Don't Talk Back To Your Vampire

by Michele Bardsley

  “I’m sorry, Eva. I’m so fucking sorry.”

  “What are you talking about? What’s happened now?”

  I saw Patrick next to Jessica, his gaze filled with sorrow.

  “Oh, my God. Tamara.”

  “She’s fine,” reassured Jess. “She’s in the kitchen with Durriken and Helene’s sitting between them.”

  If my daughter was okay, then what was the issue? “Did the library burn down?”

  “No. Ralph has that handled.”

  Well, then, if Tamara was safe and my home was safe, that meant I must be the cause of my friends’ concern.

  My heart squeezed. Had Charlie given me something that was worse than drugged blood? He was a human. I was a vampire. Supposedly, as one of the undead, I had a godlike immune system.

  “I fainted,” I said. “Isn’t that an odd thing for a vampire to do?”

  “Well, yeah. Sorta.” Jessica looked uncomfortable and twitchy. Patrick put his arm around her and drew her close.

  I was torn between demanding the truth and delaying hearing the bad news. My stomach felt lined in lead. Whatever they had to tell me, I was sure it didn’t involve winning the lottery or discovering a lost Shakespeare play.

  My gaze swept the space. This wasn’t the same room I’d had before. I couldn’t pinpoint why the decor, or rather the lack of it, bothered me.

  The door clicked open, stalling the bad news. Lorcan slipped inside.

  Lorcan’s gaze captured mine. His eyes reminded me of storm clouds, especially with those raven eyebrows always dipped into twin frowns.

  “Evangeline.”

  He adorned my name with such tenderness that I felt an unaccountable need to weep. I couldn’t explain the feelings that overtook me. I was just so glad to see him, to know that he was near. He coasted to the other side of the bed, picked up my hand and kissed my knuckles. My skin trembled under the softness of his lips.

  “A stóirín,” he murmured. He glanced at Jessica and Patrick. “I will tell her.”

  Jess and Patrick nodded, their gazes filled with concern and, if I was any judge, fear. I watched them leave. As the door shut with a metallic thud, I suddenly realized why I had been bothered by the room’s setup.

  It reminded me more of Faustus’s cell than of hospitable accommodations. I had no doubt it was locked from the outside. Were they protecting me from another kidnapping attempt? Or were they protecting others from me?

  I didn’t think I’d like the answer.

  “I’m thirsty.” I licked my lips. “Jess fed me, too.”

  “That was yesterday evening,” he said. “You’ve slept through again, Eva.”

  “I seem to be doing that a lot lately.” I sighed. “It wasn’t the drugs that did me in this time.”

  “No. We took you to Stan and kept you unconscious to run tests.”

  Had it been capable, my heart would’ve leapt out of my chest. My mother, tired and pale for weeks, passed out at work. I took her to the hospital emergency room. The doctor was friendly but patronizing, too. We’ll keep her overnight, run some tests. Probably just stress and exhaustion. Don’t worry, Miss LeRoy.

  When I returned the next morning, my mother told me the truth. Terminal cancer. No surgery, no radiation, no drugs could arrest the disease. Two months later, she was gone.

  My eyes ached with the need for tears. Had someone taken a torch to my throat? It felt dry and crispy. I wanted liquid. I wanted blood. “Is there a donor available?”

  “We cannot give you a donor.” He cupped my hand in both of his. “But we are looking into an alternative food source for you.”

  My stomach did a slow dive to my toes. “Oh, God. Lor, what did Charlie do to me?”

  “When you were taken from the hospital, do you remember anything prior to stumbling into the Roma camp?”

  I nodded. “I had an odd dream that someone opened his wrist and made me drink his blood. It didn’t taste right.”

  “Damnú air.” His grip tightened. “My darling Evangeline.” He pressed his cheek against my hand. He looked at me, sorrow filling his gaze. “You have the taint.”

  Chapter 16

  The prince walked west. In every village along the road, he asked about the beautiful maiden, but none had seen a woman such as he described. Weeks none had seen a woman such as he described. Weeks

  passed and still the prince did not find either his soul mate or the help promised by the fortune-teller.

