by Trisha Baker
"Blood," Simon told her.
Blood! Yes, that was what she needed; she was going to die if she didn't have it. Meghann clutched at Simon. "You said you're my master," she said wildly. "You have to help me; tell me how to get blood! Help me, please! I don't know what to do. Help me!"
Simon plucked her hands from his shoulders. "Shhh, little one," he soothed. Even through the pain, Meghann was able to perceive that there was something wrong with his comforting. It was masking something else. She thought she saw a nasty gleam of anticipation in his amber eyes. "I know you don't know what to do. Of course I'll help you. As your master, it's my duty to teach you. I'm going to get you someone to feed off right now. Are you ready?"
The pain was making her double over. "Yes," she gasped. "Please bring me blood." With a small grin, he kissed Meghann and left.
"Don't leave me," she started to plead, but then she thought better of it. Let him leave if he was going to bring back blood. She watched the door anxiously. How long would it take for him to return? The craving was tearing her apart. Meghann was trembling from head to foot; every part of her ached and screamed for blood.
She heard dim sounds outside, like screams. Then she realized that she was hearing a man scream curses at Simon. Oh, no, she thought with the beginnings of dread. I know that voice. It's…
"Johnny!" Meghann gasped when the door flew open.
Simon was holding Johnny by the hair; he had him a few inches off the ground. He did not seem to be expending any more effort to hold on to the struggling, thrashing man than someone would to hold a newspaper. Once he had the door shut, Simon threw Johnny on the floor. Johnny started to scramble toward Meghann.
"Maggie, thank God! You're alive," he started to say, but his relief was replaced with horror when he got a good look at his fiancée. He could barely recognize this woman as Maggie O'Neill. Her skin had no color. She was wearing an ivory gown that looked nearly yellow in comparison to her pallid, corpselike skin. Even her freckles were gone and her lips were chalk white. Her shoulder-length hair fell past her waist. And her fingernails! They were so long that they curved. "What the hell happened to you?"
She saw how the joy on his face died when he looked at her. Now he was looking at her with a mix of pity and disgust. "What's wrong with me?" she cried.
"There is nothing wrong with you," Simon told her.
He grabbed Johnny's right arm and twisted it behind his back. Johnny tried to ram his other elbow into Simon without success. "Be still or I shall break your spine," Simon told him in a tone that left no doubt to his sincerity or his ability to carry out the threat.
He looked over at Meghann, who was praying that the growing suspicion she had was wrong. No, she thought in abject horror, he wouldn't make me…
"Come feed off him," Simon commanded Meghann, confirming her worst fears.
"No!" she gasped.
"Are you disobeying me?" he asked her softly, so softly you could almost miss the menace in his voice.
Meghann's eyes widened and she nervously backed two paces away. Then the pain attacked again, and she cried out.
"Is the pain getting worse?" Simon asked in a grotesque parody of concern.
Meghann couldn't keep from crying out. "Yes!"
"Goddamn it, what's wrong, Maggie?" Johnny cried.
"I told you to be still." Simon shattered his kneecap. Johnny turned nearly as pale as Meghann and crumpled to the floor silently.
"You bastard!" Meghann shrieked at Simon. "Don't you hurt him!"
Simon crossed the room so rapidly she did not even see him move. He loomed over Meghann, who had sunk to the floor, unable to stand, the pain was so terrible. "You are very fortunate that I choose to be amused rather than angered." Casually Simon took her left hand and broke the index finger. She screamed as the new agony reverberated all the way from her injured finger to the base of her spine.
"You will never," he said in that same terribly soft but monstrous voice, "speak to me like that again. Now apologize for the grave insult you have given your master, wretched child."
The agony in her body faded a little besides the absolute terror Meghann felt when she glanced up at Simon. Any thoughts of protest were gone when she saw his eyes glare down at her. "I'm so-sor… I'm sorry," she stuttered, so scared her teeth were chattering.
He grabbed her hair. It didn't hurt, but it frightened her. "You're sorry, what?"
Belatedly she remembered. "I'm sorry, Master."
