Old Sins, Long Shadow

by PG Forte

  “Why three days?” Damian asked. “Is that how long it takes for you to effect this change? Could you not make it happen any faster than that? Oh, if only we’d talked about this before tonight! Why did you not say something to me sooner? Had we but begun the process three days ago, we could already have been on our way!”

  Conrad smiled. “Three days ago you had not yet indicated any particular willingness to depart your precious Sevilla. How was I to know the prospect of running off with me would prove so unexpectedly agreeable to you?”

  Damian’s eyes widened. “Unexpected? Querido, how could you ever have doubted it? And here I have been, miserable for days and days, all because I believed you to be indifferent to the thought of leaving me behind. Mi amor, forsaking the city for a life of solitude and boredom in the country is not at all the same as leaving here to be with you. I would follow you anywhere, Conrad. How is it you do not know this?”

  “Well, now that you’ve explained it to me so admirably, I shall endeavor to remember it in the future. But, in truth, my dear, the timing makes very little difference. Our escape would likely be problematic no matter when it were to occur. And we could not have begun the process here. If we had, they would undoubtedly have held a funeral for you by now. During the three days your body needs to regenerate itself, you will be as one who is dead. Such a thing would not be likely to have gone unnoticed, do you not agree? At the very least, you would have found yourself waking up tonight in your crypt.”

  Damian frowned thoughtfully. “Truly? Would it really seem as though I were dead?”

  Conrad nodded. “Entirely. Your breath would grow still, the beating of your heart would be so slight and slow no human ear could hear it. You would be unresponsive to pain, to light—to any stimulation they might think to apply.” He shrugged. “There’s a reason we are termed the undead. To those who have not the senses necessary to recognize that we are but dormant during that period, it appears we have died and then returned to life.”

  “Well there’s our answer,” Damian replied, excitement gleaming in his eyes. “Do you not see it? Come, it will be dawn soon—we must start immediately. When morning arrives, I shall be found here in my chambers, tragically dead, and the entire castle will be plunged into mourning. Under such circumstances, I doubt anyone at all will notice if you fail to accompany the baron’s party when they leave. Don’t you agree? Afterward, you must hide yourself somewhere close by and then, when the time is right, unearth me from my grave and we’ll be free. If I’m believed dead, there will be no one sent to hunt for us, no need to run. It’s perfect.”

  “It’s madness,” Conrad snapped. “Are you suggesting I abandon you? That I sire you tonight and go off afterward as though nothing at all had occurred? That I simply leave you lying on your bed in a state of utter helplessness? And what then, pray tell? Shall I amuse myself for the next three days in idle pastimes and be content with merely hoping you suffer no harm during my absence?” He shook his head. “No. Absolutely not.”

  Damian’s eyebrows rose. “To what part of it do you object? Were you not already prepared to leave me, to part from me tonight and go off tomorrow, never to return to me at all? I would most certainly have suffered harm, had that been the case, and yet it seems not to have bothered you in the slightest.”

  “Of course it bothered me. But it is not at all the same.”

  “No. This is better.”

  Conrad shook his head. “It is not better. I tell you, I’ll have no part of it.”

  “Have you another plan then? You speak of hiding me somewhere safe. Well, tell me, in what locale could I possibly be any safer than right here within these castle walls? And what better way to convey me outside those walls, when the time comes, than for the palace guards, and the duke’s own carriage, to be pressed into service to carry me out?”

  “The risk is too great,” Conrad insisted. “I cannot allow it. Now, be quiet and let me think.” He fell back on the bed, his mind troubled. Damian had been right about one thing: they should have had this discussion before tonight. For now there was no time to make a proper plan. Anything done in haste must contain an added element of risk and the prospect before them was already risky enough.

  A heavy silence fell upon the room, broken only by the soft crackle of fire in the hearth and the even softer sigh made by the sweet-smelling breeze that blew in from the gardens.

  Damian had draped himself across Conrad’s chest, his eyes thoughtful. “Explain the process to me, querido,” he urged quietly. “What is involved? Should I be afraid?”

