Embraced by the Shadows

by Mayra Calvani

  What could she do now? Go home? There was nothing here for her to see or do. And then the most awful thought sprang into her head. If she had been here last night, if she had been somehow involved in what had happened, if she had heard the victim scream, if she in fact suspected someone ... wouldn't the most honest and reasonable thing be to go to the police and tell them what had happened? It was strange, the fact that this had not occurred to her till now.

  Leaning her head against the seat, Alana stared across the street at the alley.

  But she couldn't go to the police. Not only because she felt only distrust and scorn for the police force but because the victim had not really been a “victim"—he had been a junkie who could have very well raped and murdered her last night. She remembered his voice, so malicious, and his eyes, so full of loathing. And of course, and most important, there was Sadash. The sense of bond, of trust, of loyalty that she felt towards him was overpowering. Bizarre.

  But then she realized the beauty of it. She simply wanted to protect him. The same way Sadash had protected her.

  Alana sighed. She was so tired, so mentally tired. She felt a sudden wild urge for a cigarette. She rummaged inside the glove compartment—sometimes she or Valeria left one or two around for emergencies like this—but there was nothing. Maybe she could buy a packet somewhere.

  She turned on the ignition and in a few minutes was out of Amanita street. For a while she drove randomly, vaguely looking for a place where she could buy the cigarettes, turning into any street that came her way. The traffic was fairly smooth and many tourists strolled on the sidewalks. They suddenly annoyed her, these tourists. There they were, cameras hung around their necks, perpetual smiles chiseled on their faces. And here she was, tormented by a murder and hallucinations.

  A while later she parked her car and walked into a trendy restaurant-bar to buy the cigarettes. She went directly to the bar, fished a few coins from her pocket, and asked the bartender for a pack of Marlboro Lights.

  There was a huge square mirror behind the bar, and as she waited for the bartender to get the cigarettes from the vending machine, she looked at her own reflection in the mirror.

  Right behind her, his dark solemn face looming above her right shoulder, was Sadash. Alana swung around with a start. There was no one behind her.

  She looked back to the mirror, and terror caught in her throat. Sadash still was behind her reflection! His beautiful face was the strangest mixture of mockery and sadness.

  Again she swung her head and looked behind her. Nobody.

  "Is that all? Anything to drink?” the bartender said, coming back and extending her the cigarettes.

  But Alana didn't answer him. She was craning her neck to look over the bartender, who had blocked Sadash's image in the mirror.

  The bartender, bewildered, turned slightly around to look behind him, and while he did so Alana had the chance to look again at her own reflection in the mirror. But Sadash was gone. His image had vanished.

  "Is anything wrong?” the bartender asked, handing her the cigarettes.

  "No, nothing, nothing...” she said nervously. “Thanks."

  Reality was not reality. Or at least other people's reality was not her reality. Or maybe nothing such as an “Absolute Reality” existed, but there were many different levels of reality. The world was deceiving and illusory, full of appearances and hidden truths. Plato's cave came to her mind. Human beings were blindfolded, enslaved by chains and looking at nothing but shadows.

  The only thing real was Sadash. And what he was.

  The universe had suddenly turned upside down, but at least she knew she wasn't crazy. Not that this was a consolation. She felt a giddiness in her stomach which was part terror and part unexplained ecstasy.

  Walking back to her car, she looked suspiciously about her, half expecting to find Sadash in every corner. Old San Juan, a place she had always found cute and picturesque, now seemed ominous, portentous. The European-looking balconies, the warm air, charged with the seductive odor of the sea, suddenly appeared to have a malevolent edge.

  But there were no more visions of Sadash.

  And once inside her car she locked the doors and opened the packet with trembling fingers. She put a cigarette to her mouth and lit it. Then she took a few deep and desperate drags. She felt much calmer. The front part of the car filled with acrid puffs of smoke.

  After chain-smoking two cigarettes she pulled into the traffic, and ten minutes later found herself on the highway on her way home. But she was highly nervous, and she was afraid of looking into the rear view mirror. If she saw his face there ... she didn't even want to contemplate the results. Most probably she would have an accident.

  Don't you know by now there's an archangel watching over you?

  Alana shuddered, her fingers tightening on the wheel.

  "I'm not afraid of you,” she stated with sudden rage.

  Once back home, she switched on all of the lights in her apartment, feeling slightly ashamed. Then she walked out onto the balcony and drank the rest of the wine that had been left in her glass.

  Two minutes to eight.

  Where are you?

