A Vampire's Hunger

by Carla Susan Smith

  “In what way?”

  “By slipping a knife between his ribs as he was coming.” She shrugged and rubbed her wrist as he released it. “He didn’t appreciate my efforts.”

  Stavros might have to be more careful when having sex with one of the women from the village, but he never had to worry that any of them wanted to kill him in the act. Ryiel suspected the female vampire would have to submit to a pat-down along with a body-cavity search before being allowed to slip between his sentinel’s sheets from now on. He dismissed her and returned to his task.

  The papyrus was an ancient text, and an extraordinary amount of care was required to unroll it and explore its secrets. Last read by scholars who had perished almost two centuries before, the words seemed to jump off the page. Ryiel stared at the script with a glazed look in his eyes until his mind rearranged the formation of lines and symbols to form a language he was familiar with. It was not what he was looking for. But as he began to carefully roll up the document, marks on the lower edge of the papyrus caught his eye.

  Written in an entirely different language, the words made no sense in the context of the scroll. It was like coming across a copy of Hamlet’s soliloquy written in Shakespeare’s own hand, only to find he’d also included the opening lines to A Christmas Carol.

  To sleep, perchance to Dream; aye, there’s the rub,

  Marley was dead, to begin with. There is no doubt whatever

  about that,

  For in that sleep of death, what dreams may come . . .

  It made absolutely no sense at all . . . unless you were an Original Vampire.

  Opening the scroll once more, Ryiel anchored each corner with one of the many polished stones he used as paperweights. The line of misplaced script was a directive on how to release the hidden writing contained within. Recognizing the presence of one who could unlock their knowledge, the glyphs and symbols now began to pulse and glow with a life of their own, impatient to reveal their secrets.

  A soft click and Ryiel’s fangs slid smoothly past his lower lip. He held his wrist to his mouth and broke the skin, piercing the vein closest to the surface. Blood welled up, and he turned his arm so it would drip onto the ancient papyrus. There was a mild hiss as the liquid quickly spread across the surface, covering the original lettering with a thick, crimson flow. Static electricity pulled at his long hair, making it stand out until it resembled the exotic headdress of a Mayan god. A strange odor filled the air, something Ryiel had not smelled in a long time—a peculiar sweetness coupled with the underlying scent of decay. It was the perfume of corruption, and it sealed all such writings.

  The vampire’s senses, already superior, now became even more acute. He could hear the soft swoosh of his blood as it flowed through the chambers of his massive heart, the echo of each muscle expanding and contracting with its appointed task. His olfactory sense was quickly becoming overwhelmed by the stench of the tainted papyrus, but it was not so compromised that he couldn’t distinguish the mouse droppings that had escaped Stavros’s broom. The electrifying tingle he got from rubbing the pad of his thumb across the tips of his fingers told him his sense of touch was now hyper-receptive. But it was his vision that amazed him most of all. Staring at the unfurled scroll, he could actually separate the overlapping pigments in the ink, as well as the strands of fibrous pith comprising the papyrus sheet.

  He watched as his blood spread, covering the meaningless text before turning black and hardening like the carapace of an animal long since extinct. Beneath the obsidian shell, Ryiel knew the document’s true purpose was manifesting itself. Intuition made him take a step back, throwing a forearm up to shield his eyes as the dark, glossy covering exploded. His blood had been transformed into a hard substance that filled the air with a sound reminiscent of wind chimes, as the razor-sharp slivers bounced on the ground.

  Did the words exist to break the agreement Rowan had made in the Dark Realm? Ryiel was certain of it, for no compact or accord was ever proclaimed that did not contain such an escape. All he had to do was find it, and thankfully Rowan had been clever enough to negotiate the time he needed. He waited until all he could hear was the sound of his own breathing before he lowered his arm. His senses had returned to their normal state of vampire awareness, but Ryiel found himself suffering a mild twinge of disappointment at the loss of such heightened awareness. There was a definite advantage in being able to hear a functioning heart so clearly.