"I accept your apology," Simon told her, tightening his grip on her hair. "Now drink his blood."
Meghann pulled herself onto her knees. "Please, Master," she cried, beyond pride. "I'll do anything else you ask. But please don't make me drink his blood."
Simon laughed softly. "Anything else," he mimicked cruelly while he slapped her face. "Have you any idea how many before you have used that pathetic entreaty with me? It means I'm sorry but you've asked something of me I have no desire to do. But keep asking and perhaps I'll find something I don't mind doing."
Simon yanked her off the ground and pulled her up until she was on eye level with him. "In my time," he said slowly, each word as emphasized as a pistol shot, "people did not give their word lightly. Only last night you swore you would obey me as your master. Yet tonight you curse me, defy me. It would disappoint me greatly if you were merely being flippant, if your vow meant nothing to you."
Meghann was shaking from head to toe in pain and fear. "I meant it," she whimpered.
"Then do as I bid you." Simon let go of her. She stumbled but didn't fall down because he started dragging her by the hair toward Johnny. Tears were streaming down her face, but she didn't dare protest.
Johnny had woken up; he was moaning incoherently.
"Why are you crying, hon?" he mumbled when he saw Maggie above him.
He's only semiconscious, she thought.
"We can't have that." Simon put his hand on Johnny.
He became fully alert, screaming from the pain. "Maggie, what the hell is going on?"
"I'm sorry," she started to tell him, but she became distracted by a new aroma in the air. It was subtle but very pleasant. The scent was coming from Johnny; Meghann looked at him with new interest.
Johnny nearly fainted again when he saw the look on her face. It combined intense speculation with a sort of detachment. It was making her pale green eyes glow in the deathly pale skin. Johnny thought she looked inhuman.
Simon noted the change in her demeanor. "It's his blood you smell. Just the smell of blood is making you feel better, isn't it? Drink his blood, sweet. All your agony will vanish the second you sink your teeth into his flesh."
The need for blood was becoming unbearable. Meghann started to lean forward. Her mouth was nearly on Johnny's neck when he whimpered, "Please, Maggie." She fell back, shocked at herself. Was she really about to drink her fiancé's blood? She would have moved away, but Simon grabbed her by the back of her neck and kept her locked in place.
"He's not your fiancé anymore," Simon said in a soothing, low voice. "Look at him. He looks at you with revulsion. He won't love you, sweetheart. He thinks you're a monster now. Don't pity him; use him. You need his blood. You'll die without it."
Meghann didn't really hear him. She heard a new voice inside her that was a thousand times more persuasive than Simon Baldevar. It screamed at her to take the precious blood, pleaded with her not to spare another second.
"That's the blood lust. Listen to it, darling."
She put her hand on Johnny's neck. At the feel of his strong pulse beneath her hand, she felt a brief pain when her blood teeth tore through her gums.
Johnny saw his fiancée looming over him with fangs hanging out of her mouth, and he lost consciousness again.
There was no more room for thought. Meghann was consumed with the desire for blood. She never saw Simon's cruel smile of victory when she leaned down and buried her new teeth in Johnny's jugular vein.
The blood filled her mouth, and Meghann swallo
wed it down greedily. She'd never forget the first time she tasted blood. She sucked down every drop, loving the rich copper taste. It was healing her; the sickness was fading. She was able to feel her index finger knot back together. There was no pain now and she was warm again. In place of the pain, she felt a power she never imagined existed flowing through her. The blood was giving her Johnny's strength, his life force, and vitality. Meghann kept drinking, reveling in the rush the blood was giving her.
She looked up when she heard a tearing noise. Meghann saw that Simon had cut Johnny's wrist open. He extended the wrist toward her, inviting her to drink with him.
Eagerly she abandoned Johnny's neck and stretched out besides Simon. Together they drained Johnny of his blood. How wonderful to share the blood with her master. Why had she fought him before? He was right; she'd never have to be cold or hurt again. Not as long as there were humans to drink from…
When Johnny was dead, Simon turned to Meghann and started licking the excess blood off her lips and neck. She moaned, and started licking the blood off him too. Before long, Simon pushed the gown up around her thighs. He'd barely entered her before Meghann started to climax, crying out, "Master, I love you! I love you!"
