Eternal Hunger

by Cameron Dean

  I reached out and laid a hand on his arm.

  “No,” I said once more. The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth will do, I thought. “I never loved Carl Hagen, Ash, though I probably should have. He’s a great guy. I didn’t love him but I wanted him and I liked him. He was what I needed…at the time.”

  “You mean he was alive.”

  “Yes,” I said. “That’s exactly what I mean.”

  Ash turned his face away then, and I let my arm drop back into my lap. The gates of Ravenswood, the exclusive community Ash had chosen as his home base, came into view.

  “Maybe you should have tried harder to love him,” he said softly as we approached, almost as if he was speaking to himself. “If you had, you might still be alive. If you were alive again, maybe you would go back to him, work things out.”

  “Maybe,” I replied as I felt a sudden pain shoot straight through my heart. “There’s just one little problem: I’m not alive. And I love you, Ash. I did then. I do now.”

  I leaned my head back against the seat, trying to ignore the way the pain spread out, moving through my veins like fast-acting poison. Don’t say any more, Candace, I thought, but I couldn’t stop myself.

  “What’s the matter? Tired of me already? Decided I’m not worth the effort after all?”

  “No,” Ash said quickly, his head whipping around. “Damn it,” he said, as he took in the expression on my face. “I’m doing this all wrong.”

  “I have no idea what you’re doing, but I’m inclined to agree.”

  We reached the gates; the security guard leaned down to gaze into the car, then waved us through.

  Ash waited until we were well inside Ravenswood, its stately houses and carefully manicured lawns all looking remarkably the same, before he spoke.

  “I’ve been acting like an idiot, haven’t I?”

  “The thought did occur.”

  His eyes still on the road, Ash took one hand from the wheel and reached to capture one of mine. He pressed it to his lips, and I felt the heat of the kiss spread out, like an antidote to the poison of our conversation.

  “I didn’t mean to be,” he said. “I apologize.”

  He took a corner, and the house came into sight.

  Finally, I thought. I felt myself relax for the first time since leaving the Beijing. We were home. Here I could get Ash to tell me what was really bothering him. Together, we would make it right. I got out of the car. Without warning, the world tilted. A wave of nausea crashed over me. Spots danced before my eyes. If I hadn’t had my hand on the roof of the car, I would have dropped where I stood.

  “Ash!” I cried, and even I could hear the panic in my own voice.

  “It’s all right, Candace,” Ash said swiftly. “Remember, I warned you this might happen. You just need to feed, that’s all.”

  I heard his quick footsteps then felt the world give another swoop as he picked me up, cradling me in his arms. I let my head fall back to rest against his shoulder.

  “But I fed,” I protested. To my horror, I could feel a sob pressing, sharp as a sudden pain, against the inside of my chest. “Just last night.”

  “And you’ve expended a lot of energy, both before and after,” Ash said, his tone calm and patient as he started toward the front door. “You’re body is still adjusting, and you’ve never been outside in daylight before. This morning was your first time. You need to feed, to get out of the sun and conserve your strength.”

  I did give a sob then as the pain in my chest went abruptly needle-sharp. My body seemed to be moving of its own accord. My mouth seeking Ash’s throat.

  Seeking skin. Seeking blood.

  I clenched my eyes shut tightly, as if not seeing him would drive the need back, force it down. Instead, I felt it ratchet up another notch. I’m worse than an animal, I thought. Driven by needs, by instincts that my mind could comprehend but not control. Vaguely, I realized that we had passed into the house. And then my hands were moving, scrabbling at Ash’s shirt, desperate to expose more skin.

  “Ash,” I panted. “Ash, I need…”

  “Go ahead, Candace.”

  I twisted in his arms so that I faced him, wrapping my legs around his waist, nuzzling his neck in a parody of passion. I felt Ash stop walking and simply sink down to the floor. In some dim corner of my mind, I realized we had made it no farther than the kitchen. Ash was sitting with his back against the stove. I tested my teeth against the taut skin of his throat, felt the way his body held firm, then gave way as I bit down. The taste of blood, the reality of it, flooded my senses, filled my mouth.