  Conrad stroked his hand down Damian’s back. “No, my dear,” he murmured reassuringly. “Never think it. There is nothing to fear, I promise you.” The warm weight of Damian’s head pressed so close to his heart, the brush of his fingers through his hair, had Conrad sighing in pleasure. He closed his eyes for a moment and reveled in the feeling. Soon, if all went well, this would be his forever. Just the thought of that, and of the great joy he would take in changing Damian—gorging himself without restraint, steeping himself in his blood—had his fangs throbbing, aching to begin the feast. It was an effort to keep from unsheathing them.

  Don’t wait, the demon within him urged. You’re tempting fate if you delay. Take him now. If nothing else, at least you’ll have had your fill of his blood.

  “But what must we do, Conrad? I don’t understand. Will you not explain it to me so that I will at least know what to expect?”

  “It is a very simple process,” Conrad answered, still somewhat distracted by his struggle to keep the beast contained. “Nothing that need concern you, my love. I drink from your blood, you drink from mine, and then you sleep.”

  “For three days,” Damian prompted. “Yes?”

  “More or less.”

  It was almost always three days. The rare changeling woke at two and a half days. Even more rare were those who slept for close to four. If it continued any longer, however, something had gone wrong. The process had failed. The changeling was never waking up. Which was not something Damian needed to hear.

  “And afterward?”

  “Afterward there is even less reason to fear. You will be hungry and will wish to eat. I will, of course, assist you in finding a suitable meal. That first feeding is all it will take to seal the changes. Then it is done.” Opening his eyes Conrad smiled at Damian. “There is naught beyond that but eternity. An eternity that we two will share.”

  A crafty smile curved Damian’s lips. “Bueno.”

  The calculating look in his lover’s eyes startled Conrad. “What is it you are thinking?” he demanded. “Tell me at once.” But, instead of answering, Damian threw himself on top of Conrad and began to nip at his neck.

  “Stop it,” Conrad ordered, jerking his head to the side in an effort to avoid Damian’s teeth. It wasn’t that he found the bites painful. If anything, the reverse was true. The struggle, the sting, the slide of their limbs against one another as they tussled; it all added up to a pleasure he found difficult to resist. It was hard to keep from responding in kind—to keep from throwing Damian down and biting him back. Hard, but necessary. The beast prowled too close to the surface tonight and it was aroused as well.

  “Damian, cease. We have no time now for such play.”

  “You think I’m playing?” Laughing, Damian widened his assault, attacking Conrad’s ear, his shoulder, his throat. “No, no, querido mio, I assure you I am not. Since you have been so slow to commence this process of turning me into a fiend like yourself, the task falls now to me.”

  A fiend. The word stung. Conrad ignored it. “Are you so childish as to imagine you could in any way affect me? It is I who must initiate the process. By claiming your life, hidalgo. By taking from you so much of your precious heart’s blood you are brought to the point of death itself. Only then, when your fate has been delivered into in my hands and your blood allowed to mingle with my own—only then, and only if I so wish it—shall I open one of my own veins and allow you access
. That is how the deed is done.”

  If Conrad’s words caused Damian to feel even slightly daunted, he didn’t show it. Eyes narrowed, he gazed haughtily back at him down the length of his aristocratic nose. “Then hurry up and do so. ¡Vayamos! What is it you’re waiting for?”

  “I am waiting for the right time and the right place, which this is not.” Growing tired of the game, Conrad pushed Damian aside and sat up. “Now, stop distracting me. I tell you, I must think of a plan.”

  To his surprise, Damian pushed him back. “No. We have a plan. And I’ve already told it to you. Were you not listening? Change me, Conrad,” he ordered, launching himself at Conrad’s chest in an attempt to force him onto his back once again. “Come, do as I say. ¡Andale! I insist upon it! Change me, at once!”

  With that, the beast slipped its leash. How dare he order me! How dare he push me!

  Conrad’s temper raged. He was conscious of nothing beyond the instinctive need to reassert his dominance. Seizing Damian by the shoulders, he threw him down on the bed and fell on top of him, savagely sinking his fangs into his throat. Damian gasped in surprise and almost succeeded in stifling the short cry of pain that burst from his lips.

