by S. E. Lund
"I assure you that I'll treat this with the utmost discretion."
He's being serious now, but I'm just not ready to give in. Maybe I could phone campus security … and tell them what? That some professor of linguistics has stolen my ancient vampire manuscript that I can't admit even exists? I don't think so.
Damn. Frustration builds in me. Here I am, just starting my career as a vampire hunter like my mother and I've already screwed things up.
"It's just that this is such a valuable manuscript," I say, my voice breaking. "I don't know if I can trust you with it."
His face softens for a moment, and he tilts his head to the side again as if he's feeling real sympathy for me.
"Oh, Eve. So emotional over an ancient manuscript? You're making me feel like an old monster. But I just can't let you take this back."
He shrugs and raises his eyebrows like he's helpless. He puts the manuscript down on the coffee table and steps towards the door as if he wants me to leave. I eye the manuscript, wondering if I can snatch it and run. I'm a very fast runner, but who knows how fast he might be?
"I wouldn't even think of it," he says.
Damn – am I that transparent? Yes, of course I am. I can't lie. I can't cheat without giving myself away. My mother always said I wear my heart on my sleeve.
I finally give in and push past him, my face hot, determined to just leave without another word and grab my coat from the coat tree but he beats me to the door and closes it with one hand, blocking my exit.
Oh, double damn… This is creep territory. Now, my frustration is replaced by fear.
"You're not going to let me leave?"
He smiles sadly. "Not until I make you forget all about our little meeting. I just can't have you walking around knowing this manuscript exists."
"What?" A sick feeling comes over me. What does he mean, make me forget?
He steps closer to me, and now that I see him up close, his lips have a slight bluish tint to them. I didn't notice it before because I was trying not to ogle him. He smiles, baring his teeth and his canines are just a little bit longer and sharper than all the others.
Oh, crap…
He touches my cheek for a moment with the back of his fingers and this wave of emotion goes through me. I have to close my eyes, dropping my backpack and coat, leaning against the wall for support. It's like he's searching my memories for in the brief seconds he touches me, I am back to that day – the day my mother died and all I can see is her face, the blood frothing at her mouth. When I'm able to open my eyes again, his face is just inches from mine, but it's blurry for my eyes are filled with tears.
"Poor Eve," he says, his voice soft, his gaze moving over my face. "Your first instincts are usually right and you should learn to trust them. I am a vampire, and you should have run when you had the chance. I'm not going to let you have this manuscript. I'm not going to translate it for you, either. I'm going to make you forget about it. Forget about me."
CHAPTER TWO
"Regret for the things we did can be tempered by time; it is regret for the things we did not do that is inconsolable."
Sydney Smith
"You're not Professor Cormier, are you?"
"No, luckily," the vampire says, a lopsided grin on his face. "He's a bit stuffy, lacks imagination but is very easy to compel."
He steps even closer, his arm on the wall beside my head. I can't help but ogle him and he's beautiful despite being a vampire.
"I've been looking for this manuscript for a decade, Eve, so I'm so glad you posted that message to the forum. You see, it's about my brother and me. It was written after we were both turned in 1224."
"You're one of the de Cernay twins," I say, blurting it out like they're a pair of rock stars and I'm a fan. "How did you find me so quickly?"
"I have a service that scans the web specifically for requests to translate 13th century French documents. Don't blame yourself, sweet Eve," he says and wipes tears off my cheek, slipping his finger into his mouth, his eyes closing like the taste arouses him. He keeps saying my name and I wonder if he isn't trying to mesmerize me – I think vampires can do that.
I'm standing there, pinned against the wall, barely able to breathe because he's so close and he's a vampire and could kill me in a second if he wants to and he's tasting my tears like some connoisseur of human bodily fluids.
Bloody hell.
"Please don't hurt me."
"Oh, I'm not going to hurt you, Eve. What do you think I am? A monster?"
Yes. I do think you're a monster — the most beautiful monster I've ever imagined and I'm breathless as he stares into my eyes, brushing the hair back from my cheek. He runs a finger over my bottom lip and leans closer and I fear he's going to kiss me.
"I know who you are as well," he says almost whispering. "I know what you are even though you don't. The last thing I want is to have you find out my secrets, and they're contained within that manuscript, just in case you decide to come after me one day with all your dreams of vengeance and your freakish vampire hunter skills."
I hold my breath, waiting for what he's going to do. I can't move, and I wish I'd had more time to read my mother's files. I don't really know much about vampires, except the usual folklore. Can he really make me forget about him and the manuscript?
"How do you know who I am?" I manage to whisper, barely able to speak from whatever it is he's doing to me.
"Let's just say vampires have a special touch."
Then he touches my cheek, holding his fingers there and a wave of elation flows through me, washing away the last remnants of sadness from the memory he made me relive. I can't help but close my eyes until it passes. When I can think clearly again, I open my eyes and I believe him when he says he's going to make me forget. I don't want that to happen.
"Which one are you?" I say, hoping to keep him talking so that he's not biting my neck or making me forget. "If you're going to wipe my memory, at least tell me now."
