The Dark Blood of Poppies

by Freda Warrington

  Instead of kneading her with frantic hands, as other men did, his touch was gentle. When his lips touched her collarbone, she stiffened with pleasure, suppressing any sound lest he think she was acting. His mouth alighted here and there on her face, avoiding her lips until she was ready, desperate for the kiss.

  As her mouth opened under his, thirsting for the hot pressure and the taste of him, he slid one hand over her stomach and thighs. How gorgeous his hand felt. The warm ache flared and spread, tingling down the insides of her legs to her toes.

  Now he pulled her on to her side, slipping one long leg between hers. Close as velvet, this intimacy, yet still he did not enter her. He was teasing her. And she was shaking now with the effort of denying her own arousal.

  The yearning became sweet agony. Oh God, he knows exactly what he’s doing. How… this is cruel, he can’t do this to me!

  But her head fell back and she groaned. He was going to hold back until she became so desperate that she made him…

  The sensations deepened. At last, at last he slid into her. She could have cried at his gentleness, the incredible sensuality of his flesh against hers and inside her. To do this to me when I won’t find any release… he’ll finish and roll off happy and just leave me…

  But instead of pushing blindly after his own pleasure, Sebastian found hers; found the exact place and drew her expertly along a mercuric path.

  She clung fiercely to him, rocking with him, willing him not to stop. The barriers she’d set in place for years melted. Flames fluttered through her, feathers, chains of red jewels, building towards the single point of fire. She couldn’t stop, couldn’t even think. And suddenly, violently, the fire broke.

  The sensation was so powerful that it was close to pain. It was an opening, a surrender, the honeyed stab of absolute release. The waves pulsed on and on, stealing her voice and soul, stranding her in blackness. Warm, satiny blackness filled with red stars.

  “No one,” she gasped. “No one has ever—”

  She lay drained, unable to move. Sweat sheened her limp body. And her lover, the stranger, looked down at her with pleasure and affection.

  “Well?” he said.

  “How did you do that?” she exclaimed.

  “You sound a little angry with me. Was it such a terrible shock?”

  He moved gently inside her as he spoke, waking tiny flames of pleasure. She wanted to consume him, to possess him forever; and for making her feel those emotions, she hated him. Then he began to withdraw. With a cry of protest she clasped him, saying, “Don’t.”

  But he turned onto his side, leaving her empty.

  “Oh, you like me now?” he said, teasing. He stroked her hip. She arched towards his touch.

  “What do you think?” she whispered.

  “And your other lovers never give you such pleasure? Is that not part of the bargain?”

  She didn’t answer. I shouldn’t have given myself away, she thought bitterly, should have pretended it happens all the time.

  “Most men are selfish fools,” he added.

  “Oh, tell me.”

  “But all it takes is a little consideration.” He caressed her cheek, smiling with infuriating self-satisfaction. But he was so lovely…

  Her hand slid towards his thighs and grasped the satiny penis, still erect and slick with her fluids. Disturbing, that he’d held back while she had lost control.

  “And what about you?” she said, coaxing him towards her.

  “Why so impatient?” The dark amusement on his face tantalised her. “We have all night, surely?”

  Again he held back and began to kiss her with tormenting delicacy. He kissed her forehead, cheeks, nose. His lips printed her jaw and neck with heat. He seemed to love her throat most of all, though he lavished attention everywhere. Worshipping her. His touch pulled her down into the whirlpool again.

  The bed became a secret otherworld in which it no longer mattered that Sebastian was winning the battle. Here was safety. No one would know if she gave herself up to him in the sweet darkness.

  Her body opened to his, and wild feelings took her again. Again the red claws of joy pierced her and she writhed as her spasms lifted her up and hurled her into the universe.

  Her eyes came open with wonder. She saw Sebastian’s face above hers, not amused now but intent, his eyes blank with lust. She wanted him to share her fulfilment, even though the look disquieted her a little. She gripped his buttocks, thrusting hard against him.

  When he spoke, his voice shocked her. He sounded different, not lost in passion but as steel-hard as a knife. “Is this what you wanted, Robyn?” he said savagely. “To find out… how your victims feel?”