  It was a small sound, one that didn’t even travel the breadth of the room, still it served to bring Conrad back to his senses. Or, at least, partway.

  Shame and despair ripped at his heart as he realized what he’d done. This was a side of himself Conrad had never wanted Damian to know. He’d taken pride in his ability to feed painlessly. Until now, he hadn’t so much as nipped at Damian without first numbing his skin. Vainly, he sought his control, but it eluded him. The beast had been pushed too far this night. It would not be appeased until it had taken its due.

  The best Conrad could manage was to bite down hard once again, snapping his jaws to ensure Damian received a second jolt of the euphoria-producing venom so useful in subduing reluctant prey. He could do nothing to take away the initial pain he’d already caused Damian to suffer, but at least he could ensure it was all the pain he gave him.

  It could have been worse. That was the single, small comfort with which Conrad consoled himself. He had been more aroused tonight than angry, which meant that at least Damian had not been exposed to the searing venom an enraged Lamia Invitus could not help but produce—that venom which could make its victims feel as though their blood had become a fiery tide, burning uncontrollably as it coursed beneath their skin. Conrad had known both sides of the experience intimately, and he hoped never to do so again.

  Damian’s muscles went lax as the venom took effect. Freed from the concern he might be hurting him, Conrad drank deeply, lost for a time in a haze of pleasure, guilt and greed, until the sound of Damian’s fading heartbeat snapped him all the way back to his senses.

  Instantly, he stopped, listening intently. Fear, like an icy-cold hand, took hold of his heart and squeezed. Damian’s pulse was weak, thready, not at all what it should be. The reason why was not too hard to fathom.

  For weeks Conrad had been feeding from Damian on a daily basis, too greedy, too selfish, too enamored with the taste of him to go elsewhere for his sustenance. His last meal had been taken less than an hour ago and, because he’d known it would be the last, he had not held back then either. Combined with the blood he’d just now taken, it had been too much. He’d left himself no choice. He must either turn Damian tonight, or allow him to die.

  Rushing against time, Conrad sealed Damian’s wounds and tore open his own wrist. “Here,” he ordered, pressing his bloody arm to Damian’s lips. “Drink.”

  There was no response.

  Damian’s breathing remained shallow. His eyelids didn’t so much as flutter, not even when Conrad shook him. Sitting up, Conrad dragged Damian onto his lap. He pressed his wrist once again to Damian’s lips, clenching his fist to make the blood flow faster. “Drink, caro,” he begged again, using all his powers of persuasion. Leaning down, he kissed Damian’s brow and whispered softly, “Come, mi amor, you must drink now. This is what you said you wanted, after all.” It was what he’d wanted too, of course, but not like this, never like this.

  Still no response.

  “Damian!” Conrad gazed despairingly at his lover’s face, pale and beautiful and far too still. “I forbid you to die. Do you hear me? Stay with me, please. Do not leave me like this, my love, for I swear I could not bear to lose you either.”

  Finally, after what seemed almost an eternity—even to one as accustomed to vast expanses of time as Conrad had become—a faint frown flickered over Damian’s face. His throat spasmed. Conrad held his breath as Damian swallowed…once…twice…a third time. Yes. Conrad sagged in relief as he felt Damian’s lips fasten on his wrist, as the action of his throat became more forceful, pulling Conrad’s blood more quickly from his veins.

  Relieved, Conrad closed his eyes and relaxed against the headboard. “So. This is how you plan on doing whatever I ask of you, is it? I must say, my dear, I am disappointed. Upon my word, I’m not used to having to repeat myself quite so many times before I’m obeyed.”

  There was a pause in the rhythm of Damian’s swallows. Conrad opened his eyes again to find Damian gazing reproachfully at him. “Have I been hearing things then? Did not you just insist such promises were both unnecessary and unwelcome?”

