The Last Vampire- Complete series Box Set

by R. A. Steffan

  I took up jogging almost as a form of self-defense. It was easier to keep my thoughts in the present when I was physically tired. I also started practicing the self-defense and knife-fighting moves I’d learned, even though I had no one to spar with. The humans here seemed fairly bewildered by the idea of running when you didn’t have to, and none of them appeared to have any clue about fighting.

  It was kind of weird, honestly. I’d expected humans to be humans, no matter what realm they resided in. And humans fought with each other. The oddly peaceful nature of the place was starting to make me wonder about some things. Were the demons really as hands-off as they seemed to be? Was there something about Hell that calmed people down?

  If so, it wasn’t working on me—more’s the pity.

  The days were starting to run together, but I knew I’d been in Hell for a bit more than three weeks. I’d made two more attempts to get through the portal. The last attempt had been the best yet, but I still got the distinct impression that if I tried to push my whole body through, I’d get stuck halfway.

  For that reason, last night’s insomnia session had been devoted to thinking about whether or not I should contact Nigellus and ask him to bind me. In a prime example of wishy-washiness, I’d decided to give it a few more days, arrange for another mass feeding, and try one more time on my own. If there was no noticeable improvement compared to my last attempt, I’d run up the white flag.

  The way I saw it, there was no overwhelming reason why I needed to be able to leave right away. And while I was willing to trust Nigellus if it came down to it, I wasn’t exactly in a hurry to sign away the part of my soul that wasn’t already deeded to a certain undead English asshole.

  The sun was low in the sky, and I was stirring a pot of the rice-and-lentil dish that seemed to be a staple here. Dad was dozing in his chair, but he startled me by jerking awake with a small gasp.

  “Whoa,” I said. “Easy there. Did you have a bad dream?”

  But Dad wasn’t looking at me. He was looking over my shoulder, at the far corner of the room. I turned to follow his gaze. My eyes fell on Myrial, who had popped into existence inside the small hut without any warning or invitation.

  Again.

  TWENTY-ONE

  THIS WAS THE FIFTH time the demon had shown up unannounced since I’d arrived, and it was seriously grating on my nerves at this point.

  “You could materialize outside and knock,” I pointed out helpfully. Then I cursed as a glop of rice detached from the spoon I was still holding and fell to the floor.

  Myrial was in her female form, as she had been for every visit since the first one. She waved an airy hand. “Dear, we’re family. I didn’t realize you expected me to stand on ceremony.”

  I mentally counted to ten.

  “Myrial, I’m not trying to be rude. But it upsets Dad when you pop in like that.” Deep breath. Let it out. “And given that my kitchen skills aren’t the best to start with, doing it while I’m standing in front of a boiling pot is just asking for trouble. Now, why are you here?” And how soon can I convince you to leave?

  “It’s your father I’m here about, dear,” Myrial said, as though I was somehow behaving unreasonably. “It’s been nearly a month. You need to make a decision about getting him some real help.” She gestured. “Look at him.”

  I looked at him. Then I looked at her again.

  “And by real help, you mean a soul-bond,” I said flatly. “I’ve already told you that I’m not ready to do something so... irreversible. Besides, he’s improving on his own.”

  Myrial raised her eyebrows and waved a hand at him. “Is he?” she asked in a wry tone.

  “Yes he is,” I snapped. “He responds to people sometimes, and I’ve seen him make decisions on his own about small things, like which food to eat first, or where he wants to sit.”

  Myrial crossed her arms. “I find it interesting that you’re so resistant to something that could potentially make him whole again within minutes.”

  I set the pot away from the flames and crossed my arms to mirror her. “And I find it interesting that you’re so set on doing this. You’re supposed to be immortal. Why would a measly month matter so much? What’s in it for you?”

  Myrial looked offended. “He’s family. Of a sort, at least. Though I am starting to wonder if there’s some reason you don’t want him in full possession of his faculties.”