In response, Simon yanked the lacy, silk strings on her bodice apart and attached his mouth to her breasts, sucking and pulling on her tender flesh with the same avid need he'd just devoted to Johnny's wrist. Wide-eyed, Meghann watched Simon lap up the small trickle of blood flowing from her nipple. There was a momentary pain, but it vanished quickly; in its place was a bliss so powerful it made Meghann cling to her master, begging him to drink more of her blood.
"I love you, Master," she cried again. Yes, she loved him—loved the dark, exciting feelings that came alive within her at his lightest touch. She loved how he felt inside her, iron and steel driving into her and filling her with some of his amazing strength. She loved the delicious languor that crept through her while Simon drank from her, and she loved the firm, hard lips on hers that blotted out all other thoughts but taking from him all the satisfaction he could give.
"Good girl." Simon bit down viciously on her neck, sending another pang of desire through her. "You're learning to be a vampire—to devote yourself to pleasure and take from others all you desire. Take all the love you want from me and all the blood you need from them," Simon said, and waved a casual hand at the corpse next to them. "Take and take and take again, Meghann—it's all yours."
"Yes!" she rasped, her green eyes blazing with the same unholy light that had filled them when she first smelled mortal blood. "It's all mine and you gave it to me! I love you, Simon. I love you so much!"
"Show me," Simon said, and Meghann did, matching each forceful thrust with one of her own, unmindful of the lamp that crashed to the floor beside them or the uncomfortable hardwood floor her back slammed against as she and Simon tore into each other with ferocious need.
Afterward, with Simon still caressing her slick, sticky form, she looked down at her breasts, bemused to discover for all of Simon's harsh treatment there wasn't so much as a faint bruise on her creamy white skin.
Maybe I can't be scarred or bruised anymore, Meghann thought, and pulled the laces on her negligee together, trying without success to keep her eyes away from the dead body a few feet from her. The ecstasy of sex and drinking blood faded when she looked down at Johnny's corpse. What have I done? I murdered my fiancé and then had sex a few inches from his dead body. What have I become?
A vampire, Simon told her without speaking.
"I heard you," she told him out loud.
"Of course you did. Telepathy is just one of your new gifts."
"Telepathy?"
"The ability to hear thoughts," Simon explained.
Meghann considered that as she looked at Johnny's body again. Did I kill the man I was supposed to marry and drink his blood so I could hear thoughts? Meghann was shocked by how little she felt. What is wrong with me?
Simon gently pulled her away from the corpse. He sat down on the bed, placing her in his lap. "Darling, why are you pushing yourself to feel something utterly useless? He was a mortal; we don't owe them anything. Humans are a source of nourishment to us, nothing more."
Meghann glared at him. "Was that all I was to you at Pauline's party—a source of nourishment?"
Simon's mouth twitched. "Silly child, I would not have transformed you if I felt that way. I'm in love with you."
Meghann looked back at Johnny. Can I regard people as nothing more than the means to an end, a way to satisfy my needs?
"Don't think that way, sweetheart. Look at yourself and tell me what you feel."
Meghann looked down at herself. Her skin had color again—it looked like cream. And apart from her uncertainty, she felt wonderful. All the weakness was gone; she felt a sense of strength and euphoria.
"You look breathtaking," Simon told her. "You were beautiful before, but now you dazzle me." He pushed her hair away from her face.
"What's going to happen to me now?" she asked him.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, I can't go home."
"You are home, my love. Your home is with me."
"Why are you doing this?"
"I told you—I love you."
"But you hardly know me."
"I know all I need to know." Simon stood up and took Meghann's hand. "Now let's go out—I'm finding this room oppressive."
"Out?" she said dumbly.
"You didn't think you were going to spend eternity in this room, did you?"
"No, but…"
"Then let's go."