"Curiosity killed the cat," he says and smiles, then runs his fingers along my chin, stroking my skin. "But I'm Michel, the former priest, the once-Bishop of Carcassonne, at least for a few days before it was taken from me by death."
He pronounces it Mee-shell, not Mi-kul like Americans do. When I hear that he was the priest, I can't help but raise my eyebrows.
"Oh, you're surprised that I was the priest? The chaste one? Well, my chastity was taken from me the day I became a vampire." He says it with such emotion that I know he's been hurt very deeply.
"Please don't make me forget," I whisper.
"I have no choice," he says and he truly looks like he feels regret, his brow furrowed. "You're very sweet, and very lovely and I admit it is tempting to induct you into our secret world. You're so tempting. You have such unique coloring. Dark hair like silk, and I love your lips," he says and runs his finger over my top lip now and I close my eyes for it's like something passes between us whenever he touches my skin – some kind of strange connection I've never felt before.
"I love your eyes," he continues. "Such a unique shade of hazel. So many flecks of different color – gold, green, brown, even violet. And your freckles," he says and smiles. "They make you look like…" He pauses. "Vous avez l'air d'un brat. You look like a brat. I love brats, Eve. They always need a good spanking and there's nothing I love more than to deliver a nice spanking on a well-deserving derriere. You know us clerics – so into obedience, discipline and punishment." His eyes have this wicked look in them that's nothing about punishment and everything about pleasure.
Oh, God…
"But most of all, Eve, I love your dimples," he says and strokes my cheek. "You're not smiling now, but you did earlier and when I saw them, I had the most inexplicable desire to grab you and kiss them, dipping my tongue into each one."
When I open my eyes, he's no longer smiling. He looks at me for a moment as if deciding, blinking rapidly. Finally, he exhales, his eyes closed for a moment.
"I'll give you the Co
les notes version," he says and plays with a lock of my hair, passing it under his nose and breathing in. "Long story short, identical twin brothers, both priests. When the Church turned against our family for tolerating Catharism, my brother Julien left the Church, forsaking his vows, remaining loyal to our father while I remained loyal to the Holy Father." He pauses for a moment, looking down as if remembering hurts.
As he tells this story, he pulls back from me and I can finally breathe almost normally.
"Julien wrote the manuscript," he says and then looks in my eyes. "He's always been far too open about everything, impetuous, indiscreet. On the other hand, I'm a paragon of reticence and discretion. Big fight ensued, a house divided, et cetera, et cetera. Very boring."
I pull away just a bit as well and I can see the manuscript out of the corner of my eye. I briefly consider grabbing it and running, but one thing I do know about vampires is that they're preternaturally fast. So am I and I wonder if I could beat him in a race to the front entry…
"I joined the crusade and my brother fought against it," he says, staring at the wall thoughtfully, running a finger along the grain in the wood panel. "Then one week, when we were winning, and I had just taken over the Bishophood of Carcassonne, a monster claimed us both, turning us into vampires and we've been fighting each other ever since, still on opposite sides of the cause. We may be identical in looks, but not in character or temperament. He's adapted to this existence. He wants to keep being a vampire." He turns to me, his eyes dark. "I'm the one trying to kill us all off."
I swear I can see pain in his eyes even now, after eight centuries.
"You want to kill off all vampires?"
"Every single one of us."
"Then you're on my side," I say and shake my head. "We should fight together. Don't make me forget."
"I'm on no one's side but God's," he says and looks away again. "If I do this, perhaps I'll get back my immortal soul and then I can die in peace."
He wants to die…
"I want to take up my mother's fight," I say. "Please let me remember. You have the manuscript. I want you to succeed."
He shakes his head quickly. "Pleading won't work on me, Eve. I'm committed to my path and it doesn't involve pretty pre-med students, however much I'd love to corrupt you."
He presses against me and if I wanted to run, I should have done it while he was still a few inches away. As soon as I feel his body against mine I lose all strength to resist. When he touches my cheek again, my eyes close briefly from this rush of euphoria and every sensible thought flees.
"So lovely," he says, his voice a whisper. "And since you're going to forget this, perhaps just one kiss. You're so like Sleeping Beauty in your innocence. I'd love to awaken you."
"Don't," I say, struggling to emerge from the drugged-like state he's put me in.
"You won't remember me," he says and strokes my cheek, "but you'll remember my kiss. I can't erase physical memories – just the knowledge of how they came about so this kiss will play in your dreams, in your fantasies. Every human you kiss from now on will always seem somehow inadequate. You'll always wish you could meet someone who would kiss you like this, but you won't, will you?"
And then he takes my face in his hands and his lips press against mine. They're cool and pleasant and even though I intend to fight him and try to pull away, I can't. In a moment, his lips warm against mine, and his breathing becomes more intense, one hand dropping to my shoulder, then down to my hip, pulling me against his body. His lips part and mine do as well without me even being aware of it. His tongue touches mine, cool and wet, and a jolt of desire rushes through my body.
Then, something bizarre happens. It's as if the wall between us – the wall that separates two people – disappears. I feel his senses, the press of my lips against his, the scent of my hair in his nose, the pounding of my heart in his ears, the warmth of my body against his coldness, the soft mounds of my breasts against his chest. I feel myself as he feels me and his desire for me is so much more intense than anything I've ever felt before.
