NYC Vamps: Roman: Vampire Romance

by Sky Winters

  “Good girl,” he said, his breath still uneven.

  Miranda stood, a wicked smile still on her face. Feeling a bit exhausted from her work, she fell on the couch next to Roman and lay her head on his shoulder.

  “I figured you could use a little something to take you mind off of everything,” she said, getting comfortable.

  “Well, mission accomplished,” he said, running his hand through her hair once more, lifting her tresses and letting them fall into drapes over her slim shoulders.

  The duty ahead was beginning to creep back into Miranda’s mind. But there, in Roman’s arms, was a moment she didn’t want to end.

  Chapter 15

  The gleaming Fifth Avenue tower loomed in the distance as Roman and Miranda sped towards it. With each passing second, the glass form of the building drew into clearer view, and almost seemed a foreboding presence, as though the building itself were aware of what was to come.

  “How’re the rest of the teams?” asked Miranda, steeling herself for the task ahead.

  “Starting,” said Roman, not taking his eyes off the road. “Kieran’s team has already begun its assault.”

  “And what’s the word?”

  “It’s spotty so far, but it looks like our plan to take them by surprise is working.”

  This settled Miranda somewhat. She knew that as they drove, dozens of vampires and their human counterparts were in the process of raiding apartments known as society meeting locations. It wasn’t a full, open conflict. The plan was for them to get in and cause enough chaos to get the Old-Worlders to spread their manpower thin- thin enough for Miranda and Roman to slip into the tower where the ambassadors were located.

  And just at that moment, a line of three luxury SUVs, all the same model, all the same coal-black color, sped down Fifth Avenue in the direction away from the tower. The cars roared down the wide lanes of the street, weaving around any cars that were in their way. Miranda turned in her seat and watched them speed down and out of sight.

  “Coincidence?” she asked.

  “Definitely not,” said Roman, keeping his driving steady and inconspicuous.

  They drove a while more, the tower now dominating the row of skyscrapers that they were passing, the massive form of the building blotting out the full moon that filled the evening light with an eerie, silver sheen.

  “I’m guessing we’re not just going in through the front door?” said Miranda, staring at the sprawling, glass façade of the building on their left.

  “Not exactly,” said Roman, pulling into a spot down the road from their destination.

  The car came to a slow stop, and Roman pulled the keys out of the ignition, killing the engine and filling the interior of the car with a warm, soft light.

  “Get out, stay with me, and follow my lead,” he said, opening the door of the car.

  “Wait, won’t they recognize me?” she asked, opening her own door.

  “I’ll take care of that. Just have your badge ready.”

  Miranda looked down at her hip at the gold-gleaming form of her NYPD badge.

  “OK, let’s do this,” he said.

  And with that, they stepped out of the car and into the still evening air.

  They made their way to the entrance of the building at a steady, trotting pace. The doors slid open as they approached, and the man at the entry desk looked up in attention as they entered.

  “Good evening, welcome to Mt. Sanai Tower, how can I help you?” asked the concierge, his face open and youthful, his voice crisp and professional.

  “Good evening,” said Roman, adopting a brusque, confident tone, the type that Miranda imagined would come out of a business man running late to an important meeting. “I have an appointment with the tenants of the 41st floor.”

  The young man’s face took on a look of confusion, his eyes scanning Roman and Miranda.

  Wait a minute, this girl looks familiar.

  The man’s voice slithered through Miranda’s mind.

  News? Maybe? Hold on, it’s that cop they’re looking for!

  Miranda felt a twinge of panic in her stomach as she watched the concierge’s face shift into a look of concern.

  “Don’t, don’t I recognize you from somewhere?” said the concierge, his voice unsure, as though he were debating what to do.

  “No,” said Roman, his voice dropping low, his cadence rhythmic, almost hypnotic. “You’re mistaken. But my friend is a member of the NYPD, and we’re both on our way to an important rendezvous. So if you don’t mind.”

  “Yes, one moment,” said the young, his voice now calm and detached. He swiped his fingers over the touchscreen monitor in front of him.

  “Go ahead. Please take elevator number four.”

  With that, he turned his attention back to the computer, as though Miranda and Roman weren’t even there. The pair started off towards the row of elevators, the hall leading to them one of tall, silver walls and high ceilings.

  “Did you do something to his mind?” asked Miranda, her voice low.

  “Yes, just some careful persuasion.”

  The elevator marked with the number four was outlined by soft light, and opened as they walked up to it, revealing a spacious, clean car.

  “Aren’t they in the penthouse?” asked Miranda as they stepped into the elevator.

  “Yes, but we can’t exactly walk in unannounced,” he said as the doors slid shut.

  “So what’s the plan, exactly?” asked Miranda.

  The elevator lurched into movement, and brought them up with a gentle hum.

  “I hope you’re not afraid of heights.”

  “What?”

  But before Roman could answer, the elevator doors slid open, revealing a sleek office.

  “Follow me,” he said, stepping into the low lights of the office floor. Miranda followed him, looking around and seeing that there wasn’t another soul around.

