by Peter Dawes
Worry tugged at me, twisting my stomach into a knot. When she finally spoke, it was to inform me that she wanted to seek out Angela, in part so her friend could see all was well, but also to take her along clothes shopping. “I promise not to spend too much,” Monica said. “I’m down an outfit after last night, though.”
“Should I summon a chaperone for the two of you?” I asked, eyebrow perked as I settled on the arm of the couch and watched her slip on her boots. Monica worked on lacing them, not bothering to look up at me while I spoke. “Not you and Angela. You and Flynn.”
She laughed. “I promise he’s a big boy and he can take care of me.” When she finished tying the second boot, she lifted to a stand and placed a kiss on my cheek, the gesture fond at best and condescending at the worst. “You worry too much. It’s sweet.”
“I suppose I should consider myself fortunate you still find it endearing.” I flashed a quick, half-offered smile at her, only catching her eye for a moment before she walked off to retrieve her coat. The door to the room closed behind her and I remained in place for a few moments, tempted to give chase.
At the same time, she had left me alone, perhaps to summon the very chaperone I needed.
The thought brought me to my feet again. Walking over to the bedroom, I ensured I had the door shut before settling onto the mattress, reaching into my back pocket for my phone while I finished sitting. As I flipped it open, I cycled through the contacts I had programmed until I reached the one which bore Robin’s number. Only a moment’s hesitation preceded me pressing the button to call him.
His phone rang for what felt like an eternity. When he failed to answer it, I frowned, rising to a stand with the intention of slipping my phone back into my pocket. As I motioned to put it away, however, it vibrated in my hand. Lifting it revealed Robin’s number on the display.
I breathed a sigh of relief. “I thought perhaps you might be sleeping,” I said, speaking into the receiver once I had brought the device to my ear.
“You weren’t wrong,” the groggy voice of my brother chimed, “But considering this is the first I’m hearing of you in about a month, I wasn’t about to wait.” A pause followed, in which I envisioned him shifting in his bed, sitting upright or sliding his feet onto the floor. “How are things in Toronto?”
“Somewhat unnerving, if I was going to be honest.” Slowly, I lowered back onto my bed. “Monica had been doing well until two nights ago. Now, I sense an oncoming spiral I am trying to outrun.”
“What happened two nights ago?”
“I took her to the opera with two friends of ours. A couple from the coven named Martin and Angela. I confess, how well she did among the humans lulled me into a false sense of security. I let her walk ahead of me with Angela and by the time we caught up to them...” I trailed off, lost in reliving both my memory of the night and the scene reconstructed by Angela’s personal account.
“Did she do something?” Robin asked softly.
“Yes,” I said, waking from my thoughts. Raising a hand, I rubbed at my forehead, as if expecting the onset of a headache. “They went to feed on a human and she lost control. Tore apart their victim and did not recover her senses until after he was already dead.”
I heard Robin exhaling a deep breath on the other line. “These things happen, though, Peter. You can’t find fault with a neophyte simply because they lost control of themselves.” Another pause. “She doesn’t remember herself yet, does she?”
“No. And the problem is not her failure to hold herself back, insomuch as it is...” I struggled for how to paraphrase the past two nights. “She went from demoralized and in despair to sadistic. Within hours. I have no idea what she and Flynn did last evening, but whatever it was...”
“She and Flynn were together? I take it without any other supervision.”
“No, he took over before I could make the demand. The only assurance offered to me tonight was from Monica, who claims they cleaned up after themselves.”
“That is troubling.” I could hear the scowl in Robin’s voice. “I take it that admonishing him over the phone would be a fruitless endeavor.”
“He is not responding, if that is what you are asking.”
“Of course not.”
“There is more, though, brother.” The flight of nerves rose again, anxiety running through my veins like quicksilver. “She has taken an interest in her magic again. At no other point while sharing memories with her has she tried to cast spells once more, but last night and tonight as well, I have seen her fascinated by the prospect.”