  Finally the prince reached the edge of the continent. He could go west no longer—not unless he chartered a ship. That evening, he lodged at an inn built into a seaside cliff overlooking the gray ocean. From his balcony, the prince watched lightning dance among dark clouds. He knew the brewing storm would be a nasty one and he decided to sup early so that he could return to the safety of his room before the weather turned foul.

  Then he heard the dulcet tones of a woman singing. Entranced by the lovely voice, he flew from the inn to the beach below. There he found a young lady sitting on a rock, staring into the sea. Her dress was black and her blond hair covered by black lace. Her song was very sad and her tears fell like tiny diamonds onto the sand.

  “Why are you weeping?” he asked.

  “Our family has suffered greatly from the plague,” she said. “My father and my two youngest sisters died this very week. I’ve been spared only because I’ve been away at school. My elder sister took care of everyone, though she is very ill herself. Now she lies alone in our cottage, suffering greatly.

  “A neighbor sent word about my family’s deaths and my sister’s terrible illness. I’ve been traveling ever since, hoping to reach home so that I may be with my sister. She is such a good soul, so beautiful and kind.”

  The prince took pity on the young woman. “I will take you to her. How far away is your home?”

  “Two days’ walk from the inn. I would go onward except that bandits and evil spirits roam the woods at night.”

  “Do not worry, pretty one. I will help you.” The prince used his glamour to hypnotize the girl. He took from her neck only what he needed, then gathered her into his arms and rose into the air.

  Thunder boomed as the storm drew closer, but the prince flew through the night, reaching the little farm just before dawn. He took the sleeping girl into the barn and settled her into a pile of warm, soft hay. She dared not enter the house yet, not until measures were taken to rid the cottage of the plague.

  With only minutes until dawn, the prince entered the cottage and sought the bedroom of the dying sister. When he opened the door, he saw a woman asleep on her pallet, her skin pallid and her breathing erratic. She had hair the color of a raven’s wings and lips as red as the rose. But it was not her ravaged beauty that called to him. It was the instant connection of his soul to hers. She was the one he had waited for—she was his other half, his truest love.

  The prince dropped to his knees and wept.

  He had found his maiden.

  And she was not long for this world.

  —From The Prince and the Maiden,

  an unpublished work by

  Lorcan O’Halloran

  Chapter 17

  When my mother was dying from cancer, I read everything about disease and medicine and psychology that I could get my hands on. I think, in some corner of my mind, I was hoping to find a way to save her.

  On one of my many trips to the library, I picked up On Death and Dying by Elisabeth Kübler-Ross. In the book, the author described the five stages of grief. I read it hoping to prepare myself for losing my mother.

  What I didn’t know, or maybe what I didn’t accept, was that nothing could prepare me for Mom’s death. I had always turned to books, to knowledge, to help me get through everything in my life—and, sometimes, to escape it. But grief was a journey through a forest of razor blades. I walked through every painful inch of it—no shortcuts and no anesthesia.

  My mother had taught me that life is about choices. Sometimes things go your way, and sometimes
they don’t. But you always have a choice about how to act and how to feel.

  “Eva?”

  I blinked. I had mentally wandered away from Lor the minute he pronounced my death sentence. How would I tell Tamara? Who would care for her if I . . . ? I couldn’t wrap my brain around the idea of my own death. It was one thing to have the Grim Reaper sneak up on you and another thing entirely to get his engraved invitation.

  Even as questions and worries battered at my mind, I thought about On Death and Dying. The first stage of grief was denial. I didn’t have to argue with Lor or Stan or the science. I had the taint. Okay, then, I’d just skip denial and go right on to being gloriously pissed off.

  “Did Charlie give me the taint? Is that why I can’t have a donor?” Anger made me feel stronger. I sat up in the bed. Then I realized I was wearing a hospital gown and nothing else. Zarking fardwarks! Just who had stripped off my clothes before allowing the scientist to poke and prod me?

  “No human has ever been a carrier for the taint, but we aren’t taking any chances. We don’t know who kidnapped you and we don’t know why he—or she—poisoned you.”

