‘Please, Christine,’ Tessa tried again. She lowered her voice to a whisper and said, ‘I don’t want your help. I didn’t want your help in the first place and, when I asked for your help, you weren’t there to give it.’
‘I’m sure we could all use a recess,’ the judge admitted. He banged his gavel three times and bellowed, ‘Usher! Bring refreshments for the court!’
Christine smiled triumphantly.
Tessa’s eyes had grown used to the gloomy confines of the courtroom. She could make out the jury of smartly dressed vampires, 13 of them clearly prepared to decide her fate. They stared back at Tessa with expressions of nonchalant condemnation. She tried to smile for them but, with the pressure of an impending sentence looming over her, she couldn’t make the grin feel as though it belonged on her face.
Turning to glance at the sparsely populated viewing gallery she saw a couple in the furthest corner. They kissed passionately, melding together and constantly touching, stroking and caressing. Their intimacy was so unconscious she thought it was almost as though they had forgotten they were attending a court of vampire lore. Tessa couldn’t see them clearly enough to make out their features but there was something familiar about the pair that made her wish them luck with their future lives together. Despite all that had happened, and regardless of all the sexual cruelty she had enjoyed since becoming a vampire, Tessa still believed in true love and hoped it remained constant for the couple.
‘True love lasts forever,’ she muttered. ‘True love conquers all.’
Before the sweetness of that notion could sadden her, she turned her attention to the front of the viewing gallery.
Three women, dressed in matching black suits, glared sullenly in her direction. Widow’s veils covered their features but, through the shadows of those dark swatches, Tessa could see the demonic glint of their blood red eyes. The women glowered down at her and left Tessa with the distinct impression that she had earned their hatred.
Hurriedly, she looked away from the viewing gallery.
A court usher led a handful of wary Goths into the centre of the chamber. His smile was Machiavellian and tipped with razor teeth. He spoke with the haste of a sideshow hustler trying to angle his way around obvious truths. ‘Didn’t I tell youse I’d introduce youse to some real vampires?’ the usher laughed. ‘Didn’t I tell youse I’d find the real deal for youse, rather than those jokers who dress up in capes from the charity shops and all call themselves Lestat or Angel? Youse tell me youse want vampires: here I am giving youse vampires.’
The ashen faced, dark-haired group stared around the courtroom.
Their eyes were wide and their jaws hung open in disbelief.
Tessa watched them without compassion. She was aware that they were comparative innocents. She suspected they had been drawn into the courtroom by their own facile need to fill an emptiness in their lonely, desolate lives. The idea of trying to save them crossed her mind but she realised, while she was cuffed to the dock, she only had a slim hope of saving herself. Before she could think to shout out a warning, Christine had appeared by her side and was whispering urgently into her ear.
‘The judge isn’t going to let you tell the story your way, darling.’
Tessa shook her head and turned away in disgust.
Christine was strikingly attractive.
Devastating good looks complemented the combination of titian hair and emerald eyes. Even with her pronounced overbite she still managed to look like a glamorous actress. But, beneath the good looks, Tessa knew the woman was shallow, cold and deeply untrustworthy.
It didn’t help that Christine also inspired a chilling arousal.
‘Why couldn’t you have helped me 48 hours ago?’ Tessa asked. ‘That was when I wanted your help.’
‘That was when you wanted my help,’ Christine agreed. ‘But this is when you need my help.’ She glanced over her shoulder and studied the jury.
The court usher had led his group of Goths to the benches where the jury sat. The result was carnage. Necks were bitten and throats ripped. Two female vampires – sisters judging by the similarity of their features – fed from one helpless youth. They had him trapped in a joint embrace and stroked his body as they sucked the life from him. Watching the trio, Tessa couldn’t decide if the young man was tortured by agony or ecstasy. She supposed it had not been so long since she had been puzzled by an identical dilemma.
‘This may sound like a cliché,’ Christine whispered. ‘Especially considering there are 13 vampires sat down there, but the jury want blood.’