“And she doesn’t remember herself enough to take the gravity of that seriously.” He muttered something in another language. “I need another night here before I can travel back to Toronto. A friend has been helping me with my search and we have one last lead to pursue before I’m comfortable letting Patrick’s trail turn cold.”
“Where are you?”
“Back in Italy, by way of a few other locations. We can catch up when I return.”
I expected him to hang up, but before he did, he added, “Keep a close eye on her and tell Ophelia what’s happening. That way you have someone else looking after you. I don’t know how to recover the lost memories of a neophyte vampire, but perhaps that might be the next thing I need to research.”
“Thank you, Robin. As much as I trust Ophelia, this might be out of her league.”
“Sadly, I think you’re right.”
This time, I heard the customary click on the other end of the line. Closing my phone, I slipped it back into my pocket and opened the door to wander back into the sitting area. As I did, though, I found Monica standing there, staring as if to weigh me and looking skeptical of what she found. If I had a pulse, it would have accelerated at the way our eyes met. “Beloved, I thought you had left,” I said, spitting out the words as a reflex, aware only of how incriminating they sounded once I had already spoken them.
“I did,” she said. “But then I got to thinking about a few things and turned back. Figured maybe Angela and I could go out tomorrow night instead.” Monica raised an eyebrow, her expression sobering even more. “Who were you talking to?”
“Robin. I do not know if you recall him from your awakening.”
“Yes, Robin.” Her gaze turned distant, head tilting as if she might be listening to something inside of her head. The moment I had cause to question it, a smile crossed her lips and while I could not read her thoughts, I wondered if I should break my self-imposed oath and make the attempt. Monica crossed the room as if relieved of whatever burden had weighed on her only seconds ago. “I told you not to worry about me, sweetheart. I’m fine.”
“All the same, we have discussed you retrieving your memories. Robin thinks he might be able to help us.” I motioned for her to join me on the couch, somewhat relieved when she sloughed off her coat and draped it across the back of one of the chairs. I sat first and she joined me, curling up in a manner resembling our normal tenor. My arm lowered onto her shoulders. “What thoughts prompted you back? Is it something I can help you with?”
“Actually, yes.”
Monica twisted to face me without straddling me in the same seductive manner she had the night before. I saw something wicked in her eyes, their gaze turning cold while she focused more intently on me. The instinctive urge to push her away rose within me, and though I sought to correct my instincts – This is my wife, I told myself, Not a threat. – I was unable to fully convince myself. The corner of her lips curled into something calculating as if she sensed my reaction.
“You’ve been holding out on me,” she said. A sigh followed, her palm settling flat against my forehead while she thrust herself into my mind, the lack of finesse generating an unholy amount of pain. I heard myself crying out, but the sound of my own voice echoed distantly, as did hers when she spoke. “You see, I was going to do this easier. I was going to ask a bunch of cute questions and lull you into a false sense of security, but then you had to call people who were goin
g to interfere with my plans. I take it wherever he is, I have time?”
When she sent another surge of agony through me, I answered as a reflex, unable to stop myself. “Yes, Robin will not be home for another two nights.”
“Good. Because I’m going to need to put in a little bit of effort with the other part of you.”
It felt like the files housing every memory had opened all at once, image after image spilling out and whipping around me like a paper tornado. I saw scenes played out in half-measure, from the things she could do as a sorceress to the adventures we had undertaken in years gone by. I could not stop the assault, channeled directly though the psychic link she and I had. Trying to shove her out of my head, I heard her laugh in response.
“Oh, I don’t think so,” she admonished. “You’re showing me everything and then you’re giving him to me. I’m not ready for you yet.” Everything turned dark and as I made a final attempt to buck against capture, something inside split apart, throwing me into the furthest corner of my mind. She forced sleep upon me and I fell into nothingness; into a void with no beginning and no end. Whatever she had done, she did not intend for me to wake anytime soon. Her plans were with Flynn.