  The language was one forgotten long before he was brought into existence, and he had never been more thankful than he was now for the twist of fate that had piqued his interest in studying such antediluvian forms of communication. When he was finished, he sat in the large, high-backed chair that was, apart from the table, the only furniture in the room. Resting his hands on his knees, he leaned back and closed his silver eyes, allowing his mind to make sense of the text’s discord. He did not stir again until the candle he had placed in the wall sconce earlier had burned down to three-quarters of its original size.

  Rising from the chair, Ryiel returned to the table and read the document again—and then once more, just to be certain he had made no mistake with his translation. Carefully he deciphered each word, exploring all possible definitions, but no matter how many times he read the text, no matter how many ways he restructured the sentences, he knew he was not mistaken.

  The answer to breaking Rowan’s deal with her demon had been in her hands the moment she was cast out of the Dark Realm. She just didn’t know it, which was, Ryiel suspected, the very thing this particular demon was counting on.

  Chapter 2

  The hand that had been cradling my head was now fondling my breast. I should have been slapping it away and making some sort of protest at the forwardness of such a gesture, but I was so overjoyed to know it was actually capable of movement, I refused to worry about something as mundane as copping a feel.

  Vaguely I recalled the sound of popping—the type of sound that comes when you burst really big bubble wrap, the kind used to protect piano legs and such. Aleksei let out a groan with each explosion of noise, and it took me a moment before I understood why. What I was hearing were the bones in his hand being realigned so they could reset and heal. By my reckoning, at least three fingers had been broken. I’d recently had all four fingers of one hand broken, and that hurt like a son of a bitch. But I hadn’t had to suffer this kind of healing process because Gabriel had taken me into his sarcophagus, where I hadn’t felt a thing.

  But these were vampire bones, and they no longer possessed the same structure and composition as regular human bones. Once the hand had healed itself and regained its flexibility, it moved to my chest. Maybe it was a vampire thing.

  Now I was distracted by a pinprick at the side of my neck—one of many that had occurred since I’d assumed a horizontal position on the floor of my new apartment. I hadn’t had much say in the matter. Aleksei had collapsed on me, and there was no way I could hold up close to three hundred pounds of vampire on my own. I was just grateful he’d had the presence of mind to cradle the back of my head as we went down. I’m not sure I could afford to lose many more brain cells.

  Aleksei had done a lot of feeding in a relatively short period of time, but he was still too weak to strike with any authority, so multiple puncture marks were the result. My neck must look like a vampire pincushion.

  He had shown up on my doorstep, beaten, battered, and with the Grim Reaper on his heels. That he could still stand was a miracle in itself. That he knew to come to me was something I didn’t even think to question. There was no way I was going to turn him away in his condition, even if it did mean we were both breaking a vampire cardinal rule. The human-vampire bond is not only complicated, it’s also fiercely protected. A bonded human only ever feeds the vampire he or she is joined to, and the vampire does not look to feed from a different human. I was hoping something like imminent death would prove to be a mitigating factor. If not, we were both royally screwed.

  Aleksei had, un
til only a few hours previously, been bonded to Anasztaizia. I didn’t know or fully understand what was involved with breaking a bond, but I was certain he’d done it to protect her. A vampire planning to actually marry a human doesn’t simply walk away. Aleksei loved Anasztaizia, but because she didn’t possess the necessary gene to make her a vampire, he had already elicited Gabriel’s promise to take his life when the beautiful Magyar’s three score years and ten deal was over. I thought it was one of the most fucked-up miscarriages of fairness I’ve ever come across.

  As for me, my connection to Gabriel goes far beyond the normal human-vampire relationship. For one thing he’s an Original Vampire, and we’re joined by an archaic ritual that makes me his Promise—the keeper of his soul—an agreement I willingly entered into when I first saw him impaled on the thorns of a rowan tree. It was also the moment I fell in love with him . . . I think. Recently, I’d been having some weird dreams that might actually have been old memories trying to resurface, and they’d got me thinking that perhaps I had fallen in love with Gabriel even before that moment.

  Before he became a vampire . . . when he was still an angel.