  My temper flared, at least in part because the words hit too close to home. I’d reached a sort of peace with the current circumstances. There was no way Dad and I would be able to live together peacefully in a tiny two-room building for weeks on end if his mind and personality were intact. As it was, our relationship was more of an idea than an actuality. I took care of him—with the generous help of other people—and he didn’t say horrible or hurtful things to me.

  He didn’t say anything to me.

  But despite what Myrial was implying, that wasn’t the basis for my resistance to the soul-bond. It probably made me a hypocrite since I was contemplating just such a bond for myself, if that was what it took to be able to travel from Hell to Earth. But I trusted Nigellus... mostly. And I didn’t trust Myrial.

  Myrial had ruined my grandmother’s life.

  Myrial was the reason my father and I were in this mess in the first place.

  If a demon-bond really did turn out to be the only way to heal my father’s mind, then I’d find another demon to do it.

  “I don’t appreciate your implication,” I said, feeling the last vestiges of civility in the conversation start to slide away. “The answer is no. The answer has been no from the start, but you still keep coming back.”

  A calculating look came over the demon’s face, and I felt the back of my neck prickle.

  “Are you so certain you speak for your father’s soul?” she asked.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked.

  Myrial smiled sweetly, disappearing and reappearing in front of my father’s chair in the next instant. She’d switched to her male form at the same time, becoming a face from old photo albums.

  “Darryl,” said my grandfather in a wheedling tone, “I can help you. I can undo what the Fae did to you... make it just like it never happened. I only need one tiny little thing from you in return.”

  I picked my jaw up from the floor and leapt forward, but Dad’s face twisted into lines of anger before I could get between them. He lunged from his chair with a snarl, pushing Myrial hard in the chest with both hands. The demon barely moved, but he did look taken aback.

  “No,” my father snarled. “You get out of here. We don’t want you here!”

  Myrial seemed almost as surprised as I was by the outburst. I pushed my way between the pair, separating them.

  “You heard him,” I snapped. “He’s not interested. Now leave, and this time, don’t come back.”

  My grandfather’s eyes glowed with red flames, and his features hardened. He grabbed the wrist of the hand I had pressed against his chest, and my surroundings dissipated. They returned a second later and I staggered, wrenching my arm free. We were outside, standing behind the hut amidst a scattering flock of squawking chickens.

  “Keep your hands off me,” I bit out, aware on some level that I had precisely zero methods for backing up my trash talk if Myrial had decided to come at me for real.

  “Don’t be dramatic,” the demon said. “You want me gone? Fine. But first, you need to know a few things. You think you understand this place, but you don’t. You think Nigellus is a nice guy—a friend—but you’re wrong.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, rubbing my wrist. “I know about changelings. I know about the Tithe, and I understand this place just fine. As far as Nigellus goes, we may not exactly be BFFs, but he’s done a damn sight more to help me and the people I care about than you have.”

  Myrial laughed, a short, ugly bark. “Oh, you foolish girl. You think that, do you? Then let me pose you a question. The Tithe has
been ongoing for more than two hundred years. So ask yourself—why are there no elderly humans here? And once you’re done asking that, go enquire about the blood wine. When you’ve done that, we’ll talk again, whether you want to or not.”

  With that, Myrial disappeared, leaving me alone with the flustered poultry we’d disturbed. I stood there for quite a while, staring at the empty space where the demon had been.

  * * *

  Part of me wanted to discount what Myrial had said. But a larger part had already fixated on the question. Why weren’t there any old people in the titheling settlement? I’d wondered in passing when I first arrived why none of the so-called elders appeared to be much past their fortieth birthday, if that. Fatima was one of the oldest looking people I’d seen here, and if she was fifty, I’d be shocked.

  After a day’s deliberation, my curiosity won out and I cornered Sharalynn.

  “How come there are no old people here?” I asked bluntly.

  Sharalynn blinked, clearly confused. “Huh? I’m not sure what you mean, hon. There are lots of old people here.”

