by C. P. Foster
—Professor Anthony Benotti, PhD
The University of Washington’s library contained an entire wing dedicated to the study of supernatural beings, perhaps the largest such collection in the world. The Gothic structure of the reading room seemed particularly appropriate to the subject. Angie leaned over a wooden table, surrounded by half a dozen books, and typed notes into her laptop.
Her dissertation adviser wanted her to narrow her studies and choose a focus for her thesis, but this was difficult. She wanted to learn all of it, to generalize rather than specialize, which was why she’d taken concurrent master’s degrees in Supernatural History and the Comparative Psychology of Sentient Nonhuman Species. As she progressed into doctoral studies, she found herself drawn toward the political and cultural development of these species and how they had sprung from the unique nature of each race.
Of course, she knew why she felt so compelled to learn and understand these things. It took no great talent for self-analysis to see she was trying to make sense of what had happened to her as a girl, to put it in context and find some way of managing it internally. Knowing this did not lessen the compulsion.
For now, she concentrated on the postgraduate coursework offered, using it as a way to structure her tendency to go off on tangents in personal research. Her latest tangent had her immersed in what few materials were available regarding the psychology of so-called ancients—creatures that had lived for over a thousand years. Vampires, elves, djinn and the Fallen all had the potential to live that long, or longer. But such creatures became more elusive as the years passed, fading into the background or disappearing altogether. She knew of a few, like Steffen Scott, who admitted to such great age, but they were not inclined to submit to psychoanalysis.
“Vampires again, eh?”
She started and looked around to find Marisa, a fellow graduate student, peering over her shoulder.
“There’s more material on vampires,” Angie said.
“Why not specialize in them, then? You said Benotti wants you to narrow your focus.”
Marisa dropped her pack onto the table, pulled up a chair, and slumped, resting her head on the back. She wore her usual outfit: a T-shirt under an old sweatshirt, baggy jeans, and sneakers. As a concession to the cold weather, she carried gloves and a knit hat for the long walks across campus. Her pony tail did a poor job of constraining unruly blonde curls.
“Because I’m not interested in just the one species,” Angie answered. “I’m interested in an underlying principle. How do our cultures develop? How has the unique nature of each sentient species driven their societies to become so different and yet somewhat similar? Vampires are the easiest to study because we have so much material on them, but that’s a means to an end, not an end in itself.”
“Uh-huh.” Marisa waved that away. “I’m glad I ran into you. The UW Symphony and Chorale are doing Bach’s Mass in B Minor, and Dave got me comp tickets for tonight. Want to go?”
When a concert wasn’t sold out, members of the symphony were sometimes offered free tickets. Dave, the second-chair French horn player, often gave his to Marisa.
“Absolutely. You know I love Bach.”
Angie preferred to blend in to her surroundings, so she let her fellow students think she was on the same tight budget they were. Not starving, but always glad to get a free ticket or a cheap meal. She found it easier to get along with everyone when she didn’t stand out like a peacock in a dovecote. People were more likely to be themselves around someone they thought was like them.
Her wealth wasn’t the only thing she hid. None of them knew anything about Angeline Devereaux, her specialist alter ego. Her student wardrobe consisted mostly of turtlenecks and jeans or other outfits that concealed the marks left by her occupation.
“Cool.” Marisa stood and gathered her things. “I’ll meet you by the call window at Meany Hall. Seven o’clock should be early enough. We can take Dave out for a beer after.”
“See you then.”
This was just what she needed. The recent session with Steffen Scott had been brutal, physically and emotionally. As much as she relished the violence and passion of her professional life, she still paid a price for it. In her personal life, she sought order and calm, something she could always count on from baroque music, particularly Bach. It had a certain intellectual quality. The classical and romantic periods did not appeal at all. If anything, she found them irritating.
Bach helped her achieve equilibrium. It gave her distance.
The spa had opened early for Angie. She basked under a canopy of sun lamps, bathing her naked body in their warmth. A tan made bruises less noticeable. In the two weeks since the session with Scott, they had faded to green and yellow, but these had lasted longer than any she’d been given before. The puncture marks had healed, but there were other scrapes and cuts that had not. These had faded to the pale pink of new skin, which she treated with lotions and gentle massage to keep scars from forming.
A woman came in carrying two glasses of white wine. She set them on a table next to Angie, then stretched out on a lounge chair on the other side. A mud mask covered her face, and as she lay back, she closed her eyes and placed a slice of cucumber over each one.
“He called again,” she said.
This was one of the places Angie used for private meetings with her business manager, Lynette Kerr. The woman did not know where she lived or anything about her, outside their business relationship. It was safer for both of them that way.
“What’s he offering now?”
“Double.”
“You told him I haven’t healed yet?”
“Mm-hmm. He wants to try something else. No physical harm.”
“What does he have in mind?”
“He said it was more intimate. I told him love isn’t on the menu, and he just growled at me. That’s when he offered double.”
