the door, "Who’s there?"

  "’Tis Charles," Merrick replied, not deigning to raise his voice. "I sent word earlier that I would be by with my appraiser."

  Charles, hmm? Better than Benjamin, certainly. And I was to play the appraiser? I could handle that. I straightened my jacket, catching Merrick's eye with a smirk. He answered with an amused look, although he seemed rather more serious by the moment.

  After another minute of scuffling, the door swung open and the man behind it hurriedly welcomed us inside. Just as quickly he began to prattle—it so happened that he was an Englishman—and in a tone much more welcoming than the one we'd heard from the portico. No wonder! Although Merrick did not spell it out in embroidered suits and foppish accessories, he had the distinct aura of a man with money. Or perhaps it was an aura of power? Either way, it was more than enough to impress the so-called thief.

  "Mr. Charles, of course!" the man exclaimed, extending his hand and shaking Merrick's vigorously. He looked to be in his early thirties, shorter than both of us, but sturdily built. Though adequately dressed in buckskins, waistcoat and jacket, there was a roughness about him; his garb was carelessly fitted, for one, and he was somewhat unshaven. Bordering on the beau-nasty, I thought, though he was actually not unattractive. He had a full head of thick, sandy hair, and a clean complexion with rather handsome wrinkles near his eyes and mouth. And his collar was loose—he wore no cravat.

  I tilted my head a little, giving the last point a bit of extra attention. It was generally a fashion peeve of mine, but now, on the contrary, it was quite an exciting look. The shirt fell away from his neck in the most careless way, and what a lovely part of the body to reveal. They should all be exposed, I decided, my teeth tingling. Perhaps it was high time to start a trend. Starting tomorrow I might wear my own collar loose, to lead by example. Ah, what a fortune to have met this rogue. How inspiring. My eyes tracked him as he moved about the room, clearing a stack of papers off a worn-out damask chair for Merrick.

  "Pardon the mess, sir, I do apologize. There's been a good deal of in and out this week. We don't usually do our business on site, you know, and our girl ran off last week."

  Merrick declined the chair with a gentle wave of his hand. "There's no need to apologize. Mr. Aimes, is it? Or are you Mr. McNeal?"

  "Aimes. John Aimes. McNeal's just stepped out to fetch a bit of supper."

  I looked away from him at last to scan the room, which was hardly fit to be called a parlor. It was a modest home to begin with, and the whole place was dark and cluttered with all sorts of objects strewn about every which way. Stacks of crates had been shoved carelessly about, buckling the carpet, which was littered with bits of packing straw. The mantle was crowded with empty candlesticks, goblets and vases, and the chairs were piled with indiscernible jumbles of copper, bronze, and silver.

  Even the most hopeless idiot would recognize the place as a thieves' den. How delightful, I thought with some surprise, glancing at Merrick. Who would have thought my proper, gentlemanly master would escort me on an adventure to a criminal hideaway?

  "I see." Merrick glanced my way. "I had hoped to appraise the item Mr. McNeal has just acquired. When do you expect him back?"

  "Oh," Aimes sucked in his breath regretfully, "The man can dally, I hate to say. A half-hour, an hour, who knows? But he did set that book aside for you earlier when we got word of your interest, and I'll be happy to do your business. Let me get it for you."

  I managed not to roll my eyes. Of course his partner was absent. He would have slipped out the back as soon as we knocked, the better to try and rob us when we'd left. It always amused me to be underestimated by scoundrels who didn't bother to look through my speech and dress. I was a dandy, yes, but a dandy born and bred on the New York waterfront. I was no mark.

  But then, who was I kidding now? Damned if Merrick wasn't the biggest bully trap of all. Not that he gave the appearance of weakness, nor that he was effeminate in the slightest. Hardly! But there was no hint of violence in his demeanor. His gentle manner and calm voice made as much an impression as his figure. One would never imagine the gentleman was a murderer.

  Even I could not fathom the idea of my dignified companion taking a life. Even now, having known for nearly a year that he was a vampire, I could not picture it. During all the months I'd suffered the thought of myself becoming a killer, I had not been able to wrap my mind around the fact that Merrick already was one. Even knowing fully well that he killed human beings to sustain himself, that he had done it countless times, that he had done it for centuries.

