Crimson Groves

by Ashley Robertson

  She stopped flinching and resisting. Whatever pain my bite had caused was over. She hummed and sighed, seeming breathless and high, paralyzed by the very bite she had just tried to escape. Slowly my raging hunger was satisfied, and I looked up at him in shame. The look returned, however, was one of pride and contentment, just as I’d assumed it would be.

  Nothing would ever be the same for me again.

  Then the woman got really quiet. Her body went limp. Panic seized me. Did I drink too much? Did I kill her? Please God don’t let her be dead. I quickly lifted my mouth away from her neck and searched her face for signs of life. She was breathing. The flow of air whistled as it passed through her nostrils. I checked her pulse. It was beating strong, alive—very alive, thank God. The woman smiled, her eyes rolling around in their sockets like a bobblehead doll. She let out a heavy sigh. I took that as an invitation to drink just a little more from her.

  I felt supercharged as I stood up from my first meal as a vampire and gently laid the woman back onto the floor. She was completely out of it. Drunken smile plastered across her face. Questions began racing through my mind. I needed answers and Bronx owed them to me. I looked around, searching the room. Bronx was sitting on the sofa, face smug with a crooked grin, shoulders stiff and straight, hands folded neatly in his lap. I took a few steps in his direction, still keeping a good distance between us.

  “Are blood donors ever killed?” I asked, then licked my lips. “You know, accidentally?”

  “I suppose there have been accidents, but most vampires do not kill their donors as we have spent decades learning to coexist. However, there are some that prefer not to feed this way and still hunt for their prey. They do not have an appetite for blood donors, though. Their blood is not as fresh as that of an innocent human.”

  “What makes them innocent?” I sucked at my bottom lip, trying to get the rest of the blood off.

  “They have not been bitten yet.”

  “You mentioned hunting with, um, your lady friend, ex-girlfriend, whatever. Were you hunting innocents?”

  “Yes,” he snickered, “they are delectable.”

  “So, then I am not the first person you murdered?” My lips curled into a snarl. Deep growls rolled off my tongue. Wait a second! I was snarling at him? What the hell? I was behaving like some kind of rabid animal now. I reached up, touched my lips, and then rubbed across my teeth. My top two canines were sharper, wider, extending down a little farther than before. The bottom ones felt bigger too. Their razor-sharp edges sliced into my fingertips. I gasped, pulled my hand away. My investigating fingers were bleeding.

  In a flash, Bronx was here, arm wrapped around me, maybe wanting to comfort me. It wasn’t working—it was making me feel worse. But I didn’t fight him off. I don’t know why. “Those are your new fangs,” he said. I looked up at his face. He smiled, a broad glistening expanse of teeth and fangs. I reached up and touched his lips, then inched my fingers inside, moving them slowly, gently over his fangs. They felt just like mine. My hand dropped down to my side. I needed a few minutes to let this new information sink in. My brain was trying to register it like a computer fighting off a nasty virus.

  Bronx tightened his grip around me. I felt sick. In a flash, I ducked out of his hold and stepped back. I was starting to get used to this new speed. I looked down at my fingers. They weren’t bleeding anymore. The wound was healed; a remnant of dried blood was all that was left. My body could heal itself? “Can our bodies heal quicker than normal?”

  He nodded slowly, eyes burning like deep, dark blue fires. “As long as you keep up a good supply of blood, you will be invincible.”

  Invincible? Really? Well, that could be useful.

  Bronx stepped forward, voice deep as he said, “There was a time long ago when killing people was the only way for us to survive. It was not until about thirty years ago that the idea of people donating their blood grew more popular among our kind. Meredith”—his voice grew deeper upon saying that name—“refused to eat that way. She preferred killing for food just as we always had. The night I told you of, when the Enforcers attacked me, Meredith and I were hunting for our next victim. She loved finding a human and watching the fear in its eyes as she sucked it dry. They would struggle and fight to free themselves only to succumb to the pleasure of our venom. Meredith got such a rush from it, and I enjoyed watching the amusement it gave her. When the Enforcer brought me here, I realized I no longer enjoyed killing my victims and I began solely using blood donors.” He ran his fingers through his smooth black hair, tucking it neatly behind his ears.