  More, my body screamed. More. More. More. In that moment, it seemed to me that I could never get enough.

  Over and over, I pulled mouthfuls of Ash’s blood into my mouth. I felt Ash’s arms around me tremble, then begin to shake. I knew I was pushing his body to its limits.

  Stop, I commanded myself. Candace, you have got to stop.

  With a cry of anguish, I wrenched my mouth away. Flung myself to one side, out of Ash’s arms. I crawled a few paces away, then lay exhausted, one cheek pressed against the cool tiles of the kitchen floor, and waited to return to my right mind. Assuming I still had one.

  Do something. Say something, I thought. Anything to make the situation bearable, less desperate and horrific than it was.

  “Now that’s what I call one hell of a morning after,” I finally managed, and heard Ash make a strangled sound.

  I wanted to roll over, roll back toward him, but found I didn’t quite have the strength. It was so cool, so restful to simply lie without moving on the kitchen floor. My terrible need sated, for the time being at least. Ash’s blood swimming through my body, making it strong, making it whole.

  “Was that a laugh? Please say yes,” I said.

  “Yes,” Ash replied.

  A moment later, I heard him move, sliding over to stretch out beside me, pulling me back against him so that our bodies fit together like spoons. Such a simple, tender, human thing to do. Also, the last straw. I began to weep, tears streaming down my cheeks, my body racked with great, silent sobs.

  “Candace,” Ash said softly. “There’s no need. Don’t.”

  But I could not stop. I need you, Ash, I thought. I need you so much. Not just to love, but to survive. My thoughts circled like a frantic carousel inside my head.

  One night. We had been given just one night to explore the world and each other, to celebrate our newfound existence, newly experienced love. One night, but no more. A night that had ended in a morning filled with desperation and blood.

  My honeymoon with the vampire was over.

  Six

  “I have to say this,” I said.

  “Be my guest,” Ash said pleasantly.

  “Wow.”

  He gave a quick laugh as, together, we walked up the front steps of the house where the private auction would be held. A pair of lions that would have made the New York Public Library proud eyed us from either side. Until that moment, I hadn’t realized how quickly accustomed I had become to the anonymity of the gated community where Ash lived. The way the homes, though huge, all sort of blended together with few distinguishing features, as if the people who lived there had decided it was in bad taste to stand out. This house was a different animal entirely.

  “It looks like something straight out of Dickens or Brontë,” I said as Ash and I reached the front door. Another lion’s head greeted us in the form of an enormous knocker. Ash inserted two fingers into the lion’s mouth, lifted the ring, then dropped it back down. The crack of metal on metal sounded loud as a gunshot.

  “Actually,” he said. “You’re not far off. I believe Luther had the whole building taken apart in England then shipped to Vegas—lock, stock, and barrel. Then he had it reassembled and restored. I think he considered it just another part of his collection.”

  “Luther?” I said.

  “The man whose collection we’re here to dismantle. Luther Covington.”

  Ash
and I had spent the daylight hours quietly, both of us conserving our strength. Ash had recovered quickly from the morning’s events. It had taken me much longer, and even then my body had recovered more quickly than my mind. I knew enough to be afraid now. Afraid my own needs would betray me, afraid they would betray Ash. As if he sensed my need for privacy, Ash waited until the end of the day to seek me out. Then, as the sun slipped below the horizon, he came to me. Gently, Ash had stroked my fears aside. With his fingers, with his tongue, he had brought me back to myself. Until the world once again seemed like a kaleidoscope of passion and possibilities, all of them inextricably bound to him and to the setting of the sun. ***

  “Ah, Mr. Donahue. Good evening, sir,” a voice said as the front door swung inward. An elderly man in a tuxedo materialized in the opening, the quintessential butler.

  “Good evening, Hughes,” Ash said. There was genuine pleasure in his voice, and in the butler’s, too. The more time I spent with Ash, the more I began to see that although he was primarily a loner, he nevertheless possessed the ability to draw people to him.