  The space was open and expansive, appointed with modern office furniture. The walls were all glass, and through them Miranda could see the view from the top of the tower, where Central Park was visible to the West, and the towers of the Queens skyline to the East. Roman walked at a brisk pace through the office, finally stopping at a portion of the clear, glass walls that seemed to be no different from any of the others.

  “We’re going in the back door,” he said, looking up through the window at to the floor above.

  “But, how?” Miranda asked.

  Roman flashed her a sly grin, and placed his fingertips on the glass. He twisted his wrists a bit, and Miranda heard the soft click of something sliding out of place. Then, she watched in shock as Roman, with a grunt, pulled a small, panel of the glass off from the wall, cool air rushing into the office.

  “You want to go first?” he asked.

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Like I said, we’re going in through the back door. And the back door’s on the patio. Upstairs.”

  “There’s no way in hell I’m climbing up there; that’s got to be a 300-foot drop!”

  “There’s a ladder, it’s fine. Besides, it’s our only chance to get there. Unless you want to try the front door, that is. I checked out the floor plan- it’s this or nothing.”

  Miranda didn’t like this idea in the least, but knew that Roman was probably right.

  “What,” he said, an almost boyish grin spreading across his face, “you’re not scared, are you?”

  “You first,” she said, feeling adrenaline rush through her body.

  “If you insist,” he said.

  Ducking his head, he stepped onto the border of the opening, and turning his body, grabbed onto a ladder that started above where Miranda could see. As he reached, his midriff exposed, and Miranda caught herself looking at the outlines of his abs, followed by a quick self-chastising for thinking of sex at a time like this.

  Miranda wrapped her arms around her body against the wind that snaked into the office through the open window, and watched as Roman
pulled his body up and out of sight. She stood there for a moment, knowing that this was her cue to do the same. She walked towards the window with cautious steps, the sprawl of the city as it lay before her filling her sight. She hated heights, and her stomach was working itself into gymnastics as she looked down at the straight lines of the street below. Miranda craned her neck up and saw the beginning of the ladder that Roman was now climbing. She watched as he climbed up, and over the railing of the patio above. His face appeared over the railing, looking down at her, and he made “come here” gesture before disappearing back behind the railing.

  Miranda took a deep breath, rolled her shoulders, and shoved her body out of the window. The rushing air swirled around her, and for a moment she felt that it might pull her down. Placing her hands on the edges of the open window, she got herself into positon, making sure that she had a solid grip. Then, with a push, she stepped up and out of the office, her feet on the edge of the window where she was previously sitting. Reaching up, she grabbed onto the ladder, the black metal cool against the skin of her fingers. She gripped it with one hand, then the other, before pulling herself up, her legs dangling, nothing but her grip on the ladder preventing her from plunging down to the car-lined lanes of Fifth Avenue below.

  She whipped her head up, choosing to ignore the sight of the drop-off below. However, expecting the task of pulling her body up onto the next rung to be more difficult, she instead found that she was able to do it with surprising ease, as though she had access to strength that she never had before.

  Placing a hand with care on each rung, only letting go of the previous when her grip felt sure, she moved up the length of the ladder. After several minutes, she reached the precipice of the balcony and, with an eager push, climbed the rest of the ladder and clambered over the railing and onto the cool tile of the terrace. Safely on the terrace, Miranda took one last look over the railing and down at the street below, at the fatal distance she successfully scaled.

  She scanned the wide expanse of the penthouse terrace, noting that the glass walls that separated the terrace from the apartment were an opaque glass; she was able to see nothing within. Roman was nearby, his body low to the ground in a crouch. Miranda made eye contact with him and he gave her a quick once-over, as though to confirm that she was safe. Upon seeing that she was, he held up his index finger in front of his lips. His body still low, he made a low dash to the door. He placed his hand on the handle and gave it a turn; the door opened, its movement making not a single sound. Miranda watched as Roman looked into the apartment at whatever was beyond the door. After a moment, he turned to Miranda, nodded and headed inside.

  Miranda followed Roman into the apartment. Upon entering, she saw a vast, spacious apartment of pure luxury. With tall, arched ceilings, pillars along the walls, and ornate, painted décor, the space was an opulent home in the style of the most elegant rococo. And it was completely empty.

  Roman and Miranda entered the place with careful, soft steps. In the room, a fire blazed in a magnificent, marble fireplace.

  “This isn’t good,” said Miranda. Though her voice was low, it echoed off the cold, hard walls of the apartment.

  “Yeah,” said Roman, looking around. “This place should be bustling with activity.”

  “Any chance that they cleared out? Maybe everyone is occupied with our distractions.”

  “Could be,” said Roman, continuing further into the place, “but that’d be a break I’d consider too lucky.”

  Their shoes clicked against the marble floors as they walked. Miranda was still coming to grips with the wealth on display: the place was decorated with massive paintings of stern figures in antiquated dress and showy, florid statues and urns.

  “Nice place,” she said, walking alongside Roman.

  “The Old-Worlders are a little more, ah, antiquated in their tastes.”

  “That’d be a word for it,” she said, her eyes moving along the curves of the ceilings.