  After that he inched a small step closer and carried on with his story. “There are a few clubs in the area owned by blood donors, vampires, or both working as a partnership. These clubs have back rooms where you can access the donors. They also make house calls, as you have just witnessed with our friend here.” He pointed to the middle-aged woman lying on the floor. She was in a fetal position with her knees tucked into her chest. A faint sigh escaped her lips.

  My shoulders were tight, and I shrugged to loosen them. It didn’t work. I needed space, a few minutes to myself. But instead of getting that, Bronx flashed to me and put his arm around my shoulder. “I know this is a lot to take in,” he said, “but you—”

  I twisted around, grabbed him just below the shoulders, and pushed back as hard as I could. He sidestepped twice but caught himself before completely falling over. “You’re disgusting! You’re a murderer! You killed people for no reason at all except the fun of it! Let me guess, it was all Meredith’s fault you did it, right? You’re just the victim here!” My eyes were narrow, fangs extended, fists balled at my sides.

  He watched me, that sadistic grin stretched across his face. Anger came at me in a rush. I wanted to beat his face in. Hey, that actually sounded like a really good idea. I sprung forward like a pouncing cat, fist tightly balled and swinging right for him. He moved to the side—one swift, graceful movement. My fist brushed past him, missing him by inches. I reared back and charged, jumping higher, swinging faster, and crunching his face while still in midair. He fell to the side and then dropped to the floor, face down, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. He wasn’t grinning anymore. Good. I was already feeling better.

  He pushed up off the floor and was on me. I never even saw him coming. I fell backwards and he rode me down, all the way to the floor. I broke his fall. He landed on my chest—hard. Good thing I didn’t breathe anymore or the wind would’ve been knocked out of me. He straddled my waist and held my wrists above my head. The edge of the Oriental rug was rough, scratchy on the back of my palms. I wriggled and squirmed, trying to escape him, but he sat like a big boulder on top of me. I was trapped, couldn’t even budge an inch.

  His hair swept over his face like black velvet drapes. His eyes glowed fiercely, hot like bright red embers. He snarled and growled, deep and guttural, fangs fully exposed. “You will never make accusations about Meredith again!” he roared, voice rumbling like thunder. “Do you hear me? Do you understand me, Abigail? You are a new vampire! You have barely been exposed to this world! You know nothing more than what I have told you tonight. Decades ago, clubs with blood donors did not even exist. Vampires did what they had to do to survive. We die without blood! There is no other way for us to eat. There is no other way for us to live! Meredith preferred to do it the way we always did even after the blood donors became more popular. Yes, I would have tried a blood donor much sooner if it was not for her need to continue killing. That was how great my love for her was. That is how great my love for you now is!”

  His head lowered closer to me, eyes softening, and the muscles in his face relaxed. No! He was going to kiss me. I pulled and tugged, trying to pry my wrists out of his hands, but I couldn’t. His lips trailed closer, too close. I couldn’t get away. I kicked my legs but he just straddled me tighter. His lips kept coming. I gasped, jerked my head to the side. His lips landed on my cheek—soft, wet, repulsive. I saw the middle-aged woman lying
on the floor across the room. Maybe she could help me? “Help me!” I screamed at her. “Help me, please!”

  Bronx’s lips were next to my ear, close, almost touching. “That woman cannot help you,” he whispered. “You do not even need any help. I have given you salvation from yourself. I only request your love in return.”

  I ignored him and kept staring over at the middle-aged woman. “P-please. P-please. H-help me.”

  “That woman cannot hear you. She is unaware of anything around her.” His lips brushed my cheek in a back and forth motion, and then they returned to my ear. He licked my earlobe.

  I swallowed, trying to get the lumps out of my throat. “Please don’t.” My voice was desperate, afraid.

  “I will not hurt you. There is no reason for you to fear me.”

  “You won’t hurt me? Look what you’ve already done to me!”