  There was something all too familiar about the sword he was gifted with so he could fulfill his role as an avenging angel. I knew I’d seen it before. Just like I knew there was a nick in the handle that, if it was held the wrong way, would leave a wicked bruise on your palm.

  The hand on my breast was beginning a slow massage. You would think that as I was a healthy female with a normal sex drive, such an action would have evoked some type of physical response from me. But even though the well-muscled body lying on top of me was there at my invitation, I didn’t react. And it wasn’t because he was a vampire. It was because he was the wrong vampire. Only Gabriel could liquefy my spine with his voice, awaken a hunger deep inside me with a single look, and make my body ache for him with the touch of his hand. But this wasn’t Gabriel, and my reason for my feeding a vampire I wasn’t bonded to had nothing to do with sex.

  It was the only way I could keep Aleksei alive.

  Vampires aren’t easy to kill. I know because I’ve asked how to do it. I was relieved to find out the whole stake-through-the-heart thing was a myth. It always seemed too chancy for my liking. I think you’ve got to have really good aim and exceptionally steady hands to get the equivalent of a large tent peg between someone’s ribs. Decapitation and incineration by sunlight make a lot more sense. Only now it seemed there was a third way to effectively kill a vampire. One I managed to figure out for myself from looking at Aleksei before he fell through my door.

  Massive trauma to the body.

  Part of the vampire myth involving immortality is the fact that they’re pretty much indestructible compared to humans. Bigger and stronger, their bodies also have the ability to heal with an efficiency that’s frightening. Unless, it would seem, the trauma is so extensive it overwhelms the body’s ability to repair itself. Which was what I figured was happening to Aleksei. Contusions and broken bones I could see, but I had no idea what kind of internal injuries he might have. All I knew was that if there was any chance of helping his own body kick-start the healing process, he needed to replace the blood he’d lost with a transfusion. It’s amazing to think how this one procedure can be a lifesaver to both our species—the only difference being vampires bypass the necessity for an IV line, preferring a more direct approach.

  When Gabriel feeds from me, I can tap into his emotions, and as my lover usually enjoys feeding while having sex, I get to share the intensity of his orgasms. Knowing I’m the reason he feels this way is more than an ego boost, but sometimes a head full of vampire emotions isn’t always so pleasant.

  When Katja decided to rip open my neck in an effort to make me bleed out, she inadvertently shared scenes from her childhood with me. The life she had endured was horrific. I didn’t care if it was a couple of hundred years ago; no child should be made to go through what she did. With her hair curled and beribboned, and dressed in the finest silks, she became a living doll who was also used as a sexual plaything for degenerate aristocrats. It was no surprise she lacked empathy or compassion and had the morals of an alley cat. All of which actually made her the stereotypical evil vampire.

  Kartel, another of the Original Vampires, had taken a sip of blood from my wrist, and I couldn’t say why I didn’t get any feedback from him. Then again, I was so worried about how seeing him at my wrist was affecting Gabriel, I probably shut out any emotional images he may have been sending me. For all I know, I could have locked away inside my head a video of the blue-haired vampire dancing naked in Times Square and not realize it.

  And now I was giving my blood to another vampire. But this was different. This was by my choice and something I was doing willingly.

  Thankfully, Aleksei wasn’t even remotely aroused, which wasn’t that much of a surprise, given his present condition. The Russian vampire had a way to go before an erection was part of his future. At least I wasn’t getting any erotic flashes from him. Which was a good thing because the affection I have for the big guy is more sibling in nature. From the first time I saw Aleksei, I thought he was devastatingly handsome, even with his scarred face, but I never had any inclination to act on those feelings.

  After hearing how Aleksei’s family had been murdered in front of him by a butchering member of the Russian aristocracy, I was braced for snapshots of these horrors as he took my blood. But I didn’t get any. What Aleksei gave me was nothing but his overwhelming gratitude. Grateful I had not turned him away, grateful I gave him my blood, and grateful I understood why he couldn’t go to anyone else.

  Which still made his hand fondling my breast kind of weird.