I feel the delicious ache in his groin as his body responds to me and that's a revelation. For a brief moment, I understand men's desire to fuck – their need to fuck. He needs it – very much. On top of it all, I feel his bloodlust – his desire for my blood and it almost chokes me with its intensity. My knees weaken, my legs like jelly.
He breaks the kiss, our lips parting, and I'm panting, my heart racing. He smiles as if he enjoys how much he's affected me.
"Now, cheri," he says, and takes my face firmly in his hands, his voice husky. "It's time to forget." He stares into my eyes. "You're going to leave the building and once you step outside, you'll look around and wonder why you're here. Then you'll remember that the idiot who told you he'd meet you failed to show up."
He pauses, shaking his head as if he regrets this.
"You'll go home and delete my email. Then you'll forget the email and my name. You'll forget you ever saw the manuscript and you'll rip up and burn any other documents you still have that mention it or me or my brother."
"Please," I think. "Don't make me forget…"
"You'll decide to continue your studies in music instead of medicine and put all your mother's files into storage and forget where you stored them. Soon, you'll forget about vampires entirely. If you ever see me again, you won't think twice about me and move on as if I'm invisible."
I'm leaning against the wall, him pressed up against me, and I'm listening to him but nothing happens.
"Do you understand, Eve?"
I try to brand his name and face on my memory, the kiss, trying to remember the first lines of the story – the image of the full moon stained red from the smoke, the crusades splitting up the brothers, and a vampire taking their lives. Perhaps I could go to the language lab and use a computer, send myself an email describing all this before the memory wipe takes effect…
"I said, do you understand?"
I struggle to speak, barely able to even whisper.
"Don't do this, Michel."
He frowns and adjusts his hand on my face.
"Forget me, Eve. Forget the manuscript, forget my name and face. Forget that vampires exist. Do you understand?"
"I don't want to forget." I say, my voice breaking. I take hold of his hands, trying to pry them away. "This is my fight as well. Your brother gave that manuscript to my mother for a reason. I don't want to forget this. I want retribution for her killer."
"This is very strange." He steps back and releases me, rubbing his forehead as if he's confused. "I can affect your emotions but I can't compel you."
He stands for a moment and examines me, his hands on his hips. Then, he opens the door.
"Go out of the building. Perhaps it will take effect then."
I shake my head. "I won't leave if it means I'll forget."
"Eve," he says, and I can hear the frustration in his voice. "You have to forget. You don't want the life you think you're committing to. It killed your mother. It's killed everyone like you. Now go. If I have to carry you out and throw you onto the street myself, I will."
I cross my arms. "Fine."
"You are a brat. Perhaps I should spank you before I take you outside."
"I'll fight you," I say, standing firm.
"Don't tempt me."
He doesn't smile. Instead, he grabs my coat and backpack and takes my hand, pulling me along with him out of the office, down the hall to the stairs. He doesn't even look at me while we descend as if he's really angry.
Then he drags me to the front door of the building. Outside, the street is deserted and he opens the door, throwing my coat and backpack on the landing and pushes me down the steps. I make it down the first two and despite the fact I've taken years of dance and martial arts and should have better balance, I trip and fall on the last step, going down on my hands and knees, scraping my palms on the rough cement.
"Shit!" I struggle to stand, looking at my injured hands. They’re scuf
fed and scraped. Thin lines of blood seep out of the deeper cuts. I cradle them against my body, breathing in deeply from the pain. There's just been so much emotional shit happen to me tonight, I can't fight tears and once more, my eyes brim.
I turn around and face the door, staring through it but see only darkness. I hold up my palms to show him, because I'm sure he's standing there in the shadows of the entry watching to see if I do forget him. Well. Sorry, you prick. I remember you.
"You are a bastard," I say, hoping to hurt him. I wipe my eyes on the backs of my hands and bend down to pick up my coat, shrugging it on with difficulty because of my injuries, then I use my thumb to hook the strap of my backpack because I can't bend my hands.
I'm miserable as I walk down the street to the bus stop, wondering when I'll start forgetting, vowing to start my own journal online just in case he comes after me one day and makes me forget. I want a record of everything. My mother kept meticulous notes, and I realize now how important it would be to have a journal and to update it regularly.
While I'm struggling to regain control over my emotions, he walks up wearing a long black coat that resembles a cassock, a messenger bag over his shoulder.
"Sorry to have to tell you this," I say. "But your little trick with the Vulcan mind meld didn't work. I remember everything."
"No, it's me who's sorry." He takes my hands and examines them, clucking his tongue in disapproval. He looks in my eyes. "What kind of a prick would do this to you?"
He bends his head to my palm and then he tongues the cuts. The sensation is so sexual, I gasp and try to pull away, but I can't. He's so strong, his grip like iron. There's a brief bright sting from the wetness, but then his tongue soothes it and the pain is almost gone. He moves to the other palm and repeats this, his tongue following the cuts, dipping between my fingers. I'm horrified that a vampire is actually licking my cuts, tasting my blood. Will he now go all batshit and start biting my neck?