  “Yes. Look at what I have done to you. This was meant to be. You are mine, Abigail. Always!” In a flash he was off me and across the room.

  “But I don’t love you,” I screamed after him. “I’ll never love you! I hate you for what you’ve done to me!”

  “You may not love me now, but eventually you will. You need some time to adjust to your new life. We have nothing but time now. Each day that passes, the bond between us will grow. Countless days will be spent together, learning about each other. I will wait for you to feel for me as I now feel for you.” He stretched each word out, making it last. Then he was gone. I was alone. It didn’t feel as good as I’d thought it would.

  5

  Adjusting

  THE NEXT FEW WEEKS went by quickly as I learned more about my new life. We didn’t sleep in coffins, or at all for that matter. Our reflection is perfectly visible in mirrors. The same applies if my picture is taken, but I hadn’t really been in a picture-taking mood to confirm that. So I guess most of those award-winning vampire movies did contain fiction in them after all. Not that I’d ever really cared enough to find out before all this.

  During the day we took refuge inside Bronx’s extremely dark home. Most of the windows were boarded up from the inside. A few of them were covered in pitch-black tinting, thick enough to look like paint. The landscaping was composed of overgrown bushes, trees, and vines to add even more protection from the sun’s harmful rays. It would take hours for the sunlight to kill us, but, according to Bronx, it was a painful process nonetheless. That was one tidbit of information the vampire movies got right.

  Bronx told me how the Enforcers once used the sun’s potent light as a way to punish and bring justice as they saw fit. Since the Enforcers were like a vampire government, they got to make all the rules. Most of the other vampires never challenged them since they didn’t possess the strength, skill, or special powers that all Enforcers had. Thankfully there weren’t very many of them, and Bronx said they preferred places like Boston, Seattle, or Montreal since the overcast weather made it possible to move around during daylight hours.

  The middle-aged woman had gone back to Pulse, where Bronx had found her. Pulse was one of many nightclubs around here that offered this blood-donor service. Since I was a new vampire and needed a few weeks to adjust (so Bronx said), more blood donors were sent here to the house—sort of like an assembly line. Each of them was excited to be bitten, mostly by me since I was able to give them a more intense high. What a nice girl I am, sharing my happy venom with others. Of course I wasn’t just a giver; I also took from them, drinking more and more of their blood. My new senses were getting stronger, my strength more forceful. I was even getting more comfortable biting into my gracious donors. Everything was starting to look up. Ha ha.

  One of the bedrooms was converted into a “training” room. There was a big open space in the center with a large burgundy floor mat. An oversized punching bag hung in the far right corner, and mirrors adorned the walls, mostly concealing the dark gray paint underneath. We spent several hours every day in this room. I hate to pay him any kind of compliment, but Bronx is an excellent fighter. Training to fight was much easier as a vampire. My ability to focus was outstanding, and that made my efforts at mimicking his moves quite simple. I paid no attention to the pleasure he obviously got from the physical contact this brought. My goal was to learn as much as I possibly could, hoping that one day I would use these new talents against him.

  “Abigail, focus. Do not just try to hit me, anticipate my next move. Be faster than me,” he lectured.

  “But you’re too fast!” My face lowered, eyes staring down at the mat. Copying his moves was easy. Hitting him, however, was not. My failed attempts to punch him in the face, or anywhere else for that matter, were gnawing at my nerves like a dog chewing rawhide.

  He grabbed my shoulders firmly, shaking me. “Abigail, look up at me.”

  I swallowed hard and slowly lifted my head up, tipping it back so I could look up into his eyes. They were like big sapphire flames—dangerous, threatening, alluring. “Ask yourself this question,” he said. “What is he thinking? What is his next move? Watch my eyes. Read what you see in them. I am able to escape your attempts to hit me because I see your next move inside your eyes. Concentrate on what you feel. Let your new senses guide you.”

  “But I am trying,” I pouted. “I am using my new senses. It’s not working.”