  “It’s going to take a lot more than that to turn me on, big guy,” I murmured as I felt the fingers squeeze and relax once more.

  His response was something garbled in his native tongue. I don’t speak Russian, and even if I did, I don’t speak Aleksei-Russian. Language is constantly evolving and changing. How many people do you know who use the same vernacular, the same slang, as their grandparents? Aleksei’s verbal process was over three hundred years old. Even if I could speak Russian, I still wouldn’t know what he was saying.

  “I have no idea what you just said,” I told him as he continued to mumble.

  “Feel . . . heartbeat . . .” he managed to get out in a voice that sounded cracked and strained, and begged not to have to repeat itself.

  “Oh . . . okay then.”

  I had no way of knowing how much blood I had given up, but if keeping tabs on my cardiovascular function made him happy, who was I to argue? It wasn’t like he could kill me. I wouldn’t die until Gabriel did, thanks to the demonic deal I’d made, but I don’t recall any mention of what type of condition I had to be in. I could be in a vegetative state and still be alive. It would be too ironic if helping Aleksei meant I succumbed to hemorrhagic shock or something equally devastating to my physical well-being. If squeezing my boob was Aleksei’s way of making sure I didn’t turn into a rutabaga, I was fine with that.

  I’d been rubbing his back with my hand, making what I hoped were soothing circles when I felt his entire upper body suddenly tense and become rigid. His hips ground into me, which if he’d had an erection would have been quite alarming. As it was I felt a strong pressure between my legs, and the noise this time was much louder than exploding bubble wrap. It sounded like a friggin’ cannon going off next to my ear and was so loud it nearly smothered Aleksei’s moan of pain.

  Something was going on below hip level. Another bone being twisted and slotted back into place so it could be repaired, and from the sweat now breaking out on the big guy’s upper lip and forehead, I guessed it was most likely his femur. Instinctively I clamped my thighs together, holding the limb being pushed between my legs as still as possible. I had no idea if I was helping or hurting. What I knew about mending broken bones involved a cast and immobility for a set period of time; I had no idea if such things were necessar
y for a vampire.

  The sudden rush of warm air fanning the side of my neck said the stabilizing action of my thighs was appreciated. Apparently vampire bones also needed to be kept still while they healed. I was glad my muscles were strong enough to hold onto Aleksei’s leg. An unexpected benefit of marathon sex sessions with Gabriel.

  My heart was pounding furiously in my chest, and the breath I sucked in between my clenched teeth made an odd whistling sound. I forced myself to be calm, to slow my accelerated heartbeat to a more normal rhythm. The last thing I needed was to pass out under the big guy. The hand on my chest moved from breast to breastbone. Two fingers began to tap lightly against my sternum in a slow, steady beat, and I felt my heart respond, mimicking the tapping fingers until it had regulated itself. My mouth curved into a smile as Aleksei’s fingers returned to my breast.

  Checking your heartbeat, my ass!

  Raising his head, Aleksei looked at me. It was the first time he had made eye contact since taking me down to the floor. Without thinking, I fluttered my fingertips over the scar on the side of his face. Stretching from temple to jaw, it puckered angrily as if resentful it couldn’t be healed along with the rest of his injuries.

  “Still . . . handsome?” The big guy croaked at me.

  “Still handsome,” I agreed.

  It was hard to tell which of us had the raspier voice.

  His face did look better than before, now that the awful gray pallor was gone, replaced by something that fell between zombie blush and crypt-keeper white—a considerable improvement. But it was still a mess. The abrasion on his forehead now looked more like an angry sunburn, which considering that Aleksei is a vampire, I found kind of funny. The bruising on his cheek had almost faded, but his one eye still wouldn’t open. Taking into account how the rest of his body was managing to heal itself, I couldn’t begin to imagine the trauma this particular orb had suffered. On the plus side, his other eye was no longer filled with blood, and as the closed lid appeared to be covering something solid, I was fairly confident the damaged eyeball hadn’t been gouged out. His nose practically straightened itself while we looked at each other, and all that remained of the split in his lower lip was a faint, pale line.