by Peter Dawes
“Stop trying to.” Her movements turned sinful, meant both to provoke and to savor. I caught myself lifting up to match the moments when she descended, joining her in the carnal dance she had commenced. Her smile turned conspiratorial. “You used to be the nightmare in the shadows. What name did you say they called you by?”
“The Black Rose Assassin.”
“Well, I love you, Black Rose Assassin. Come and be a vampire with me.”
Whatever concerns I held over her mental state faded into the back of my thoughts, as if someone or something had taken it out of my hands and placed it of sight. I maintained the final vestiges of concern, surrendering them when I said, “Please tell me this is what you really want.”
When she answered with, “It is. I promise you it is,” I gave myself over to every carnal desire; every human and vampire emotion the woman before me had ever inspired. All of the things I told myself I could never have. A companion. An accomplice. A creature whose sin had mirrored mine even before she crossed the veil. Even though I knew I should not have trusted the simplicity of what I surrendered to, I did it as a man who had endured a decade watching a spectacle of romance play out he had not felt invited to participate in. As our bodies moved and continued our steady ascent into climax, I gripped onto her and remembered why I continued to relent to her. I was a man who had wanted the woman he loved, yes.
But I was also a killer who had been denied his nature for too long.
My body shuddered, wave after wave of completion crashing into me. As I came down from the heights of ecstasy, I realized I had buried my face in the crook of her shoulder, hands having shifted from her hips to her back and clutching onto her as though she might vanish. My fangs had extended and while I had resisted the urge to bite her, the ache which followed this time called to mind the hunger raging within me. I lifted my face to look at her and she rested her palm against my cheek again.
“Shall we paint the town, love?” I asked, my voice raspy.
The question seemed to please her. Kissing me with abandon, she failed to wait for my fangs to retract and as they cut into her lip, I tasted blood for the first time that night. Whatever misgivings might have lingered all fell to my feet, perishing as she stood and allowed me to do the same. We showered and as she stood before me, buttoning my shirt, I felt a swell in my heart consumed with both adoration and the darkest notions I had harbored in years. She asked me to zip her dress and once we had finished dressing, Monica motioned for me to follow her out the door.
We stepped into the corridor. Grabbing my hand, Monica tugged me toward the stairs, nodding her greetings to the people we passed while continuing to lead us onward. I ignored whatever well-wishes had been extended toward me, in part because I did not want to reveal my true self to them, but also because I had no desire to pretend being Peter. We alighted the stairs at the bottom level and lingered in the vestibule, both of us checking to ensure Ophelia was nowhere nearby.
Before I could advise we leave with haste, Monica had already sprinted to the door and held it open for me. I nipped at the air in front of her while walking past, getting a pinch on my backside in retaliation. Once we had managed outside, she took me by the hand again and together, we ran toward the sidewalk leading from the coven estate to the rest of Toronto. The scents of the city surrounded me, but of them, the siren call of blood proved to be the most damning. I slowed to a more sedate stroll with her, losing none of my thirst while doing so.
Her arm coiled around mine, body swaying with each step we took and adding to the air which had begun settling over us. I felt another itch crawl up my spine and any levity our exodus from the coven had granted disappeared, given over to the decadence of our intended actions. As we approached one of the bars on the fringe of the neighborhood, we paused there and I nodded toward its entrance.
Monica grinned with approval and allowed me to take the lead.
The music from inside the establishment grew in volume the closer we came to it. I reached for Monica’s hand and brought it to my mouth, granting the back of her palm one last kiss before holding the door open for her. We exchanged a look which communicated all we would need to know before proceeding forward. Nothing would be taboo. We would take whomever we wanted and do whatever we pleased with them before moving on. She smirked and I mirrored her grin, turning my attention to the crowd once we had entered. Both of us took either side of the room and began to drift lazily from one prospect to another without settling on our intended victims yet.
I directed my attention to them, weighing each potential conquest with a critical eye. The woman talking loudly to a female accomplice flicked a glance at me, grinning as did her friend when I strode past. I granted them a bow without missing a step, my gaze moving on to the bar to take stock of the people seated there. A man nursing a beer exchanged barbs about sports with another while the bartender, a lithe, short woman, contributed her occasional observations to the conversation. I ignored the lonely barfly who tried to catch my eye and settled instead on a man of my height, who evaluated me in as critical of a manner as I did him. After pausing to ensure I understood his intentions, I drifted closer to where he sat.
Neither of us exchanged a word. I ordered a drink and casually cast enough glances his way to give the illusion of shared interest. Once he had depleted whatever liquor he had ordered, I lifted my glass and broke the silence for the first time.
“Don’t stray too far,” I said. “I’m not finished with you yet.”
He froze in place, the weight of his stare falling on me. I took another sip of my drink and flicked another look up at him, as if to confirm I had indeed been addressing him. He tilted his head to evaluate me and as his gaze locked with mine, I slipped within his thoughts, locking him inside my thrall. “Join me out back for a cigarette,” I instructed, not bothering with the pretense of asking questions or creating an illusion for anyone who might have been watching. His pupils dilated by the slimmest of margins, his head issuing a slight nod as if someone had snatched his strings and forced him into the action. I smiled in recognition, finishing my drink and leaving payment for it on the counter. Together, my new plaything and I strode to the back of the establishment.