  He shook his head and nudged me backwards. I did the two-step, then pounced back into place. He positioned his hands in front of his chest and motioned for me to come get him. Anger surged up in me. My head was burning hot, boiling and fierce. My mouth was so dry I had trouble swallowing. My hands balled up, forming tight fists. Shivers cold as ice raced up and down my arms, while the rest of my body felt like it was inside an inferno. All I could imagine in my mind was punching Bronx square in the face. Concentrate! Concentrate! Don’t be too angry and screw up again. We’d been practicing for nearly two weeks and I hadn’t yet hit him, with the exception of that first night, but we technically weren’t practicing then. That event, however, was playing a huge role in my quest to learn how to fight better. I was so thankful that Bronx had agreed to train me. He wouldn’t be thankful once I learned.

  I looked him up and down like a rubber band expanding, releasing, expanding, releasing. Then our eyes locked, deep blue flames sucking me into them. But I wouldn’t look away. I couldn’t. I needed to see his next move, predict what direction he would move to avoid my fist. He was mixing it up every time, dodging to the right, to the left, stepping backward, and even jumping completely over me to thwart my efforts. It was impossible to foresee what he would do now. I concentrated harder, straining, pushing myself further, and focusing beyond his eyes, digging inside his mind. I was in. Guarded walls all around me, but I was in. I could see and feel him. Waves of anger taunted me to attack like the serpent had Eve in the Garden. But I wasn’t quite ready, needed to push a little more. I fought to resist the anger; it was one of the toughest emotions to control, but I needed to control it to succeed. I thrust all my energy forward, breaking through his barriers. My anger eased up, slowly steadying me, preparing me for the attack. I was ready. It was showtime.

  I snarled, guttural growls vibrating up my throat, spilling out of my mouth. My eyes narrowed—I could feel the fire burning in them—but I could see clearly. My fangs were exposed, threatening, challenging, saliva dripping from their tips like a rabid animal. Bronx’s smile widened, a glimpse of fang showing through his lips. That was only making me angrier. I flashed forward and then back, hoping I could psyche him out. It worked. He lunged to the right, started to duck down, but I expected that move and was waiting for him. I flashed forward, right fist soaring toward his face as I lowered my body just enough to upper cut him in the face. My fist smashed into his cheekbone, crushing it, then slid up the rest of his head. Blood squirted everywhere; the sound of breaking bones merged with his violent shrieking. He fell backwards, smacking the ground with the back of his head. I jumped back, ready for him to charge me, but he didn’t. He pushed up slowly and looked at me, s
miling, proud.

  “Well done, Abigail.” He licked his lips with delight. The wound was closing; the bleeding stopped.

  I did it! I did it! I jumped up, clapping my hands together. My excitement was almost intoxicating.

  Another week went by, training, fighting, and kicking Bronx’s butt. Of course I took plenty of beatings too. But I was getting stronger, more precise, more focused, and hungry to keep learning. Even though Bronx looks just a little older than me, early thirties maybe, he’s actually much older—a hundred thirty years to be exact. Unfortunately that means he’ll always be stronger than me, no matter how hard I train or how good I fight. So I have to be smarter than him, know his next move before he makes it. One day I just might catch him off guard.

  Depression would sometimes find me, clinging to me, reminding me of those I’d never see again. It’s funny how you think you don’t need anyone. I’d found out the hard way that that just isn’t really true. I’d also get down on myself for not acquiring one of those special powers yet. I mean, if I had to be a vampire, couldn’t I at least get some super cool power that no one else had? But I guess there were some perks to this life, like the fact I’d never age. I was going to look twenty-five forever. I knew plenty of people that would pay big money for that. I had to pay for it with my soul.

  6

  Celebration

  I WAS SNAPPED OUT OF A DAYDREAM (looping thoughts of my human past) as Bronx came running up to me from the other room. It was noon on a Tuesday, and it was exactly one month ago that I had been transformed.

  He grinned, eyes gleaming, spreading his hands wide, saying, “Since you have done so well this past month, I have decided we will go out and celebrate tonight. We have a midnight reservation at Pulse in one of the private back rooms.”