  “But whoever it is knows that I can communicate with lycans.”

  “Yes, that’s very likely. But why would he give you the taint?”

  “He wants to destroy the one person who could stop his evil plans involving vamp lycans.” The mystery bad guy was also cruel. Why give me a debilitating disease that would kill me slowly when removing my head would accomplish the same end?

  “Lor, I drank from Jess yesterday. Is she . . . you know . . . okay?”

  “She doesn’t have the taint.”

  Thank God. I inhaled through my nose and out through my mouth. When I was human, deep breathing often helped me to de-stress and clear my mind. It didn’t help this time. Breathing, deeply or otherwise, just felt weird.

  “God! Why me? Why?”

  Lor seemed to understand that I didn’t need him to respond. I ranted and raved for a few minutes more, not even able to make sense of my own words. But my emotions I understood.

  I didn’t want to die. Not again.

  “I was looking forward to immortality,” I said, pressing my palms against my aching eyes. “I was finally getting used to a nighttime schedule, too.”

  “Eva, don’t.”

  I heard the quake in his voice and my hands dropped heavily to the bed. I looked at him. “Don’t what?”

  “Don’t be brave. Don’t be funny. Or understanding. Or kind.”

  His silver eyes gleamed with emotions I couldn’t define. His jaw clenched and his lips pressed together. Oh. I got it then. He wanted me to be furious. He wanted me to punish him with my rage. His guilt demanded it. I thought of him like a moth—attracted to the light, only to be harmed by its beauty, its heat. Did he want to be around me, only to be so eaten up by remorse and sorrow that he couldn’t stand to be near me?

  So what it boiled down to was that Lor felt responsible. If he hadn’t drained me and left me to die, then I wouldn’t have the taint. I would be alive. I would be human. I was sure he had similar thoughts about all the Turn-bloods. Maybe their lives would be different, would be better, if not for him. As long as he held that belief about himself and others, there would never be any healing—not for Lor, and not for the rest of us.

  “How long are you going to flay yourself for acts over which you had no control?”

  His mouth dropped open. “What?”

  “You were turned into a mindless, starved beast. You did what most mindless, starved beasts do—you tracked down food and you noshed. If you’d been in your right mind, you wouldn’t have done it.”

  “It’s not that simple.”

  “Yes, it is.” I grabbed his T-shirt and pulled him close. “Forgive yourself.”

  “Eva, I can’t just—”

  I yanked him closer and he let me do it.

  “Have you tried?” I asked.

  He shook his head, looking bemused. I knew he was stronger and faster, but I didn’t care. My immortal life was going to end. There was no more time for planning or worrying or contemplating. Before I passed on, I would help Lor through his razor-blade forest—whether he wanted me to or not.

  He looked at me uncertainly, his lips twitching. Amusement flashed in his eyes, but was soon lost in the serious monk’s expression he’d probably spent centuries perfecting.

  “You’re stubborn,” I pronounced. Then I mashed my lips to his.

  I kissed him desperately until I realized I probably shouldn’t be kissing anyone. I let go. “The taint—I’m sorry.”

  “I can’t get it again. My DNA was essentially changed by the radical cure. If the taint, in any form, gets into my bloodstream, my mutated antibodies will kill it.”

  “Okay then.” I threw my arms around his neck and dipped my tongue inside his mouth. His arms went around me and he drew me from the bed, holding me against him as his tongue danced with mine. I would bind with you, Lor. I really would.

  “Eva,” he murmured. “My darling Eva. Our binding would be lovely.”

  I realized he had responded to my thoughts. I pulled away, just a little, and asked, “Why can you hear what I’m thinking?”

  I wished immediately that I hadn’t asked. He gently put me on the bed and tucked me back under the sheet. He straightened his clothes, but he couldn’t fix the tousled look of his hair or hide his swollen lips. When he stepped away from the bed, away from me, I felt the loss keenly. Obviously, I had shaken him . . . but he had shaken me, too. To the core. I still felt internal earthquakes.