Monica took notice of me as I walked past, disengaging from her own pursuit long enough to exchange a glance with me. I nodded toward the back exit and she smirked, eyes flicking toward the man who obediently followed behind me before returning to the swarthy gentleman engaging her in conversation. I had my pack of cigarettes in hand before I had even reached the door, and the moment I set foot into the brisk, winter evening again, I lit the end of one and allowed the other man passage outside. He turned to face me as the door clicked shut.
“This is going to be horribly disappointing for you,” I said, pocketing my lighter and removing the cigarette from my mouth long enough to exhale smoke. “I haven’t extended my repertoire to include your fare. Should be careful about that roving eye of yours, though.” My expression turned cold, my fangs running down to full extension. “One of these days, it’s going to get you killed.”
He drew a sharp breath inward, his eyes widening with panic. Regardless of how much his mind might have been screaming danger at him, however, he remained in the same place. I came upon him as his mouth opened to scream, covering it with my free hand before he could. “None of that until I tell you it’s time,” I said, delving deep into his gaze with mine again. Once I felt the compulsion take hold, I included, “You’re going to stand against that wall and you’re going to show me how quiet you can be. And believe me when I say I intend to put your obedience to the test.”
His eyes welled with tears, but he nodded, walking over to the wall and staring at me with fear emanating from every pore in his body. The memory of each time I had inspired this reaction within a human came rushing at me, forming a heady cocktail of power and bloodlust. I drew from my cigarette again and stalked closer to him, keeping my gaze fixed with his while I flicked aside what remained of th
e tobacco and let it burn where it landed. Reaching for where I kept a small knife hidden, I produced it and closed all but a small space between us.
The man clenched his eyes shut when the tip of the blade touched beneath his chin. His entire body tensed and as the first drops of blood dripped down to his shoes, moisture ran down his cheeks, his mouth struggling with both the need to issue some sort of noise and the command that he not make any. I watched the struggle with sadistic fascination, lifting the knife and capriciously dragging it along one of the paths left by his tears.
A squeaking sound rose from the back of his throat, his mouth hanging agape while his hands shook. They lifted and I snatched his wrist with my unencumbered hand, shoving it against the concrete behind him while pressing against him. “I said don’t move,” I scolded. “When I said that, I meant everything.”
As he froze altogether, the door opened a second time. Without needing to glance over, I saw enough in my periphery, filling in the image of Monica walking out into the back alley with her would-be victim in her thrall. She dragged him by the collar of his shirt and slithered past me, making sure to run her fingers across my shoulder blades while doing so. “You started without me,” she said.
“Who could resist?” I turned my head to look at her, grinning when she leaned in and licked the blood from my conquest’s cheek. “He’s petrified. Poor little pet.”
“As he should be. He’s dealing with the Devil himself.” Monica winked, then directed her focus to the object of her interest. Wrapping her fingers around his throat, she kept her eyes on him while turning him around to face her. She led him forward, until her back hit the wall, and once she had pulled him closer, she wrapped a leg around him. Her lips pressed against his neck as she guided his hand onto her hip. “Fuck me while I watch him kill that poor fool,” she whispered in his ear, loud enough so I could hear it.
Whatever suggestion she had already embedded within him, the simple prompting proved enough to pull him into the throes of decadence with her. They kissed with wanton abandon, the man seemingly unaware of how her teeth cut into his lip, as though the smeared blood did not exist. I directed my focus back to my thrall and smirked at him with evil intent.
“The lady wants a show,” I said. “And the lady gets what she wants.”
My teeth plunged into his neck before he could react otherwise. I drank down the blood in several lusty gulps before forcing myself to pull away, not wanting his death to be so easily attained. As I licked his wounds closed, he wavered on his feet and while I could hear the coupling taking place no more than a few feet away, I kept my attention focused on him. One hand gripped onto his shoulder, while the other brandished my knife, reminding him I still held it.
“Beg me for your life,” I muttered through clenched teeth.
The command released the hold on his tongue, even if the instructions had not been specific. Suddenly, his muted crying became more vocal, some hidden willpower stopping him from yelling, as if he knew that would end the small amount of grace he had been granted. “Please don’t do this,” he said. “I don’t know what you are, but I’m begging you not to kill me.”
“Oh, I think you’re keenly aware of what kind of monster I am, you simply don’t know how to accept it.” I chuckled, pressing the flat side of the dagger against the angry cut on his cheek. “I want to remove your skin little bits at a time. Cut slits into your veins and leave you alive enough to feel me feed while I drain you slowly and methodically. You’ll watch this other fellow die a horrible death and with your final breaths, I want you to know that the same will happen to you. My only question to you is where should I begin?”
“Please, don’t,” he repeated. I ignored him, in favor of focusing on the vein I had just punctured with my teeth. Sliding the blade of my knife down to hover over it, I pressed the tip against his skin until more blood trickled from the wound. The man gasped. Tears continued running down his cheeks, his face contorted with fright. I leaned in to lick the offering, shifting the blade out of my way.