"Wait a minute," she snapped, and felt nervous again when he raised his eyebrows at her tone. "Please? I have more questions."
"Very well, you may ask me a few more questions." Simon lounged against the door.
"Have you done this before?"
"Transformation? Of course, and I made the people who accepted my gift pay for it with everything they held dear."
"How am I supposed to pay?" she asked.
"That is what makes you unique, darling." He took both her hands in his, and searched her eyes intently. "All I want from you is love. Will you find that so difficult?"
I don't know, she thought. What do I know about this man'? That he's capable of the most amoral, evil kind of behavior. Inflicting pain at will. That he's made me into something I barely understand. He does terrible things, yet he can be loving a second later. And I feel so safe and happy when I look in his gold-brown eyes.
That gave Meghann a very disquieting thought. "Simon," she asked hesitantly, "are you making me love you?"
He howled with laughter and sank to the floor. "Precious child, I have been accused of lacking scruples before, but I assure you I have standards. I have cast no evil spell over you. I promise you your feelings are your own." He took her face in his hands. "Now tell me what those feelings are."
Meghann stroked his hair and thought the eager but cautious look in his eyes almost made him seem vulnerable. It was seeing that brief softness that made her lean over and kiss him softly.
He kissed her back and murmured, "I knew you wouldn't disappoint me. Now let's leave this room. Come along, I'm sure you'll want to bathe."
Meghann followed him, stepping over Johnny's corpse without a second glance. She was more interested in what Simon had just said. "Bathe?"
"Were you planning to go out like that?" He took in her unwashed, tangled hair and the drops of blood on her neck and chest.
"Of course not, but I didn't think vampires bathed."
"How did you think they kept clean?"
"I never really thought about it."
"I don't imagine you did." He led Meghann up a flight of stairs into what she assumed was the living room. Whatever flaws he has, the man has excellent taste, Meghann thought to herself.
The room had a high ceiling, with a softly lit chandelier. She admired the Oriental rug, sconces, and sumptuous furnishings. Meghann was drawn to a tapestry of two kn
ights fighting that hung over the fireplace. She pointed to it. "Is that authentic?"
"Of course it is. French—done in the late 1300s. Do you like my home?"
"It's beautiful." She wandered over to the massive floor-to-ceiling bookcases, teeming with books. It was plainly a room decorated with wealth and taste, so much more interesting than Pauline's elegant but cold home.
"Evelyn Manchester did not decorate that house. Like most nouveau riche, she allowed a decorator to tell her what to do. The result is a home with no personality. I'm glad you have taste enough to discern the difference." Simon pulled her away before she could start reading some of the titles in the bookcase. "You may admire your new home to your heart's content later. For now, I'd like you to get dressed—I made reservations for nine-thirty."
Meghann glanced at him. "Do you always assume things will go your way?"
"I don't assume. I know." Trevor groveled up to Simon, who issued a few curt orders concerning Johnny's body. The servant immediately headed downstairs to carry out his bidding.
"Is that man your slave?" she asked Simon.
"Don't be silly. I told you he is my servant, and I pay him a substantial wage for his services." Simon directed her upstairs to shower and dress. "I told Trevor to buy everything you would need."
The first thing Meghann did was cut and file the claws on her hands into manageable nails. Then she brushed her teeth vigorously, trying to get the taste of blood out of her mouth. She ran a cautious hand over her gums. She felt two slight bumps; she assumed these were her new blood teeth.
In the steaming shower, Meghann considered the events of the evening. Her foremost thought was that this man she hardly knew, Simon Baldevar, held her life in his hands. She couldn't go home to her father or Bridie—that meant she wasn't just depending on Simon to explain what being a vampire meant; she needed him for basic necessities like food and shelter. What would happen if he grew bored with her or if she did something to offend him?
Why me? Why did he make me a vampire? He says he loves me, but I don't understand it. She knew she was pretty, but if she was honest, there were girls who were a lot i prettier. There were models and showgirls; with his looks and apparent wealth, he certainly could have as many of those girls as he wanted. So why me?