  “Hughes,” Ash said, “this is Miss Candace Steele. Candace, this is Peter Hughes, Mr. Covington’s butler.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Hughes,” I said. I offered my hand, and he took it briefly in a firm grip.

  “Please do come in,” he said. “The viewing has already started.”

  We made our way toward the murmur of voices at the far end of the entry hall. Beneath our feet, the floor was an elaborate parquet. Game animal heads gazed down at us from walls covered with William Morris wallpaper. I wondered if Luther had shot the animals himself.

  “So you’re a friend of the family?” I asked.

  “I wouldn’t go that far,” Ash replied as he captured my hand. “I met Luther not long after I came to Vegas,” he explained. “We shared several interests, and he was generous enough to let me view his collection a number of times. It’s entirely unique.”

  We reached the end of the hallway, turned to the right. “Ah! Here we are.”

  The high-ceilinged room before us had probably been the house’s ballroom in its previous life. Ash and I paused at its entrance, two sets of double doors, both thrown open wide. I felt Ash’s energy rev up a notch. He’s taking stock, I thought. I stood beside him, trying to see the ballroom through his eyes.

  The overall lighting in the room was soft, the better to highlight Luther Covington’s treasures. Ash had hinted that I would find it an eclectic mix. He was absolutely right. Chinese vases of celadon green sat on high pedestals. Polished black Anasazi pots stood right alongside. Rows of paintings in all shapes and sizes ringed the walls. There were tapestries, furniture, and low glass-topped and glass-fronted cases containing I couldn’t quite see what.

  And around through them, like figures in a play, were men and women dressed in elegant evening clothes. Though not as overwhelming as the sensations that had pressed all around me in the casino, the figures in the room packed their own punches. Unless I very much missed my guess, some very big-time competition was going to take place here before the night was done.

  All of a sudden, I realized I was grinning. Let the games begin, I thought. I linked my arm through Ash’s.

  “Show me everything,” I said.

  He smiled and reached to tuck my fingers even more firmly through the crook of his arm. “What would you like to see first?”

  “I haven’t any idea,” I answered honestly as we crossed the threshold. On the left side of the room, the opposite direction from the one in which we were headed, a podium and series of padded folding chairs had been set up.

  “Why don’t we go look at whatever it is you want to bid on? What is it, by the way? I forgot to ask before.”

  “Heart scarabs,” Ash said. “One in particular.” He made a motion with his chin, to indicate the direction in which he wanted to go. “I think they’re over there.”

  I accepted a glass of champagne from a passing waiter. “Okay,” I said, “lead on.”

  I took a sip, my arm still linked with Ash’s as we maneuvered through the room.

  “A scarab,” I echoed, frowning in an effort to recall what little I knew. “That means it’s shaped like a beetle, right?”

  “Right.” Ash nodded. “Heart scarabs were ancient Egyptian funerary offerings. Usually, they’re found inside the actual mummy wrappings.”

  “Don’t tell me,” I said. “Located right above the heart.”

  Ash smiled. “Well done. I’ll make an expert of you yet…. Here we are.”

  We stopped in front of a small glass case in the far right corner of the room. Its wood was polished to a gleaming black and intricately carved. Inside it, illuminated by the internal lights, were a series of objects, each shaped like a beetle’s back, the smallest no bigger than my thumbnail, the largest as big as my palm, but all carved from some variety of green stone. I leaned over the case to study the scarabs more closely, then jerked back, startled. Dozens of pairs of tiny eyes seemed to stare straight back into mine.

  “They have human faces,” I exclaimed.

  “Many of them do, yes,” Ash nodded. “It’s one of their hallmarks.” He leaned over the case in his turn now and, after a moment, I joined him, looking at the scarabs for a second time. They were no less eerie, but I could begin to see their beauty, and their variations.

  “Which is the one you want?” I asked.

  Ash pointed. “That one.”

