Bleeding Hearts: Book One of the Demimonde

by Ash Krafton

  Sighing, I slid it back and trudged back in with the wine.

  He talked and I listened and I drank. Two glasses was usually enough for me to pass out laughing but tonight the wine didn't work. His words were too sobering. Marek wasn't human.

  "My species," he said, "are precursor to vampire, which is the final stage of our evolution. Not many of us survive long enough to Fall. Once evolved, the vampire is immortal because the transmutation has spiritual as well as physical ramifications. The soul is eliminated."

  Without a soul, there was no afterlife. No soul meant no reason for a conscience. A vampire existed on hunger and instinct and the fulfillment of desires. No ethics. No rules. Very, very, very bad.

  "But," Marek stressed. "Full vampire is rare. The oldest and strongest vampires struggle for the rank and privilege of Master. They gather soldiers and slaves, layering themselves with insulation against those who would knock them from their seats of power and destroy them."

  "What about you?" For an hour or so since he materialized behind me, I'd sat and listened, trying to pretend this was another of his lectures. Right now, I wanted more practical information—where did Marek fit in?

  It was a very personal question. Only the day before he'd been the object of my intense desire. I wanted to know what Marek was because I wanted to know what I would have given myself to. I wanted to know what it was I might have become.

  He smiled with familiar self-loathing. "I'm Demivamp, Sophie. I am truly alive. I am not vampire, although I have the ability to evolve." He cleared his throat, his restless hands tapping the couch cushion beside his legs. "Demivampire is a species, just like human or feline or Were."

  "Were?" I squeaked. "Like werewolf?"

  "A species." He ignored my exclamation. "You cannot be bitten and become vampire."

  His gaze held me tightly and I couldn't look away. Brightness seeped into his eyes, the same glow I'd noticed the last time he'd sat on my couch, the glow I'd assumed was candlelight reflection. No candles burned now. The light came from within.

  "Humans who have been preyed upon cannot turn into vampire after being drained of blood. They just become corpses." Marek shrugged and his eyes dimmed back to their normal green. "It is important you know. I'm sorry it's unpleasant."

  I scowled and stared into my wineglass so I didn't have to look at him. Unpleasant didn't seem to even touch it.

  So. His big news was finally out. Marek was Demivampire. Could have been worse. I tipped back an unladylike mouthful and reached once more for the bottle. At least he hadn't told me he was married.

  The night slipped away, stealing my energy. Between the lack of sleep and the multiple adrenaline surges, I drooped. Still, as much as I wanted to crawl into bed and hide, I didn't want him to leave.

  For some reason, my alarm had faded and curiosity peeked out its timid head. I wanted to know more. I ducked back into the living room through the fire escape window. I'd needed a breather and the breeze did wonders for my spirit.

  "So... you DV..." I couldn't use the word vampire; saying DV made it possible to have this conversation. "You're like humans with extra teeth?"

  "No. We are similar to human as far as our bodies are designed. Head on top, legs on the bottom, all the usual parts in between." He paused to taste the wine that sat on the coffee table, the condensation dripping down the sides of the glass as his fingertips disturbed the surface. "Legends say we're descended from the son of Horus but, scientifically, the Demivampire have more earthly origins. We simply have evolved faster than you."

  "Evolved as in lost your vestigial tail faster?"

  "Evolved as in developed heightened abilities. Greater speed and greater reflexes. Sensitive hearing. Night vision sharp enough to rival day sight. Enhanced sense of smell."

  "They sound like animal characteristics."

  "I prefer to think of them as shared traits." He arched a neat brow and favored me with the stern glance that had originally convinced me he was a professor. "We also possess talents that, to you, might appear to be supernatural."

  "You aren't about to tell me that you're double-jointed or rub your belly and pat your head at the same time, are you?" I mean, it was hard enough figuring out how a man worked, especially a man like Marek who was all still-waters-running-deep. Now I probably had a bunch of super-human problems to deal with. Fantastic.

  He frowned as he concentrated. "Our gifts can be described as mind-to-environment. I can manipulate the physical. You've seen me do it but you didn't realize. I also have compulsion abilities that are common to all DV, since they are basic survival traits. I cannot move your will but I can move your body. If I want you to do something, I can make you do it."