And even he was not safe.
Chapter Seven
My temples throbbed, and as I opened my eyes, I felt a surge of dizziness accompany my first attempts to move. While I spent my initial moments of awareness struggling to orient myself – from identity down to location – I determined I felt like Peter even if the last, fleeting memories I held were of Monica forcing me to sleep. The sitting area had turned into the bedroom, though, and as I wriggled beneath the comforter, I felt the absence of clothing and smelled the faint aroma of blood. Opening my eyes revealed crimson stains on the sheets, enough for me to wonder if we had slaughtered a human right there in our room. Despite my better judgment, I struggled upright and immediately regretted the decision.
My lack of forethought brought with it a severe case of vertigo, causing me to wonder if that was enough to make a vampire vomit. I had been left alone on the bed, and though a sense of urgency screamed at me to get to my feet, I could not make the spinning stop long enough for me to determine which way the door would be. She could not have gone far, the warning sirens cautioned. I groaned and finally, my sight stabilized even if the sense of queasiness was not abating. Shifting my legs, I motioned to get out of bed, until a sound coming from the closet interrupted me.
Fabric rustled and Monica hummed, as if she lacked a care in the world. As she emerged from within the closet, she looked at me, a bright smile of recognition curling her lips. Carrying a dress to the bed, she spread it out in front of me and stepped back to admire it. “What do you think?” she asked. “Should I go with the red, or do you think the black would mask the bloodstains better?”
“I beg your pardon?” I asked. Monica ignored the question, turning her back to me and disappearing inside the closet again, God only knew why. The need to run made itself more pronounced, but obeying it became more complicated, lost in a thickening fog that had filled my head and rendered my limbs heavier. My words sounded like they had begun to slur when I spoke again. “What did you do to me?”
“You’re right. I want the black.” Hangers slid across a metal pole. More fabric rustled and the way she continued to ignore me led me to wonder if I had truly spoken at all. When she returned to the room, a black dress in hand, she had a jaunty bounce in her step. Tossing the dress on top of the other, discarded option, she started to remove it from its hanger. “You must be feeling hungover. Or, you know, at least I think that’s what hungover feels like, considering I can’t remember that. I’d offer you something for it, but something tells me you’re already mad about how much we ruined the sheets.”
“I do not understand what is happening.”
She laughed, giving me the first sign that anything I said had been audible. “Flynn’s not talking is he? Good boy. Tell him I’ll give him a treat in a minute.” Monica looked to be considering something, biting the corner of her lip before tossing the dress aside. Her robe hung loose from her body and as she crawled onto the mattress, it parted enough to reveal one of her breasts. Dark hair slid downward and when she smiled, she made a show of her fangs.
Slowly, she settled on my lap, forcing me to reposition myself to face her. As the silken fabric fell away from her shoulder, she cupped my chin and tilted her head enough to show off the creamy skin of her neck. “I like you, Peter,” she began. “I really do. I know all of this probably makes you think I’ve chosen sides, but the truth is, I have room enough for both of you.” Monica chuckled. A nail dug into my throat and as I felt a rivulet of blood run down from the blossoming pain, a shiver assailed me as well. Her sultry grin turned into a smirk. “They’re teaching me all about who I really am. And I’ll let you out again when I’m sure you’ll play nice, but in the meantime, he’s promised me we’ll go out to hunt.”
Monica leaned closer and whispered in my ear. “I’m going to ask him to run away with me,” she added.
I wanted to issue an objection, but when she pulled back from me, the sensation of her crawling around inside my head returned. As much as I was able, I plead with her in my eyes for her to relent, but her smile broadened, the pleasure she took in manipulating me obvious. An itch I could not scratch spread across my brain, preceding a command I could not ignore.
“Flynn, my darling, come out,” she whispered. “You promised me a night out on the town.”