  A moment passed.

  “What’s the plan, then?” asked Miranda. “Doesn’t look like anyone’s home.”

  “The plan is you guys stay right there,” said a voice from somewhere off and behind them.

  Miranda and Roman spun around, and were confronted with the sight of Michael, standing in an archway, a pistol in his hand and a pair of vampires at his flanks.

  “Michael!” yelled Miranda. “What the hell is going on? Why are you working with these assholes?”

  “You don’t get it,” he said, shaking his head, his hands on his hips. “We’re all gonna be working for them. You too. Well, not anymore, but you were, until, well, all this. I’m was just one of the first ones they, ah, reached out to.”

  “So you’re a cop who covers up murder?” said Miranda, her voice laced with venom.

  “Trust me,” he said, “they’ve got their own kind of order. Trust me, they make it worth your while. Plus, I got children to think about! I’m a working stiff, kid.”

  Miranda wanted to take him out right then and there. But before she could move, she felt a pair of arms take her from behind and hold her into place. She began struggling as soon as they touched her, and as she squirmed in their grip, she saw that Roman too was being restrained. Michael was a distraction.

  “But don’t worry, kid,” he said, walking down the steps towards her, “we’ll get you sorted out.”

  With that, he nodded his head to someone behind Miranda. This last thing she remembered before losing consciousness was the whooshing sound of something rushing through the air towards her before colliding with the side of her head.

  Chapter 16

  When Miranda came to, she was in the living room in same apartment. It was, like the other rooms, a vast, open room with elaborate décor. This room, however, had only one window- a large, arching window which looked directly out onto Central Park. Beyond that, Miranda could see the glittering rows of the towers of the Upper West Side. Miranda struggled to move, and found that she was bound somehow to the chair she was sitting on, her hands tied behind her.

  She looked around and saw that she wasn’t alone. A gang of vampires, men and women, all wearing dark, tight-fitting clothing, their hair tied back, stood around the room. But directly in front of Miranda was Madame Moroz, dressed in the same sorts of flowing clothes she saw her in before, her face as prim and severe as Miranda remembered it to be. To her right stood Michael, and to her left stood Artem, his face with an expression of bemusement and hunger.

  “There she is,” said Moroz, looking at Miranda intently. “You know, I was hoping we’d find you before too long, little divchnya, but I didn’t think you would be so bold as to simply deliver yourself to us.”

  “Where’s Roman?” she asked.

  “Around. But don’t bother yourself with him. This little meeting that I’ve been planning is for your ears only.”

  “Yeah, kid. I think you might want to listen up for this one,” said Michael, shifting his weight from one foot to the other and adjusting his belt.

  “I’m not interested in a goddamn thing out of either of your mouths.”

  “Ah, does that mean that I have the floor?” asked Artem, as he slinked towards Miranda, a sinister grin on his face.

  “Not a chance,” said Moroz, in a voice that suggested that Artem’s behavior was something she had grown wearily used to over time.

  “You are in an unusual position, as I’m sure you have become aware. Your little altercation with our friend here,” Moroz said, gesturing behind her to Artem as she walked towards Miranda, her black heels echoing on the marble floor and sounding through the expanse of the room, “left you in a somewhat unique positon.”

  Miranda said nothing, simply glaring at the woman as she approached her.

  “I would like to make you an offer similar to what I offered to your friend. Come and join us. We could use talented members of the NYPD on our side, especially those with your skills.”

  “Why the hell would I do something like that?�
�� said Miranda, her eyes narrowed.

  “Why wouldn’t you, is the better question,” Moroz said, a musing tone to her speech. “We can offer you money, a higher station in the NYPD- anything you want. You’ll work behind the scenes of this city, working with the real powers who will run this place. You can make actual change, not just solving an odd crime here or there until you decide it’s time to collect your pension.”

  “There’s so much going on that you know nothing of, that you can be taught. All you need to do is help us sweep these fools out of this city, and let us take our rightful place. And we’re willing to put the events of this evening, not to mention your murder rap, behind us. Once you’ve helped us track down the vampires who’re responsible for the attacks that are inconveniencing us at the moment.”

  “It’s a pretty good deal, kid” said Michael.

  “So,” said Moroz, turning walking over to a crystal liquor cart and making herself a small drink. “What do you say?”

  Miranda let the words sink in. She couldn’t help but feel as though there was something to what Moroz was offering. If she was capable of giving the power that she was offering, the Miranda would actually have the chance to do some good, rather than always feeling five steps behind the crime that seemed to be perpetually on the verge of overwhelming the city. But to accept would mean more of what she had already seen, of murder tossed under the rug, occasionally getting pinned on some hapless person, like her. And not to mention turning her back on Roman.

  “Well, girl?” Moroz took a sip of her red-tinged drink and turned towards the window, her flowing figure outlined by the orange and white light of the towers beyond.

  “Not a chance.”

  Moroz didn’t even turn to look at her.

  “That’s what I was expecting you to say.”

  Moroz finished her drink and walked towards the window. Upon reaching it, she turned to Michael, who now wore an expression of disappointment.