  A moment of primal terror. She went rigid, but all was swamped in chaos and she couldn’t think, let alone escape. His head dropped so she saw only the mass of dark hair shimmering. He groaned and cried out, “Oh God. Robyn.”

  She wanted to hold him through the convulsion, his rapture provoking another aching response in her – but the echo of his hard words stopped her.

  Then he seemed to undulate, his head rearing and swooping down to her neck. Pain flared in her throat. Dull at first, like a wasp sting it grew more intense, throbbing, burning, pulling.

  He was biting her. She heard him swallowing, felt her veins leaping and her heartbeat thundering in her head. A dim but overwhelming horror filled her.

  He’s drinking my blood!

  It wasn’t pleasant, not a bizarre heightening of their ardour. It was vile. Her hands tingled and her ears buzzed with blood-loss. She was pinioned, as if being held under swirling water.

  Now she saw the appalling truth: that she’d been tricked. That he was taking revenge for Russell’s death. But this is not fair, she raged silently. You’ll pay for this, Sebastian. You will pay!

  She believed this, until she realised she was dying.

  No panic. Just slipping away.

  Seeing their eyes and their spell-woven hair all around her. Sebastian. Charlotte. Karl. Violette. Was this their horrible secret? No, oh God, impossible, no…

  Robyn wasn’t dead yet. Something nudged her back to consciousness, and she realised that Sebastian was no longer drinking. His teeth were still in her neck, two hard rods impaling her, but he paused with the faintest sigh against her skin, raising gooseflesh all over her body. Then he released her. His fangs slipped out of the wounds. Pain receded.

  As he lifted his head, mouth open, she glimpsed the sharp canines. Worse, she saw them retract until she thought she’d imagined their sharpness and length. Blood glossed his tongue and lips. Sickened, she wanted nothing but to escape.

  He held her down. Their bodies were still joined… how terrible the betrayal seemed then. But his face!

  Not the cruel, triumphant expression Robyn had expected. Instead he looked as she felt: confused, stricken, angry. At last she found her breath.

  “You bastard!” she exploded. How weak her rage sounded. She craved words to wound him like bullets, but none existed.

  “What did you expect, beautiful child?” His face lifted into more composed lines, but she sensed effort in his mockery. “If you play in the forest, you are bound to meet a wolf.”

  Her anger gathered strength. She made a concerted attempt to push him off. Her only desire now was to expel him from the house, without rousing Alice or Mary. “Get off me! Get out.”

  She slapped him – a foolish risk, but instead of retaliating he slid lithely out of bed. His face was icy as he gathered his clothes.

  “I have no wish to stay, believe me,” he said.

  He dressed swiftly. Rage stung her eyes as she watched him. He possessed the cheating beauty of the Devil. And she hated him.

  “Get the hell out of my house before I call the police.”

  And he was gone. He simply vanished from where he stood.

  Robyn flung a pillow through the space where he’d been, as if to exorcise him. The pillow bounced off the dressing table and hit the floor with a flump
.

  “You don’t frighten me!” she said aloud.

  She meant to get up and wash, perhaps make a hot drink to calm herself.

  Then she found she was too weak to move.

  A chill wind rushed in and blew out her anger, followed by fever and nightmares.

  * * *

  Cesare walked with Simon and John through a pine forest on the banks of the Rhine. The tree trunks were dark pillars in a navy-blue night. Cesare felt at peace. It seemed only right that an angel had come to him. Confident, Cesare felt that he was marching to war with his warrior-comrades of gold and iron beside him.

  And now he dared to ask Simon a question. “Were you ever human?”

  “Once,” Simon answered. “Thousands of years ago. The centuries wear us thin, until we become glass vessels for the light of heaven to shine through.”

  “So a vampire such as myself could become God’s envoy too?”

  “You might not wish to. It can be a great trial.” Simon sounded weary.

  “But not a burden, surely?”

  “It is never a burden to serve God,” Simon agreed.