Angie chuckled. Love. As if a vampire had any interest in such a thing, especially with a human. But what was this “more intimate” fantasy he wanted to explore? She took a sip of wine and savored its oak and vanilla undertones as she considered the possibilities.
“Set up a meeting,” she said.
Lynette gave her a startled look and cursed as the cucumber slices fell off. “You aren’t serious.”
“I’m curious. I can always say no.”
“All right.” Lynette got to her feet and headed toward the locker room where she’d stashed her cell phone.
“And Lynette? Tell him it will cost triple.”
This time, they met at a park. Stadium lights blazed over basketball and tennis courts where adults and teenagers played or stood around, talking and listening to music. Angie sat on a bench far enough away that their conversation would not be overheard but still within sight of the people.
“Not the most private of settings.” Scott took a seat next to her. He had brought bodyguards again, three this time, stationed in a loose triangle, each about fifty feet from him. Where had they been during the hunt? She hadn’t seen anyone but Scott. Perhaps he’d decided to risk going without, rather than have an audience.
“I like it here.” She smiled. “And it’s hard for anyone to listen in on us with all the other noise.”
“You’re healing well.”
“Yes.”
His jeans and a form-fitting black T-shirt contrasted with the paleness of his skin. Angie shifted so she could look at him more easily. She liked what she saw and didn’t bother to hide it. Memories of his violence flashed through her mind, but that wasn’t what brought a flush to her cheeks. He had aroused her and deliberately left her unsatisfied.
Steffen studied his hands. “I’m told the hunt isn’t the only fantasy you offer.”
She waited, letting him come to it in his own time and fashion. The vampire thought for a while, then finally sat up straight and looked at her. “I wield a great deal of power and certain of my kind don’t like the way I’m using it. They’ll do whatever it takes to neutr
alize me. If they think I’ve formed an attachment to someone, they won’t hesitate to use it against me, which means anyone I…care for…is in danger. You understand?”
She nodded. “Humans do it all the time. That’s why presidents’ families are so closely guarded.”
“Yes.” He gazed off toward the basketball game and shifted his feet. “I cannot allow myself to have the real thing. An attachment. Just like I can’t indulge my instinct for the hunt. You gave me something I’ve craved for a long time, made it seem almost real. Now I wonder if you could weave another such illusion.”
He was talking about an emotional bond, something vampires were not known to form, the main exception being that between a creator and its child. Her recent studies of the ancient ones, though, suggested this might change if they lived long enough. She’d seen anecdotal evidence of relationships with other vampires, and even with humans, that went deeper than surface alliances.
“Go on,” she said.
The vampire turned his head in her direction, but not quite far enough to look at her, as though he was afraid to see how she’d react to what he said next. “There’s something known as ‘the girlfriend experience’ that I’m told human call girls provide. Have you heard of it?”
“Yes.” Amusement laced her response. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen a vampire embarrassed. What he was asking for, however, required more serious consideration. “I don’t know whether it’s such a good idea, though.”
“Explain, please.”
“In some ways, what you want is more dangerous than a hunt. Violence and bloodlust are more easily controlled than the sort of attachment you describe.”
“You refuse my request, then?”
“I need you to understand what you’re asking. I’m not a ‘call girl’ for vampires. Sex is only one of the many things I offer. I have played the parts of friend, mother, daughter, seductress, submissive, prey, even hunter. For each of these roles, I draw upon what already exists within me in order to make them real. If I had not truly felt the terror of a helpless victim, you would have known it. Every part I play comes from an authentic piece of me, something I can magnify into more than a surface illusion. So if I were to play the part of your girlfriend, I’d have to really feel that, at least a little.”
“And you can’t.” He frowned.
“That’s not the problem. These particular feelings are a loaded gun, one I prefer to keep locked away. A fantasy like yours means opening that box, and I don’t know what will happen once my finger is on the trigger.”
She’d taken that bullet once, and it had destroyed her.
Chapter Four
Scientists have been trying to cure the addiction to vampire blood for centuries, but science can’t solve a supernatural problem. Maybe someday we’ll develop a better understanding of what vampires are and how they do the things they do. Until then, we’re just throwing stuff against the wall and hoping something sticks. Nothing has so far.
—Dr. Manfred Tausch, MD
Sarah Miller
Seventeen Years Earlier
Sarah had never met a vampire before. At first, she didn’t know what he was, only that he was the most gorgeous thing she’d ever seen.
Round tables draped in white cloth dotted the floor of the rented ballroom. The prom committee had decorated the place in purple and gold, the school colors. They stood out against the understated taupe of the hotel’s walls. Sarah’s red satin dress hugged her young curves, and its neckline dipped just enough to reveal a hint of cleavage. Her best friend, Melody, had done her hair in a French twist, and her stepmom had loaned her a pair of dangling gold earrings that tickled her neck when she turned her head too fast. She was sure she looked older than her seventeen years.
Whatever was in the punch bowl made her feel dizzy, so she stepped into the lobby to get away from the loud music and sank into an armchair. She leaned forward and took deep, slow breaths.