  “I will not let you die,” he said. “I owe you that much.” I heard the grief and recrimination in his words. I wanted to hug him and punch him.

  “I’m not a debt,” I said, sighing. My hunger reasserted itself and I rubbed my tummy. The only thing I wanted more than food was . . . Lorcan.

  “I will bring you sustenance.”

  Apparently only one of my hungers would be assuaged. I plucked at the thin sheet covering my body and wished mightily that I had the gumption to jump Lor’s bones. Although I would never bind to him now, I would miss the opportunity to try a little hanky-panky.

  A hungry vampire knows no shame. When Lor brought me the Great Dane, I managed only a token protest. The dog leapt onto my bed and lay down next to me. His fur was dark brown with splotches of black. Lor had shaved a spot on the dog’s neck, which made it easier to sink my fangs into his skin.

  I didn’t poke at his mind until I had finished drinking. He seemed content to be a vampire snack. Like those of most dogs, his thoughts and feelings were simple. He liked how I smelled and he wanted a nap. And he really wanted a ham bone.

  “His blood tastes different.” I didn’t want to say “awful,” because doing so would not only dishonor Lor’s attempts to help me but would also insult the dog.

  “It’s not ideal,” said Lor. “Animal blood will not sustain you indefinitely. You need circulating human blood to maintain your health.”

  “And how am I supposed to get that?”

  “We’re testing donors. It is possible, though very unlikely, that a new strain of the taint can be carried by humans and we don’t want you to infect innocents. If that turns out to be the case, we will have to rethink our food supply. Stan’s been working on a way to create synthetic blood, but truthfully, he hasn’t come up with a version that’s been a long-term successful substitute.”

  “You’re full of good news,” I said. “And is this dog kept for feeding purposes? Or experimentation?”

  “No. He’s a stray. Don’t tell Jessica, but I give him scraps. Sometimes he goes on walks with me.”

  The idea that he’d found a pet was endearing to me. I hadn’t imagined Lor hanging out with a big ol’ dog. “What’s his name?”

  “I call him Bert.”

  It was such an un-dog-like name that I smiled. Lor smiled back. “I meant to ask if anyone was feeding the animals while I’m gone.”

  “They don’t com
e when you’re not there,” replied Lorcan. “I’ll bring you some books from the library, okay?”

  “Why can’t I go with you? That way I can choose what I like.”

  With Lor’s encouragement, the dog leapt off my bed and padded to the door. “I’m sorry, Eva. You cannot leave this room. We can’t risk it. You could infect other vampires.”

  “But not dogs?”

  “Very unlikely.”

  “You don’t know when I’ll go loopy, do you?”

  “No. The taint affects each vampire differently, but being a young Turn-blood . . . It may work faster on you than on a vampire centuries older.”

  “Then I definitely don’t want Tamara in here.”

  “You’re incapable of harming those you love. Haven’t you claimed her? Put her under your protection?”

  “Of course.” I shook my head. “I can’t risk it, Lor. Not even for a second would I put that child in jeopardy.”

  “If that is your wish.”

  Oh, he had no idea what kind of wishes I had. Contemplating the end of your existence made you long for every book you hadn’t read, every boy you hadn’t kissed, every person you hadn’t apologized to, and every trip you hadn’t taken.

  He opened the door and Bert sauntered through it first. Lor gave me one last smile and then the heavy metal clanked shut behind him.

  I was left in my prison with only my thoughts . . . and my fears.

  Chapter 18

  As the days passed, I felt more and more lethargic. Despite Stan’s best efforts, he was unable to create a suitable synthetic blood or to discount donors as possible taint carriers. As much as I adored Bert, his blood was not nourishing. I felt as though I was a puzzle with a piece or two taken out of the whole every day. Soon there would be no pieces left.

  Lor brought me books. When I grew too tired to read, he read stories to me. His voice was beautiful and he really brought on the Irish to entertain me. He would’ve made a fine actor, but I knew his performances were for an audience of only one—for me. He never missed a visit and he stayed for hours, amusing me with anecdotes or showing me bits of his writing to ask my opinion. Sometimes he just held my hand as I drifted in and out of consciousness.