  “But there aren’t enough of us,” Cesare said thoughtfully. “We need new blood, a new race.” He became more animated. Simon and John gazed at him; he’d caught their imaginations. “New vampires, untainted…”

  Cesare stopped. A female was walking towards them, regal in a fur cape, jewels and feathers in her hair, an acidic smile on her lips.

  Ilona.

  “What’s going on?” she said. “I’ve seen Pierre. He told me to find you three. I’ve just returned from America because…”

  She hesitated, her smile vanishing. Cesare had always disliked her, with her insolence and wanton femininity. He held her eyes, impressing his newfound power upon her.

  “Go on,” he said.

  Her eyes flicked to Simon, John, and back to Cesare. “I’ve been Violette’s victim. She almost tore me to pieces. I’m here to say that everyone is right. She’s dangerous.”

  Cesare was thrilled. For this, he would set aside his distaste. “So you fled to us for sanctuary.”

  “Sanctuary?” Ilona tilted her head in disgust. “Hardly. Yes, Violette attacked me but I’m still on my feet. I intend to show her that she can’t destroy me. However, I’m not such a fool as to tackle her alone. Pierre tells me you’re joining forces against her, so anything I can do to help – I’m at your disposal.”

  Cesare wanted her help, but first she must learn humility.

  “Lilith must have brought you down hard,” he said softly, “for you to offer us help. Go and find Maria. She’ll give you suitable clothing and instruct you in a few simple duties.”

  Ilona’s gaze was steady. “It must be galling,” she said sweetly, “to be fifth best.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “I’m glad to see Simon found someone at last, even if he is scraping the bottom of the barrel. He lost Kristian and Lancelyn, and surely you know, Cesare, that he was recently begging both Karl and Sebastian to take this position before you? He came to you only because they turned him down. Maybe he asked others; I don’t know. Still, I suppose that for you, fifth best is quite an achievement.”

  Ilona turned and stalked away: a spider-queen retreating from her prey.

  Stricken, Cesare watched her go. His rage was so extreme that he was close to a seizure. Words, the sharpest of all weapons, slid unnoticed into their target and caused no pain until it was too late.

  Lilith’s power, he thought. That’s the power of all women: to take everything from you with a single lie.

  He turned to Simon and found his voice. “Is it true? You asked a dozen others before me?”

  “Only two.” Simon, for all his self-assurance, seemed embarrassed.

  “Then you lied to me!”

  “No! What lie have I told you? Yes, I asked Karl and Sebastian, but you must understand that this is God’s role for me, to choose immortals with leadership qualities. And I’ve made mistakes, I confess, because only God is perfect. I went to them before I knew about you. A ruler needs the desire to rule – something Karl and Sebastian both lack. But you, Cesare, have vision. You weren’t my first choice, I admit – but you are the best.”

  Simon’s gold eyes were mesmeric. Cesare, somewhat mollified, spoke stiffly.

  “We need all the help we can muster, but I won’t tolerate Ilona’s insolence. She represents the very anarchy we’re fighting to obliterate.”

  “I’ll go after her,” said Simon. “She’ll behave, don’t worry.”

  As Cesare watched Simon’s athletic figure striding away through the trees, he said softly to John, “I don’t trust him.”

  John stared from blood-rimmed eyes in a grim, gaunt face. Cesare thought, He thinks I’ve uttered blasphemy. How dare I say I don’t trust an angel of God?

  John only replied, “I trust no one.”

  Another revelation hit Cesare.

  “I think Simon needs me as much as I need him,” he murmured. “I think I could become stronger than him.”

  Afraid of saying too much, Cesare kept the rest of his thoughts to himself. To create a new race of vampires, yes… Ones who won’t look at me with the jaundiced eyes of those who think me inferior to Kristian and Karl and Sebastian. Ones who will worship only me. Yes, to create new ones…

  And then, to destroy the old.

  * * *

  Simon caught up with Ilona and placed an arm around her resistant shoulders. Although furious with her for nearly wrecking the delicate balance between him and Cesare, he hid his anger and became the essence of sweet reason. They strolled along the hillside, a forested slope dropping towards the dark mirror-plane of the Rhine.

  “What’s going on, Simon?” she demanded.