  “Drink,” Conrad ordered fiercely, not yet far enough removed from terror to be amused by Damian’s show of spirit. On another occasion he might have found such a thing laudable, but not tonight. “And do not stop again until I tell you to.”

  Damian resumed, sucking at Conrad’s wrist with renewed vigor. After a moment, Conrad relaxed again. “That’s better,” he murmured as he once more closed his eyes. He was disappointed tonight—not with Damian, but with himself. He should have been stronger, smarter, more careful. He should have ignored Damian’s taunts and never have allowed his control to slip as it had done.

  He’d wanted something better than this for Damian. Believing as he did, that the very tone of the relationship between sire and offspring was irrevocably set at the instant of spawning, he had, in fact, been hoping for something better for them both, something gentler and more peaceful, a transcendent moment of surpassing beauty. It was too late for that now. What would be, would be.

  His regrets would have to wait for a more convenient time, however. At the moment, he had more pressing matters to decide upon, including what his next step should be. While he suspected that Damian was correct—under these circumstances especially, the palace was in all likelihood the safest place for him to ride out his long sleep—still Conrad hated the idea.

  Even after more than half a millennia, he had yet to come to any clear intellectual understanding of the complex and perplexing relationships that linked one vampire to another. Why, for instance, despite the bitter hatred he’d harbored for his own sire, had he remained so loyal to the monster for centuries; unable to break from her until the fateful night he’d killed her?

  If anything, he’d found the parental imperative to defend his own offspring an even stronger force, one that extended, to a lesser degree, even to those whom he’d merely acquired as legacies. Tonight, those protective instincts were already hard at work within him, demanding he preserve what was his, openly rebelling at the thought of leaving his new spawn behind.

  Why, he’d as soon leave behind one of his own limbs! It could hardly be more painful. But, really, what other choice was there?

  Transporting Damian from the castle in his present somnolent state would be too risky, even for one as versed in stealth as Conrad to attempt. Waiting until he was fully asleep would only complicate matters further. But leaving him here alone held its own share of danger.

  Though he hadn’t wanted to remind Damian of the fact, his sudden death would all too likely be met with suspicion. He’d been in good health when he’d retired for the evening—if a little too pale. That detail might be remembered later, and at the slightest suggestion of vampirism, any number of atroci
ties might be visited upon his person—including several which would almost certainly prove fatal.

  At the very least, Damian’s mouth might be stuffed with garlic and sewn shut. He might be buried with a stake through his heart or with a brick wedged firmly between his broken jaws. It was even possible his head would be severed and interred separately.

  And yet, despite all of that, still it seemed as though the best thing Conrad could do for Damian, at this point, was to walk away; to distance himself for the next few days. To wait and to hope—perhaps even to pray—that when the time came to reclaim him, Damian would still be alive.

  The pull of Damian’s lips on his arm had slowed. Conrad took a moment to assess the situation. “That’s enough,” he said, satisfied with the ruddy flush of Damian’s skin, the steady rush of his pulse. He felt a rush of love and pride and possession and, leaning down, he once again, kissed Damian’s brow. “Sleep, mi amor,” he murmured softly. “And fear nothing. I will stay with you now for as long as I’m able to; and I’ll be there to greet you when you awaken.”

  And if anyone dares harm you in between, I will kill them. You have my word on that. I’ll return here with an army and make Sevilla a cursed place and not rest until I have avenged your death by filling the streets with blood and slaughtering every living soul within the city walls.

  Clearly unaware of the murderous thoughts raging in Conrad’s mind, Damian sighed blissfully and nestled closer. The faintest wisp of a smile curved his lips. “I know,” he whispered in answer. “It’s just as I planned it. I told you it would work. Did I not?”

  Planned? Conrad felt his blood run cold. Had Damian intended this to happen? Had he purposely taunted Conrad into losing control? It was not inconceivable. “My love, I don’t know if you have any idea what it is you’re saying right now, but I hope for your sake, you do not. When you are fully awake, however, we will discuss the matter. And if I find you have provoked me tonight on purpose in order to force my hand in this, I very much fear your new life will commence with a stern lesson in discipline.”