  But I shook my head. “I don’t mean middle-aged, like Li Wei or Fatima. I mean old, like, white hair and needing a cane to get around.”

  Sharalynn was still looking at me very oddly. “Zorah, Li Wei is something like a hundred and sixty. I’m pretty sure Fatima is about the same, though she doesn’t like to discuss her age. And, well, sometimes a person will get hurt and need to use a walking stick until they can be healed, but I’ve never seen anyone with... white hair.”

  My heart gave that little hiccupping stutter that sometimes came when you learned something that made reality shift around you, sliding into a new configuration.

  “One hundred and sixty?” I echoed faintly. “As in, years? Okay, hold up a minute. How old are you?”

  “Twenty-nine,” she said without hesitation. “Like I said, I’ve been thinking it’s about time for me to settle down. I like how I feel now, so I’m considering starting the wine soon.”

  I tried to parse that statement, but there were too many things whirling in my head. Enquire about the blood wine, Myrial had said. A horrible suspicion was starting to form in the back of my mind, but it seemed so far-fetched as to be almost unbelievable.

  “I don’t understand what that means,” I said cautiously. “What does wine have to do with anything?”

  Sharalynn opened her mouth, closed it, and seemed to consider her words. “Zorah, I feel like we’re not having the same conversation. I think things must be really different on Earth.”

  I nodded. “Yeah, I think you may be right. Could you just... explain what happens here in Hell? Pretend I’m five years old.”

  She laughed, a bit nervously. “Right. Okay, so those of us who weren’t born here come here as tithelings from the Enemy—usually at a very young age. You know that part already.”

  I nodded.

  “So, either way, we grow up with our caretakers—or with our parents, in cases like mine. At some point—and the timing is left up to the individual, though the elders are always available to give us guidance—we decide that we’ve reached our physical and mental peak.”

  I nodded again, more slowly this time. “Okay...?”

  “When we feel like we’re at a good age, we start drinking the blood wine provided by the demons.” She shrugged. “That’s pretty much it.”

  I rubbed a hand down my face and tried to bang enough synapses together to make her words make sense. “And... once you start drinking this blood wine, then what happens? You just... stop aging?”

  “Well, I mean, our bodies stop changing. Or at least, any changes are really, really slow after that.” Sharalynn’s brow furrowed in consternation as she tried to put something into words that was clearly self-evident as far as she was concerned. “Obviously, time still passes. We still get older.”

  “What else can you tell me about this wine?” I pressed.

  She thought for a moment. “Uh... well, like I said, we get it from the demons. I guess it contains a rare ingredient, because I’ve heard that they use magic to make enough of it that everyone can have what they need. But supposedly, they can only increase the amount so much with magic before it loses its effectiveness. That’s why it’s carefully rationed—you can’t just take a whole bottle all for yourself. The elders dole it out in small cups every couple of weeks.”

  My heart started to pound harder. Blood wine... containing an ingredient that was incredibly rare. An ingredient that somehow increased the health and vitality of the human body. Dear god—I wanted so badly to be wrong about this.

  “I need to see this wine,” I said, barely recognizing my own voice. “Where do they keep it?”

  Sharalynn was looking at me oddly. “Whoa there, girl. You need to slow down and take a breath. Come on, let’s go talk to one of the elders about this.”

  I nodded. “Li Wei. I want to talk to Li Wei.”

  Of all the elders I’d met, I felt most comfortable with Li Wei after spending time with him as he attempted to get through to my father over the past weeks. He greeted us with a pleasant smile, which morphed into a curious frown at seeing whatever expression was currently on my face.

  “Hello, Zorah... Sharalynn. Is everything all right?” he asked.

  “I need to see a sample of the blood wine,” I blurted without preamble. “It’s important.”

  He blinked. “I’m afraid we have none at the moment. The next batch won’t arrive for two days.”

  Frustration welled, but I pressed it back. “What can you tell me about it?”