Tessa regarded her coolly. ‘I should have known you were a lawyer, Christine. From the moment I first saw you I thought you looked like a woman who would enjoy screwing people or sucking the life out of them. I imagine vampirism is almost like charity work in contrast to your true vocation as a lawyer.’
‘Thank you, darling,’ Christine grinned. ‘That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.’
From the shadows, one of the Goths screamed.
Tessa tried not to see what was happening but it was impossible to look away. The jury fed from the hapless innocents, drinking from their throats and gnawing like animals on their flesh.
Clothes were rent.
Skin was torn.
The coppery scent of blood hung heavy in the air. Beneath the whimpers of pain Tessa could hear the orgiastic sighs of gratitude and excess. Salacious chuckles intermingled with agonised screams. Cries of sexual abandon fought to be heard over shrieks of terrified pain. She silently thanked whatever stroke of fortune it was that had forgotten to burden her with the typical vampire’s lust for blood.
‘Do you want me to get you something from this buffet?’ Christine asked. She waved a finger in the direction of the unfortunate Goths. ‘There’s a cute boy down there with a very large jugular. If you’re thirsty after all that talking, I could…’
‘I don’t drink blood,’ Tessa said stiffly.
Christine opened her eyes wide and shook her head. ‘You’re a vampire. You need to drink blood,’ she hissed. Lowering her voice she added, ‘And, even if you’re on some stupid haemoglobin-free diet, darling – this court is not the place to make such an announcement.’
Tessa tried to fix her with a pitying glare but she knew the look of contempt was wasted on Christine. The woman was a heartless, amoral predator – almost a stereotype of the professional lawyer. Arguing with her would be futile and Tessa realised she should save her breath for continuing her story after the recess.
‘I don’t want anything to drink,’ she said calmly. Considering that thought for a moment, deciding it wasn’t strictly accurate, she added, ‘Unless you can find me a glass of vodka.’
‘Did your client just announce that she doesn’t drink blood?’
The judge’s voice carried easily over the mêlée of the courtroom. He glowered in Tessa’s direction with his features set in a scowl. Steadily, he turned his disparaging glare on Christine.
‘If she doesn’t drink blood, that’s proof of her heresy.’
‘She does drink blood,’ Christine said quickly.
‘I don’t drink blood,’ Tessa proclaimed. ‘And I’m never going to.’
The judge wearily shook his head.
Those members of the jury not involved in the carnage glared at her with obvious disgust. Their contempt was so severe Tessa knew they would never acquit her regardless of whether the evidence proved her innocent or guilty.
‘Fuck,’ Christine snapped. She studied Tessa with tightly suppressed impatience and said, ‘That’s going to go against you if he gets as far as his summation.’
‘I don’t drink blood,’ Tessa repeated.
‘So you’ve said,’ the judge replied. ‘And since you’ve admitted to your heresy so freely, perhaps you’d like to simply admit to treason and murder so we can bring these proceedings to a close?’
Christine grabbed Tessa’s arm. ‘Don’t admit to treason and murder,’ she said urgently. ‘I can pos
sibly bargain against the heresy – maybe we can say it’s an allergy or a fad or something – but you’re not making my job easy here.’
Tessa pulled her arm away from Christine’s grip. Staring at the judge she said, ‘If you let me tell the story in my own way, you can decide whether or not I’m guilty of treason and murder.’
‘Are you going to be as circuitous with your description of the remainder of events?’ he enquired. ‘You have yet to tell us how you came to be involved with Carlos san Miguel.’
Tessa stiffened at the mention of his name.
It was automatic to glare nervously around the courtroom, as though she expected him to appear from the gloomy shadows. Once she had convinced herself that wasn’t likely to happen, she relaxed and decided it was time to continue with her story.