“Don’t do this. I have kids.”
I paused. Something crashed into me, as if I had been jarred awake from some strange form of mental compromise. Peter pushed at the wall which divided us and as I felt it crack, I lifted my head to look at my victim.
He sniffled, messy with the evidence of both grief and sheer terror. “What did you say?” I asked, not because I had failed to hear him, but because something within me demanded a repetition. As if I needed to hear it said a second time.
“I said I have kids,” he latched onto, as if knowing that had been the magical phase to get me to stop.
A piercing, agonizing ripple of pain shot through me and the knife dropped from my grip. I stepped back to regroup, waging a battle of personalities as Peter woke and fought for control over our shared body. As he did, I failed to hide the memories I had created, carrying them with me across the switch which took place when one ego surrendered to the other. Blurry vignettes filled my head, making it ache worse, but in the end, the seer had defeated the assassin.
And what I remembered left me horrified.
Whether Flynn had truly meant to be so consumed, he had relented long enough to reduce the man standing before me to a vampire’s trophy. In my periphery, Monica was pushing her thrall away from her and gathering herself together. I stared at my would-be victim, seeing small glimpses of what my hands had done, and wanting to apologize while lacking the fortitude. “Leave here,” I commanded. “And the moment you get yourself to a hospital, you will forget what did this to you. Am I clear?”
A look of abject confusion painted itself across his countenance. When I glared at him, he nodded, and once more his better judgment made his decision for him. Without questioning my benevolence, he ran away from us, toward the end of the alley, and disappeared from sight.
I bent to pick up the dagger from the ground. “What the hell are you doing?” Monica asked as I wiped the blade clean.
“Gathering my wits before I determine what should be done with you,” I said. My stomach twisted in knots and as I rose to a stand, I allowed my gaze to rest on her, aware of what disappointment and disgust must have been evident in my expression. Disappointment over having failed her. Disgust at what Flynn had forced us to do. Whether the scattershot memories constituted a cry for help, I realized I would need to forgive them both and lacked the fortitude. “Release the man and come home with me.”
I pushed back the fabric of my suit jacket and sheathed my knife. Monica remained in place.
“No, Peter,” she said. “I’m not going anywhere.”
When my eyes met hers again, I regarded her like a recalcitrant child. “I do not know what has come over you, but it is apparent it will need to be exorcised. I have stopped myself from prying through your thoughts. I believe you just made that a necessity.”
“No. Don’t you dare touch me.”
“Let go of the man, Dearest.”
“No.” Both hands lifted, taking hold of the man’s head and twisting it violently to the side. His neck broke with a sickening crunch, his body toppling onto the ground when she let go. Monica stared at me with a dare evident in her eyes as she stepped over the corpse at her feet, stalking toward me. “You were supposed to stay asleep. Am I going to have to do something drastic?”
No sooner had the threat been levied than an ominous blue glow engulfed her fingers, spreading all the way to her wrists. I took a step backward, but held my ground, grateful when she paused a few feet away from me. “Dearest, you’ve killed a man in cold blood,” I said. “You are not yourself. I can help you, but you need to stop this. For the sake of everything we have shared, please stop this.”
“What if I don’t want to?” she countered. “What’ll you do, then? Will you fight me?”
“I will do whatever I must to keep you safe.”
“You should’ve let Flynn kill that man.”
“That man had children. I know it does not matter to you, because yo
u cannot remember ours, but they used to mean the world to you.” I fought against the onslaught of tears. My limbs still felt weak, my mind in disarray. My focus remained fixed on Monica as much to anchor myself as to continue reasoning with her. “We are what we are, but not like this. Not like animals. You are not acting like a vampire. You are behaving like a sociopath. There is a substantial difference between the two.”
“Maybe I like being this way better. Flynn seemed to understand that. You don’t.” Monica tilted her head, keeping me in her sights while seeming to be listening for something else. I watched her roll her shoulders and retract her fangs, still holding her hands out like she might unleash her magic upon me at any moment, should I transgress into her personal space. At the same time, the air took a violent shift.
She shut her eyes and hummed. Opening them again, she allowed the light to dissipate and presented the cruelest, most sadistic smirk I had seen either human or vampire wear.
“Good night, love,” she said. “I hear someone else calling me.”
Monica started for the end of the alley, leaving me no recourse but to pursue her. As I tapped into the part of me who was the psychic hunter, she spun around, and lifted a hand as I did likewise. While I expected the spell she had begun conjuring to resurface – even prepared myself to defend against it – the tingles in my brain returned and her cold smile held steady when she clenched her fingers into a fist. The ensuing pain brought me to my knees.
I cried out in agony, listing to the side until I fell onto the ground. The sound of her scurrying away reached my ears belatedly and as a trickle of blood ran from one nostril, I reached to wipe at it and staggered to my feet. What little time I had lost had been enough for her to get away, as I heard no further sound of her escape. When I felt for her using my mind, another burst of pain blossomed from the effort, causing me to recoil against the pressure in my skull.