  He gestured us inside his dwelling. “Come in, both of you. We might as well be comfortable.” When we were seated, he met my eyes. “I fear I cannot give you many details as to the blood wine’s magical composition. The demons provide it, and they have never been forthcoming. I can only tell you its effects.”

  “It stops human aging?” I asked.

  “Well, it slows aging to nearly undetectable levels, certainly,” Li Wei said. “It also heals wounds and diseases.”

  It heals wounds.

  I covered my mouth with one hand. It was shaking. After a moment, I pulled it away and spoke. “I need to see it, as soon as the new batch arrives.”

  Li Wei looked taken aback, but he nodded. “You understand that we cannot spare much, but you are welcome to examine a small cupful.” He continued to watch me carefully. “You are clearly agitated about this, Zorah. So I ask again, is everything all right?”

  I was caught out for a moment, unsure how to answer him. Whatever was in the blood wine, humans here had apparently been using it for well over a century. For them, it was a boon, not a problem. I needed time to think about the implications of what I’d learned, before I could sort out the tangle of different threads that seemed to be converging around me.

  “I don’t know,” I said after a short pause. “I think... maybe my understanding of what’s going on here was... lacking.”

  Li Wei tilted his head at me, a frown marring his high forehead. “All that’s going on here is life, Zorah. Just... people. Living.”

  But right now, it wasn’t these people I was worried about. Maybe it should have been, but that wasn’t the thing setting alarm bells off in my head. I tried to tell myself not to jump to unwarranted conclusions. Wait two days, I thought. Wait until you can see the stuff firsthand.

  “I get that,” I told him. “I’ll... uh... I’ll just come back in a couple of days when I can get a sample. It may be nothing.”

  * * *

  Two days later, I held a clay cup containing a few ounces of red liquid that was, in fact, the precise shade of freshly spilled blood. Other people were coming and going from the meeting hall, claiming identical cups and downing them in a gulp or two. Meanwhile, I was examining the drink like a wine connoisseur, waving it back and forth under my nose.

  It smelled like wine, anyway. Fruity, with a hint of toasted oak and truffles, I thought irreverently. Or something else equally ridi
culous sounding.

  Swallowing against the dryness of my mouth, I took a small sip and rolled it around. The minerally, vaguely metallic aftertaste was far from overpowering... but it was definitely there. Blood wine, indeed.

  Still, it could be argued that the demons’ truth-in-labeling practices proved nothing. Yes, the blood wine appeared to have actual blood in it. But there was one more thing I needed to try before I reached the conclusion I desperately didn’t want to reach. Moving to a shadowed corner, I pulled out the little paring knife I used to prepare our food. With a deep breath, I sliced the blade across the meat of my forearm, forcing myself to make the cut deep enough that it would take some time to heal even though my inner succubus was topped up on sex energy.

  And son of a bitch, it hurt. Biting my lip hard—because if I thought that hurt, this was going to hurt way more—I poured the remains of the cup’s contents over the gaping slice. A hiss of pain escaped my control, and my eyes watered as I stared fixedly at the wound.

  I’d experienced what followed on only a handful of occasions before, but they’d all been memorable. The wound began to close from the inside out, flesh knitting together like a time-lapse video on high speed. The burn of alcohol gave way to a deep tingling, then itching... and then, nothing. The wound was gone as though it had never existed.

  It was vampire blood.

  The demons were feeding the humans in Hell vampire blood. And there was only one possible place they could have obtained it.

  The cup fell from my nerveless fingers to the floor. I ignored Li Wei calling my name as I more or less fled the hall, my hurried walk turning into a jog, and then a run. I didn’t stop until I was back at Dad’s hut, slamming the door behind me and collapsing to lean against it as my chest rose and fell rapidly.

  My father gave a small start at the noise, actually going so far as to turn his head in my direction as I slid down to sit on the flagstone floor. I barely noticed, because my brain was too caught up in replaying a scene from several weeks ago, like a movie inside my head.