‘Carlos,’ she said thoughtfully. Her lips were dry. The stench of blood that filled the room was maddeningly tempting but she refused to let her thoughts go down that route. ‘I was just getting to Carlos,’ she muttered. ‘Carlos san Miguel was a passionate man and believed his destiny revolved around pleasure. He believed his destiny revolved around the pleasure he could receive from others – and the pleasure he was able to bestow. Carlos san Miguel was…’
Chapter Eight
Carlos was an absolute pig.
I first met Carlos at a Halloween party when I was with Mel. She had introduced him as a current boyfriend yet he had still had the audacity to make a pass at me. With his dark hair, dark eyes and the whole European/Mediterranean/Don Juan image working for him, I had been outraged by his suggestion and sorely tempted.
Please don’t misunderstand.
I’ve never had a thing for guys with curly chest hair and the looks of a 70s porn star. But I’d figured a guy with the confidence of Carlos would have picked up some skills through his life. However, because he’d been so absorbed with himself and because Dean had been at the same party (and I’d also figured Mel wouldn’t have been too happy if I’d agreed to what Carlos suggested) I pointedly declined his invitation.
But Carlos was the first name that sprang to my mind when I realised Mel needed help. He was big, strong and manly enough to present the hope of a solution to this crisis. He struck me as potentially resourceful because, whenever Mel complained about him, she had said he was a self-obsessed control freak who always insisted on having his own way. I thought a person with those qualities would be the ideal partner to help me negotiate Mel’s release.
Admittedly, I did recall Mel saying she would rather die than be beholden to the swarthy self-obsessed bastard. But I figured those were the same words that most of us say after an acrimonious parting.
I snatched my clothes from the floor and rushed out of the church without looking back. Alan called after me, telling me I had to wait for the legion of vampire hunters to return, so they could take me to their lair. But I had already figured that would not be my most sensible option. Dressing as I ran, anxious to do what I could as quickly as possible, I rushed through the city and made my way to Carlos’s home.
The prospect of dawn lingered beyond the horizon. Mel had warned me that I wouldn’t be able to walk in sunlight and the idea of being caught outside when dawn broke gave me an eerie disquiet. Trying to remember the address Carlos had given me ‘should I ever change my mind’, I found myself in a classier part of town than I’d expected.
Leafy trees shaded the suburban avenue’s pavements. The magnificent houses were hidden behind lush hedges and carefully concealed wrought iron railings. The few cars visible (and not locked and secured inside the impenetrable fortresses of their garages) were Carerras, Kompressors and convertible Audis.
I don’t know if it was my status as a vampire, or the fact that I was wearing sweat-stained clothes over a sweat-stained body, but I felt like a vagrant wandering the streets. I quietly thanked my good fortune that it was too early in the day for anyone to see me save for an occasional milkman and paperboy. Skulking furtively in the few remaining shadows, I marvelled at the fact that Carlos was so wealthy and passably attractive – and wondered why Mel had dropped him. It was especially puzzling to realise she had gone from Carlos to someone like Alan because the two men were such different types. Carlos had money and oozed an oily sexual magnetism while Alan was a trainee priest who had handed Mel over to the legion of vampire hunters. I couldn’t help feeling that her decision to choose Alan over Carlos was one she probably regretted and I wondered if it said something profound about the vagaries of true love.
Eventually, after scouring the clean and soulless streets, I found the address and composed my features so I didn’t appear too overwhelmed by the affluence I was about to encounter. I also tried to think how I would explain Mel’s predicament to Carlos if he didn’t know she was a vampire.
I made my way along a stretching driveway toward a house that would not have looked out of place as the home for a monarch or a movie star. With white plaster walls, sprawling lawns and pillars on either side of the double doors, I felt distinctly out of place and unwelcome. And, with a growing sense of impending disappointment, I rang the bell and waited.
A blonde answered.
She was stunning.
Dressed in white ankle socks, and matching panties and bra, she looked like a glamorous young housewife disturbed before she had a chance to properly dress. The only thing that marred her otherwise flawless appearance was the black ink tattoo on her inner thigh.