  “Obvious, isn’t it?”

  “So, Cesare’s the latest victim of your games? A little gold dust on your skin and hair and oh, you’re an archangel. You don’t fool me.”

  “Don’t underestimate him.” Her impertinence amused Simon. “He’s not as stupid as you think.”

  “No one could be that stupid,” Ilona said tartly. “You weren’t happy at my mentioning Karl and Sebastian, were you? Delicious to hear you scrambling for excuses as I walked away. ‘Not the first, but the best’? Really, what idiot would fall for that?”

  Simon would not let her provoke him.

  “Where did you see Sebastian?” he asked casually.

  “In Boston. He’s a virtuoso! Karl, Charlotte and Violette were there too – sometimes in the next room – yet they never noticed him. But I did. After Violette attacked me I almost ran to Sebastian for help.”

  “What stopped you?”

  “I know what he’s like,” Ilona said bitterly. “He loathes his own kind. He’d have told me to go to hell – despite all the fun we had the previous night – and I will not be spoken to like that, Simon dear.”

  Simon caressed her cheek. “I wouldn’t dream of it. It’s a shame you didn’t tell Sebastian, though. You might have made him stop and think about Lilith, after all.”

  “Surely you can manage without Sebastian’s help?”

  “Of course,” Simon replied lightly. But perhaps we can’t, he thought. We need every strong immortal there is. “I’m glad you came to us – but you must stop upsetting Cesare here and now. This is a warning, not a suggestion.”

  She pursed her lips, defiant.

  “What’s more important?” Simon asked. “Your pride, or defeating Violette?”

  “The latter.”

  “Then learn to co-operate. You won’t be consigned to sweeping floors with Maria, believe me. We’ll find a meaningful use for your talents. Cesare has vision; wouldn’t you like to help create a beautiful new race of vampires?”

  “Like John?”

  “Our kind should be beautiful.” Simon shook his head. “It pains me to see John disfiguring himself, but he must grieve for Matthew as he will. Even John has vision. You could share it, if…”


  Ilona gave a baleful smile.

  “Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ll crawl to Cesare. If it means revenge on Violette, I’ll swallow rivers of pride as if they were blood.”

  * * *

  Robyn felt life flowing out of her throat, relived it over and over. She burned and shivered. Her eyes bulged, blood-rimmed… she saw a ghost-face grinning at her in the darkness. Her hands fluttered like moths.

  The bed was awash with crimson. She lay drowning in her own life-blood.

  Yellow lights swerved towards her, terrifying. Alice and Mary came rushing in, staring down at her, their faces hideous with horror. They looked like crones, like funeral mourners.

  They dropped their lamps and screamed.

  Robyn woke.

  With a silent snap the world returned to normal. Morning light glowed through the thick lace curtains. The room was tranquil and friendly. And although her bed was rumpled from lovemaking and restless dreams, there was no blood. No blood!

  She got up, found her robe and slipped into it as she went to the dressing table. Dizzy. No strength.

  Her face in the mirror looked drained, with blue crescents under her eyes. On the right of her neck was a bruise, jewelled by two faint, pinkish moons.

  Is that all? she thought, probing the place with her fingertips. It felt sore. Nothing serious. Almost healed.

  She sat for a long time, staring at her reflection, fingers moving lightly over the wound. Just below was a slight crusting of dried blood, another on her cheek like the imprint of lips. Did he kiss me after he fed on me? she thought.

  She rubbed away the dried blood. Soon all physical evidence would vanish.

  The real damage is inside me.

  Why didn’t he kill me? I’m sure he meant to. I don’t know why he stopped.

  I don’t think he’ll come back.

  She leaned on the dressing table, dropping her head onto her forearms with a huge sigh. She no longer felt afraid, only betrayed, humiliated to the centre of her being.

  Mary came in with tea, plainly shocked by Robyn’s face. “Oh, ma’am, you don’t look well at all. I think you should get yourself back into bed.”

  “I think so, too.” Robyn smiled. Speaking was an immense effort. “Run me a bath and change the sheets, there’s a dear, then I’ll have a lie-in.”