“Are you all right, miss?”
Embarrassed, she looked up at the stranger who had approached her. If the hero of a romance novel stepped out of its pages, he would look like this. Tall and broad shouldered, he wore his suit with the casual elegance of a movie star. Dark hair fell across his forehead, just begging to be brushed back by a woman’s fingers.
“Miss?” he repeated. “Are you all right?”
“Oh…yeah, I…just feel, a little, you know, light-headed?”
He knelt next to her. “Your date should take better care of you.”
“I don’t have one.” She’d gone stag to the prom, but suddenly she didn’t want him to know she was just a teenage girl who couldn’t get a boy to take her to the biggest event of her life. “I mean, he stood me up. We were supposed to meet at the bar, but he never showed.”
“You can’t be serious. If I had a date with you, nothing short of an earthquake would keep me away.”
She blushed, which made him chuckle. He held out his hand and said, “I’m Raphael Danforth.”
“Sarah Miller.”
She put her hand in his, but instead of shaking it, he ran his thumb over her knuckles. He held on for a moment longer than necessary before letting go. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sarah. I’ve always loved that name. Did you know it means ‘princess’?”
His skin was cold, so cold it startled her. Sarah looked at him more closely. “Are you…?”
Rafael inclined his head an inch. “I hope you won’t hold it against me.”
“Gosh, of course not! I just never actually talked to one of you before. Are you really old?”
“Terribly,” he teased. “I was created one hundred and eighty-six years ago. I would ask you the same question, but of course a gentleman does not ask a lady her age.”
A lady. No one had ever called her that before.
“Oh, I don’t mind. I’m twenty-one,” she lied.
His smile widened. “Would you like me to call a cab for you, Sarah? Or, if you wish—no, that would be far too forward.”
“What would?”
“I was going to offer to drive you home. Women today must be careful, though. It isn’t safe to accept a ride from a stranger.”
She agreed it wouldn’t be a smart thing to do, but if he had offered…maybe she would have said yes. Sarah wanted to have some fun instead of always being such a good little girl. “It’s okay, I already phoned someone to pick me up,” she lied again. “But thanks, it’s really nice of you to offer.”
Raphael nodded. “I shall be going, then, but I would be most honored if you would allow me to call upon you sometime.”
“Call upon me?”
“I would like to see you again, perhaps for coffee? Or dinner?”
Delighted, Sarah gave him her phone number, and he bid her good night.
With nearly two hundred years of experience, Raphael had no difficulty sweeping her off her feet. The vampire wooed her for weeks. He did not even kiss her until their third date. On the fourth, he looked particularly pale when he arrived to pick her up.
“Hi,” she said, her smile brilliant.
“Good evening, Sarah.”
He appeared distracted, and her smile faded. “Is everything okay?”
“I’m sorry. It’s only that I was not able to feed before coming to you.”
The way he said it made her shiver. She had wondered if he would ever ask for some of her blood, and it disappointed her that he hadn’t said anything about it so far. The idea both frightened and excited her. What would it be like? Would it hurt? She had never seen it done in real life. Romance novels and movies made it look awfully nice, though.
Raphael opened the car door for her. “Please, do not be concerned. The restaurant has what I need. Once I drink my fill, I will be myself again.”
When he got behind the wheel, she put her hand on his arm. “You could…I mean, if you wanted…you could drink from me.”
His eyes grew dark when he looked at her, and her heart skipped a beat. Her vampire b
oyfriend raised his hand and trailed cold fingertips over the pulse at her throat. Fine tremors spread through her body.
“I could not ask that of you,” he murmured.
“You’re not asking. I’m offering.”
“Are you certain?”
“Totally.”
“Then let us go somewhere more private. Would you permit me to take you to my home?”
She shouldn’t be doing this. Going home with a boy meant he wanted to make out, but going home with a man was different. He would want more. That made her shiver again, this time with anticipation. “All right. Let’s go.”
His apartment was spacious and beautifully decorated. Raphael hung her coat on a brass rack, then settled her on his couch.-
“Will it hurt?” she asked.
Smiling, he stroked her cheek. “Only at first.”
“Okay.” Sarah closed her eyes, tipped her head to one side, and smoothed her hair back just like she’d seen girls do in the movies. Raphael caressed her lips with his. It made her go warm all over, and she relaxed into it, opening her mouth to welcome his tongue. He trailed away to kiss the line of her jaw and worked his way inch by inch to her throat.
Fear crept into her as he hovered there, but before she could tense up, he struck. Sarah cried out at the burst of pain. Her eyes flew open, and she almost began to struggle, but then it didn’t hurt at all. The most delicious sensation she’d ever felt rose like hot maple syrup inside her. Moaning, she arched into him and listened to the sounds he made as he sucked.
When he kissed her again, she tasted her own blood. It didn’t disgust her like she’d thought it would. Taking his hand, she shyly guided it to her breast and waited to see what he would do.