  He cocked his eyebrows with a deep slant as his usual commanding arrogance surfaced.

  "And to think, all along I figured you just had tremendous leadership skills."

  "I do, but that's not the point. If I compelled you, you'd know you did something against your will. You'd try to fight it and fail. I can cloud your thinking so you wouldn't be aware of the manipulation. I can also distract you with pleasure so you would enjoy doing what I wanted."

  Pleasure. Normally the word caused all sorts of naughty ideas to surface but tonight a second, unspoken word echoed in its wake: pain. "You know," I said. "People would probably do what you wanted because of the fear you'd, oh, I don't know, tear their limbs off or something. Why use the compulsion stuff?"

  "Because DV are hunters. Humans are the preferred prey. We must consume living blood to survive." So matter-of-fact. "Compulsion aids us in obtaining and placating our prey. If we terrified people when we fed, we'd be hunted down and destroyed."

  Marek stretched against the back of the couch and cracked his knuckles. The humanity of the gesture reassured me. It also skeeved the daylights out of me. I couldn't stand that sound. If he cracked his neck, I'd throw something.

  As I considered the aerodynamics of the phone book on my desk, something occurred to me. "How many times have you done it to me?"

  "I cannot control what is my nature. But I swear—I've never used my mind to force you to do anything you did not want to do."

  "What about jumping off a roof?"

  "That was physical force, not compulsion. I admit... I have placated you but only to reduce your anxiety. You drink too much coffee. Little stresses toss you right off the edge."

  "Hey. I don't bust your chops about being inhuman. Leave my coffee alone."

  "At any rate, I never caused you to feel anything you weren't going to feel on your own."

  "Like desire?" Too late. My mouth was leaking words.

  The side of his mouth tugged up in an insolent grin. "You desire me?"

  My face aflame, I tucked my chin to my chest and hid behind my loose hair, smoothing my eyebrows with a finger. Walked right into that one.

  "You're not psychic, are you?" I wasn't confident enough to let him into every corner of my mind. Bad enough he performed a background check on me; I didn't need him taking an inventory of my brain.

  Marek shrugged. "DV can pick up the scent of sudden emotional thought. Little things like surprise, sympathy, or fear cause physical changes that are simple to detect."

  He ran his finger around the rim of his glass, creating a hollow hum of sound. "Mind-to-mind powers emerge as one gets close to the brink of evolution. When the line between life and death becomes blurred, so do the boundaries between individual minds. The Fallen can not only read minds but can also manipulate thoughts and desires. A vampire could make you strangle your own child and you'd believe it had been your idea in the first place."

  If he wanted to terrify me, he'd succeeded. I needed another break. I trudged into the kitchen for a new bottle of wine. Marek's glass was still more than half-full; he seemed to be merely wetting his lips.

  Aw, crap. Should I have made him a Bloody Mary instead? I glanced up at a plaque that hung on the wall, the shape of a teapot bearing the letters "WWMD?" They stood for "What Would Mar
tha Do?" I wondered if she ever hinted at etiquette for entertaining DV in one of her magazines.

  Shit. With her supernatural skills, I'd bet Martha was more than familiar with DV etiquette. It would explain why she could do anything and make a fortune doing it. I'd watched her make meatballs once. It was uncanny.

  My thoughts returned to Marek. I tried not to think of him feeding. I'd already spent a fair amount of time imagining what it would be like to kiss him but now it would be hard to imagine kissing without also imagining bloody teeth. Just—yuck.

  Bottle in hand, I returned to my seat and he continued. "Think of the food chain. Humans raise domesticated food sources. Since humans do not breed as quickly as, say, cattle, we have to be more discreet. Instead of preying on a human to its death, we more or less graze."

  I didn't like the comparison he made between me and a cow but I let it go. It wasn't a battle I needed to wage tonight.

  "Just as many humans squander the Earth's resources for power and greed, many Demivamps consume and destroy life out of lust for power and advancement. Some kill their prey intentionally in order to force their own evolution."