When one personality spilled into nothingness, the other surged to the forefront, bringing a host of memories the seer had lacked. I felt the pain in my head subside, beholding her through the eyes of the assassin while confronted by the sentiments I had fallen asleep bearing. A slight twist of dread at seeing the sadistic gleam in her eyes paired with the thought of how exquisite she had been last night; how much I had relished drenching her in blood and licking clean whatever lingered on her skin. Monica looked freshly showered while I still felt like a mess.
I could not determine how much of me desired to continue playing along.
“There you are,” she chimed the moment she recognized the shift. Her hand slid up so that her fingernail could tease at my cheek, her eyes dancing with delight. “We’ll have to fix that unfortunate switch that happens when you fall asleep. It’s a good thing I was expecting Peter.”
Monica lifted her hand in a manner which suggested she meant to tinker with my brain right then and there. I flinched away from it, though, partly out of instinct. “I don’t like how much you think you can command me,” I said. “I would be your mentor, as I was the other evening, but I will not be your puppet.”
She chuckled, the sound so much more wicked than anything my lips had ever produced. “You’re adorable when you think you can fight me,” Monica said, relenting when I remained on guard. Lowering her hand, she leaned in to lick away the rivulet of blood she had drawn while Peter remained in control. The feel of her tongue dragging across flesh sent a shiver up my spine.
“I’m not trying to turn you into a puppet, Flynn,” she said, her mouth lifting from my neck. “Whether I’m the one directing us or not, I want an accomplice. I’m only trying to show you how much you’ll love surrendering with me. That’s what you want, isn’t it? To surrender?”
More recollections of the night before filled my mind, taking on the form of decadent imagery. I saw her pressed against me, residual blood rubbing between our bodies while we fucked. I could still feel the bites and the cuts and what lingered of Peter’s headache only served to remind me of how thirsty I had been right before falling asleep. When she had stolen one of my knives with the intent of bleeding me, she had succeeded in muddying my thoughts. Each drop she had taken only served to make me hungrier.
“Peter was right to be concerned about your behavior. You are not yourself,” I muttered. Regardless of my attempt to keep focused, I surrendered a moan to her when her hand slid down my bare chest, continuing downward in a
slow and taunting manner. Somehow, the resolve I had mustered only a few nights ago had become compromised further, even beyond the witchcraft she had already used against me. Perhaps she was right, I mused. Maybe I did want to surrender. The mere notion threatened to compromise me further.
As did the temptation of her hand wrapping around me, giving my burgeoning erection a tug.
“Does it matter who I am now? I need this, Flynn, and I need it with you.” Her lips pressed against mine. While I refused to yield to the kiss, the desire to indulge in her stirred even more with each stroke. I became aware of defeat cresting the hill, coming to capture me. “I might not remember us, but I’ve seen it in his mind. In your memories. How many times you and I made love. How often I lost myself with you. How much you love me. You were the one who convinced him to turn me.”
“You were going to die,” I retorted. The virulence within my tone had already began to subside, my own thoughts consumed with the moments she referenced while she continued her wicked ministrations. “He wanted to save you just as much.”
“Wasn’t it your voice insisting him, though?”
“What does it matter? You have always been his. Surely you saw that as well.”
Monica removed her hand, pushing aside her robe and lowering herself on top of me. My eyes flew open without me realizing they had shut and as she smirked at me again, refusing to move at first. “Then why don’t you take what you’ve always wanted? You keep denying it to yourself, but you can’t fool me. I saw you do everything you could to keep me.” She lifted up again. “Tell me you don’t love me. Tell me you don’t want to sink into hell with me.”
I felt driven so far from reason, I had no hope of finding my way back. My hands came to rest on her hips. “I can’t do that,” I finally confessed. “You stole that ability from me.”
“The ability to deny me?”
“The ability to deny that I love you. I’ve known better than to want what doesn’t belong to me, I just...” My throat became dry, due in part to the frenzied breaths I began to take. “I... couldn’t help myself.”