  I leaned close again to study it. There was nothing to make this scarab stand out from any of the others, in my eyes. Its color was dark, so dark I almost couldn’t see the human face incised upon it. It was medium-size. If I could have held it, it would have nestled comfortably in the very center of my palm.

  “Why that one?”

  “Because it’s the right one,” Ash said. He said it in a casual tone without emphasis. But call it rapport or intuition, I sensed that this scarab was extremely important to Ash.

  “The right one for what?” I also tried to sound casual.

  He gave me a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

  “Never ask a collector to explain why he wants something, Candace. Not only will you never get a straight answer, you’ll get a different one every time.”

  “But you want this for yourself,” I persisted. “Not for a client.”

  Ash hesitated for a fraction of a second before he nodded. I could almost hear a door between us slam shut.

  “I often purchase objects that interest me personally, adding them to my own collection while I wait for the right buyer to come along. It’s not so unusual. Many dealers do it.”

  “The ancient Egyptians believed that the heart was the most essential organ in the body,” Ash went on. “Not because it pumped blood, but because it was considered the seat of rational thought. The heart was the origin of all actions, all feelings. Upon death of a mortal, the gods of the Underworld weighed it to determine whether or not a spirit was worthy to enter the afterlife, because it was in the heart that all memory of the person’s deeds on earth were stored.”

  There’s something he’s not telling me, I thought. Something important. Ash had done this before. Always because he was trying to protect me from something. What was it this time?

  “I have to go take care of some paperwork,” Ash said. “Do you want to keep looking, or tag along?”

  “I think I’ll keep looking,” I said, careful to keep my tone light. “I saw some jewelry back there. Maybe I’ll go pick out something. A piece that feels like the ‘right one.’ Then we’ll see just how much you really love me.”

  He dropped a quick kiss on my lips. “You do that,” he said. I watched him as he sauntered off. Then I turned back to the case with the scarabs, studying the one Ash intended to bid on. Why this one, Ash? I wondered once more. What is its secret? What don’t you want me to know?

  Until a few moments ago, I had assumed that Ash’s attendance at the auction tonight was strictly busines
s. Now I couldn’t help but wonder if it wasn’t something more. Of course, his unwillingness to explain why he wanted the scarab could stem from the fact that we were out in public, nothing more. Ash played everything close to the vest. His reluctance to explain might arise from nothing more complicated than a desire to not be overheard. Maybe I was just letting my imagination get the better of me.

  And maybe not.

  I turned, determined to spend some time looking at things that sparkled instead of creepy human-faced bugs, took two steps, and ran smack into the person who had come up behind me without my realizing it. So much for my vampire powers.

  “I’m so sorry,” I exclaimed.

  “Well, at least I know it’s really you,” said the person I nearly stepped on.

  I felt my stomach give a sudden lurch of joy, followed by one of dismay, then one of guilt.

  “What are you doing here?” I blurted out.

  “Well, it’s nice to see you, too,” my friend Bibi Schwartz answered with a laugh. “Thank you very much. I was going to tell you how great you looked. Just for that, I think I’ll just be keeping that information to myself.”

  “I’ll say it instead,” I said. “You look great.”

  “Say the rest,” Bibi prompted, her dark eyes grinning.

  “But then you always do.”

  “Now that’s the Candace Steele I know and love.”

  Bibi was wearing a column of shimmering white, which perfectly set off her dark coloring. She closed the gap between us to give me a hug. I hugged back and felt the guilt rise up to clog my throat.

  “I should be asking what you’re doing here,” she said, linking her arm through mine. “Not to mention giving you hell for not returning my calls. But I’m too happy to see you. Actually, I’m just too happy in general. Come over here and look at some of this jewelry. Is this whole thing outrageous, or what?”

  I didn’t resist. I was hoping she would keep talking and give me time to collect my badly scattered thoughts. I’ve known Bibi since my San Francisco days when she lived right down the hall from me. She was the one who put me back together after Ash attacked me in the elevator. She’s not exactly his biggest fan. In a gathering this size, the chance that Bibi and Ash would fail to spot each other was next to none. The miracle was that she hadn’t spotted him already.