  His voice dropped into a more reverent tone. "When a human dies, his soul leaves the body and begins its journey to the afterlife. But, death is more than a simple ending or beginning. When the life-force leaves a human body, energy is released. This energy triggers a biochemical process in a Demivamp. Like an enzyme, it catalyzes a chain of reactions that speeds evolution."

  Marek watched me with his startling bright eyes. "The more traumatic the death, the greater the energy of the catalyst. A death powerful enough would affect not only the killing vamp but also anyone close by."

  Kicking off my shoes, I tucked my feet up underneath me and followed the thought to its most obvious conclusion. "So... last night on the roof. You were affected by that man's death."

  "Yes." Marek's voice was soft and thick. "The scent of blood had a strong effect but the death was overwhelming. The church was the only safe place for you."

  "You were going to prey on me, weren't you?" I spoke with a calmness I did not feel.

  He looked away, as if shamed. Silently, he summoned his courage and met my eyes again. I could have drowned in the regret that pooled in his eyes. It must have taken several lifetimes of pain to accumulate that amount of remorse. His sorrow was palpable and dripped down my soul.

  "That man's death..." Something flashed across his face, as if he indulged a terrible craving. The brief rapture passed, replaced by his grimace, his self-hate. "It weakened me, indeed. I already desire you, in so many ways, and the call of your blood held so much promise. I am sorry, Sophie."

  Out toward the harbor, the sky slowly took on a gentle hint of light, softening the edge of crisp, sharp night. In all the years I've lived here, I'd never been awake to see the sun rise. It seemed so metaphorical I could've cried.

  I thought I had myself pretty well figured out, confident I knew exactly what my big picture looked like. Tonight, all the pieces that made up my life had been tossed up into the air and I found myself trying to sort them out like a jigsaw puzzle. Some fell easily back into place but others wouldn't fit unless I altered the edges of the pieces around it.

  I did the best I could for now. Too many pieces missing. Even so, I realized my big picture had been drastically altered.

  "You are a strong woman, Sophie. Your depth of character anchors you. You strive to put the world right. A lesser woman would have given in to hysterics."

  "To be perfectly honest, there were lots of hysterics." Wrinkling my nose, I waved my hand dismissively as I spun the chair to face him again. "But that's not important. I want to ask about something you said. You 'resisted before.' When exactly do you mean by 'before?'"

  What I wanted to know fell more along the lines of whether or not I was ever more than a Happy Meal. I wasn't sure how to ask without offending; I wasn't sure if I could handle anything other than the answer I wanted.

  "That is a personal story, rather than an anthropological one." Standing, unfolding his great height, he shrugged his shirt down into place. "Dawn approaches. I need my natural ability to return home unseen."

  I remembered how he'd simply appeared in my parlor. "How will you get home?"

  "Same way I came." He dropped a wink before striding toward the door. I trailed along behind, half-expecting him to turn into a bat and flutter off like a drunken bird.

  He didn't. He opened the door and walked out into the hallway. Signs of life from first-shift workers drifted down the hall: showers and kitchen noises, coffee smells, something spicy and totally un-breakfast like wafting over from the vegan next door.

  "There is more to my story but it must wait for another night. Do not draw hasty conclusions while I'm away."

  Following behind, I stopped at the doorway and leaned against the frame, arms wrapped around myself, trying unsuccessfully to dispel a stubborn chill. "Marek?"

  He turned, his hair sliding over his shoulder, a stark contrast of darkness against light skin. "Yes?"

  "Knock first when you come back."

  Marek laughed his stormy laugh, smooth and deep, the one that made waves crash inside me. He leaned to kiss me goodbye, but I hurriedly backed away out of reach. Checking himself, he merely nodded and retreated down the hallway. "Good night, Sophie."

  I watched until he rounded the corner and disappeared, listening for his tread on the stairs but hearing nothing. He was gone. For a moment I lingered, half-wishing he'd reappear, half-dreading some other monster might.

  I turned the deadbolt and hooked the chain, despite knowing it couldn't keep them out. Habit, I guess. Pressing my back against the door, I slid slowly to the floor, a crumpled arrangement of arm and leg and disquiet. I was alone, plunged into a foreign, deadly world and it was all right outside my door.