  Even tonight, seemingly moments away from witnessing the act, I could not conjure a single expectation of what I was to behold. How the Devil would it happen?

  John Aimes was off in another room in the rear of the house, and as he rummaged loudly about, Merrick gestured for me to sit on a wooden stool near the fireplace at his side. I obeyed silently, and when he ran his hand slowly through my hair and moved to the other side of the hearth, I knew at once that the moment was coming upon us.

  Aimes came back into the room with a stack of books and a puzzled expression that went just a bit too far. It did look good on him, though, the crease between his sandy brows. But then I always was more inclined toward a person holding a stack of books. Presently there was a strange taste in my mouth, something metallic and sweet. My tongue found it on the edges of my teeth and tingled with pleasure. In the back of my mind I registered that it must be the taste of my own venom. I could not look away from Aimes.

  "Now, ain't that a pain?" he was saying. "He swore he brought it out, but I see it's still in the trunk. Beg your pardon, sirs. While I look for it, maybe these will interest you. Bought them off an estate just yesterday."

  "Let's have a look," Merrick said, and when the man offered the books to him, he gestured to me. "He's the expert."

  "Of course," Aimes said, and stepped past Merrick to hand the books to me.

  "Thank you," I said, and a flicker of curiosity made me drop my eyes to the topmost title. No sooner had I read the name William Blake than I heard Aimes gasp, and my eyes snapped up again.

  I'd missed it. In the instant I’d looked down, Merrick had moved behind the man, enfolded him in his arms, and bitten the side of his neck. Aimes gasped again and I stood up, dumping the books on the floor.

  Aimes's spine arched and his knees buckled, and his rough hands clung to Merrick's arms where they crossed his waist and chest. His head lolled to the side, pulling his neck taut where Merrick's lips were fastened. The thief's face was slack with an expression caught somewhere between shock and pleasure. I knew the combination, and the sensation, very well.

  By God, so this was what it looked like. I raised a hand to my throbbing mouth, transfixed. My heart was pounding. Sweet suffering Christ, it was—what had I expected? Certainly not for it to seem so familiar. Certainly not for it to seem so...

  Merrick slowly removed his lips from Aimes's throat, revealing not a bite but a gash. Blood streamed from it, a deep crimson brook that met the white neck of his shirt in a splashing bloom. Mouth agape, I looked up at Merrick and found his eyes sparkling with a starry cast I'd never seen before.

  "Come," he breathed, and bent his head to drink again.

  I could smell the blood.

  I stepped forward and cupped Merrick's elbows, then moved my hands up into his arms until I gripped his shoulders, caging the thief in our embrace. Merrick raised his head and caught my gaze again, dipping h
is chin in silent invitation.

  Not a moment too soon. I sealed my lips over the cut, and the hot liquid filled my mouth at once. A groan came rumbling up from deep within my chest, muffled in the thief's exquisite throat.

  I had loved, adored, the fine crystal taste of Merrick's blood. This was different. It was darker, richer, and unmistakably human. It was a rare taste, an unlikely taste, the taste of spring blossoms and sun-bathed memories, of every beloved thing I had ever lost, and every desired thing I'd never had. It was the vast and multifaceted taste of a life and a mind and a soul, the ripe fruit of all their combined potential. It was the taste of a sweet and easeful death, one so pure and luminous I was filled with reverence and gratitude for its existence. It was divine, this taste.

  The blood had slowed to a trickle, and soon there was no more. I lifted my head, gazing down at the wound in a stupor.

  "Sit down," Merrick whispered, and I felt the floor beneath my bottom, rather than the stool. That was all right. I looked up to watch as Merrick lifted the dead man into his arms and carried him around the loot-covered sofa. He laid him on the floor and then pulled a length of drapery from a pile there, sweeping it up in the air to let it spread and fall over the body of Mr. John Aimes. Then he straightened his jacket and cuffs, adjusted his collar, and turned again to look me over.

  Few coherent thoughts had yet returned to my mind, but at that moment I was sure of one thing, though it went against all odds and flew in the face of everything I knew about myself. Killing to live would be no problem at all.