It reminded me of the similar mark that Mel sported. I was about to say as much when I realised there wasn’t a polite way to broach such a subject. Admittedly, she seemed untroubled by the fact that she was only wearing her underwear. And she appeared indifferent to my lecherous appraisal. But if I started to point out my girlfriend had a similar tattoo close to her pussy it would likely exceed the boundaries of a civilised introduction to the conversation.
I took note of her blunt-cut bob, full breasts, narrow waist and long, smooth legs. Surprised by the arousal she stirred I drew a deep breath before daring to speak.
‘Does Carlos live here?’
She regarded me with sapphire eyes. ‘Have you come to see Carlos?’
‘I have to see Carlos.’
There was none of the hesitation I expected. I had thought she would most likely refuse. Or grill me with a thousand and one awkward questions. She was strikingly attractive, confident and composed. But no woman I knew would allow another to burst into her home at dawn and demand to see the man who lived there.
However, instead of asking my business, she simply invited me inside and said, ‘Carlos is having his morning shower. He’s a very fastidious man. Do you want to wait in the kitchen with me until he’s finished?’
I stepped into the sanctuary of the mansion just as dawn broke over the horizon. When the doors were closed behind me I felt as though I had narrowly escaped a terrible ordeal. A paranoid voice at the back of my mind suggested I had fled from one ordeal but I would likely face a worse one inside the mansion. I wasn’t sure where that thought came from, or why it should strike with such intensity, but it was enough to make me proceed with caution as I entered Carlos’s home.
The décor was elegant and tasteful.
Twin staircases curved around the reception hall and went up to a galleried landing. The walls were a soft shade of cream and cluttered only by the occasional piece of stylised artwork. Framed nudes, a few shots of couples spanking, screwing and doing other naughty things made me realise that Carlos had managed to imprint his own brand of sleazy style on the sophisticated interior of this home.
The blonde led the way lazily through the spacious hall. Her panties had a full panel at the rear – not the thong I had hoped she might be wearing – but the sight of the thin fabric clutching her buttocks was enough to make me fantasise about the perfection of the bottom beneath. I raised my gaze in time to see her glance over her shoulder and silently beckon for me to follow. Her coquettish smile suggested she had read my thoughts, but I pushed that idea
from my mind and sauntered in her wake.
With my hearing able to detect faraway whispers I caught the sound of distant music, something operatic and unintelligible to my uncultured ear. The noise fought for precedence over the hiss of running water. I could also hear the sultry growl of someone grunting and gasping and I realised I was listening to the sounds of sex. Blushing at the inadvertent eavesdropping, I tried not to imagine what Carlos might be doing in the shower.
‘Come through to the kitchen,’ the blonde called.
I thought of asking if I could freshen up in the bathroom, and then decided I didn’t want to impose on her hospitality. And it was possibly because I wanted to check my reflection, and confirm I looked as unsightly as I felt, that I quickly noticed the absence of mirrors. The observation didn’t register in my conscious thoughts, pushed aside when I remembered that I wouldn’t be able to see myself in a mirror even if I could find one. But when I noticed the blinds were drawn on the hall windows, and a similar arrangement kept the kitchen shaded from the brightness of the rising dawn, I began to suspect there might be a reason that Carlos’s home was a vampire-friendly household.
That thought stirred a moment’s disquiet. An icy shiver tingled down my spine as I prepared to encounter vampires other than Mel.
‘Drink?’
I asked for a mineral water, not sure my body could tolerate caffeine after the night I had endured. The blonde gave me an icy glass of sparkling Evian and encouraged me to sit next to her on one of the kitchen stools at the breakfast bar. Her easy acceptance of my presence in her home was more than a little disconcerting. I struggled to act as though I was not surprised by the hospitality.
‘Carlos will be here soon,’ the blonde confided. ‘He had a late night and he always likes to freshen up thoroughly before the start of a new day.’
Once Bitten Page 7