  How long did I have until it came knocking?

  I woke up with a headache and a sick sense of dread that knotted my stomach and killed my appetite. Kind of like college finals all over again, except there was no kegger to look forward to at the end of the week. Thank goodness for that because, right now, the last thing I wanted to think about was anybody drinking anything.

  I spent the next day in tremulous anticipation, preparing my arguments, getting ready to expose the hoax. By the time Marek knocked, I was wary, I was skeptical, and I was armed to the teeth with logic. I never stood a chance.

  Euphrates, in the middle of his meal, suddenly bolted for the window and disappeared down the fire escape with a clatter. A split second later, a rap sounded at the door.

  I tiptoed toward the door, deftly avoiding the squeaky floorboard near my bedroom. My heart pounding, I peered through the viewer to see Marek, a looming shadow in the brightly-lit hallway.

  "Good evening, Sophie," he murmured. "May I come in?"

  "Marek." I sounded reasonable, considering. "I don't know how to ask this politely, so I'll just flat out ask. Are you crazy?"

  "Maybe I am. Does it matter?" The view distorted his image but I thought he appeared amused. He crossed his arms and leaned against the opposite wall.

  "I'm not sure." It came out as a thin whisper.

  "Then let me remove your doubt." Like a striking snake, Marek rushed the door, his palm raised to slap the peephole.

  Panicking, I backed away from the door, afraid he would knock it down on top of me. Anticipating the impact, I scrabbled backwards up the hallway.

  I crashed into the wall of his steely flesh and frantically spun to face him. A scream began as I recoiled. His hands slid around my arms, catching me and preventing me from crumbling. He held me up so I could see his face, his expression one of patient determination, willing me to believe. My scream never emerged. Only the sinking feeling it was all real.

  As the adrenaline drained, I realized my feet and legs still worked and I pulled out of his gentle grasp. Reluctantly, he released me, with his usual expression of grimness.

  He kept his word, knocking p
olitely each evening thereafter. When I invited him in, he gave me a wry glance that acknowledged the pleasantries as farce. I needed him to pretend to be something he wasn't and he patiently obliged. Marek spent the hours until dawn describing his version of the world. Everything had been right there in front of me, yet completely hidden from view.

  With each revelation, each story, each tiny detail, I realized the danger I'd suspected was worse than I ever could have imagined. Why did I think I would be safe with him? Safe from him? What made me think for one single moment I was exempt from the harm he and his kind pushed in front of themselves like a wicked sandstorm?

  Why did some animal trainers think it was okay to live with tigers as if they were friends or children? Trust? Stupidity? Hope? A belief that affection given would unfailingly be returned? I wasn't sure but even Siegfried and Roy found out the hard way that sometimes animals acted like animals. It was their nature.

  Whatever made a trainer feel immune from the worst an animal had to offer, it must have been the same thing encouraging me to welcome Marek into my home night after night.

  I became a student of a brand new history. After an uneasy sleep in the morning, I'd sit at my computer, working like a woman possessed, emailing my text to Barbara. Sometimes I'd sit and stare at nothing, reliving his words, applying his principles to the specifics of the world I knew and absorbing the implications. All that time, I wondered why I wasn't horrified.

  I knew he wasn't a nut job, or his stories the fabrications of a demented imagination. He'd proven it.

  So I listened night after night; I accepted that his stories were true, all true. I also accepted, without putting it into precise words, that the aura of danger that covered him like an oily cloud was also real. That second night, I had hidden behind a door, boldly daring him to prove himself. The door may as well have been a sheet of paper snowflakes.

  The exhausted sleep that claimed me when he departed in the morning offered no real rest. My dreams were full of him and his lessons.

  Over and over I relived the moment when he appeared behind me in the hall. Over and over he caught me and pulled me up against his chest. Sometimes his mouth would find mine and my body would betray me and I'd lose myself in his kiss. Sometimes his lips parted to reveal sharp teeth. Sometimes his mouth pressed itself into its familiar grim line, his eyes filled to overflowing with hopelessness and severity.