  She walked the length of the balcony to her room. Bending over the stereo, she played her classical music cassette. Then she sank into an armchair and hoisted her feet up on the bed.

  She closed her eyes. Mozart flowed into her brain like a narcotic, so soothing it was. But she couldn't stop moving. Her tongue and throat were burning. Thirsty again. More wine. She went back to the balcony to fetch the unfinished bottle.

  Clasping the bottle by the neck, she tilted her head back and drank ... and drank. A trickle of red wine went down her chin and she wiped it off with the back of her hand. Bottle in hand, she went back into her room, sank into the armchair, hoisted her feet up on the bed, and closed her eyes. It was so perfectly delicious, this numbing feeling, the alcohol sweetly appeasing the rush of adrenaline, all problems gone, all the world gone.

  I understand you, Mami ... I do now. Wine is like a magician, makes reality disappear ... if only for a precious moment, it makes reality shift and dance before your eyes ... Where are you, Mami? I want you to hold me in your arms again ... I love you...

  It was a very subtle stirring of the curtains, an almost imperceptible surge of cool air, what made her open her eyes.

  Sadash, clad in a loose white shirt and black Levis, his dark hair hanging free on his shoulders, stood inside the room beside the sliding glass door.

  "Since you didn't come to me, I decided to come to you,” he said. “Really, Alana, I can't say much for your manners, leaving me waiting like that."

  The bottle of wine fell from her grasp, spilling most of the wine on the floor. She straightened up and lowered her feet from the bed. But she remained seated, glued to the armchair, staring wildly at him from across the room.

  "Don't act so astonished,” he said. “You were waiting for me. You know you were. With music, with wine, with your armchair turned just the right angle to face the balcony—a welcoming reception."

  His words swept through her like subterranean heat.

  "How did you get in here?” she breathed.

  He shrugged. “I flew over,” he casually said.

  Alana swallowed dryness. It hurt to swallow. With his raven hair and amber eyes, he was almost painfully beautiful. And even as she sat there, looking at him and loathing him, she desired him.

  For a split second he narrowed his eyes and fixed on her the most keen, predatory gaze. As though he had smelled her lust.

  Flushing, her gaze dropped to the floor. But when she looked back at him the menacing expression had left his face, and he was staring at her with softly mocking eyes.

  "I enjoy flying in this weather,” he said.

  "You enjoy flying in this weather,” she repeated numbly.

  "Surely you remember your flying dreams ... don't you? The panther taking you into his arms and into the night sky?"

  Alana burst out
laughing. “You're not here. You're a hallucination. You're nothing. You are not here. I refuse to believe that you are here. You do not exist."

  His action took her completely by surprise.

  In less than a second Sadash was in front of her, pulling her to him with a sudden husky groan and lifting her off the floor so that they were eye to eye.

  "No, my angel. If there's something I am—that's real,” he told her in a voice that was as cruel as it was gentle. “Surely you can't believe otherwise ... after all our nights of passion."

  Clenching her teeth, Alana tried to push him away, her hands flat against his chest. But how to push away a stone tower? Yet she refused to give up, to be forced to surrender, and she wrestled, or tried to wrestle him, with unsteady hands and legs.

  "You're drunk,” he said.

  "I hate you,” she whispered harshly. “What gives you the right to ... to do this to me? You think you can come here—just like that—out of hell and ... and ... drive me insane! Who the hell are you? What are you? What do you want from me!"

  "You know what I am ... and I want you to say the word,” he said.

  "I don't know what you are!"

  "I want you to say the word, Alana. I want to hear it from your lips—what I am."

  Alana spat into his face. Then she flinched and expected the worst.

  But he only cleaned his face with the sleeve of his shirt. “You daring little fool. Don't do that again,’ he said.

  Alana stared wide-eyed at him, her breasts heaving wildly against him. His reaction had taken her by surprise. For a second she had been truly terrified, prepared for the worst. And yet, had she not spat at him because in fact she felt totally, perfectly sure he would never harm her?

  "That's right, I would never harm you. You've always known that. But that doesn't mean you can play with my patience. And now say the word. I want to hear it from your lips."

  For a second Alana battled in her mind, a torrent of thoughts muddling her vision, for a last grasp at reality. For after she said the word her concept of the world would totally change, and she would never, never be allowed to come back.

  "Why?” she breathed. “Why is it so important to hear it from my lips?"

  "Because we have a lot to talk about, and that's a good place to start."

  To say the word...

  No, no.... She couldn't say it.... How could she possibly admit the impossible?

  "No, you can't be that. You're ... you're something else. You can't be that,” she said. And yet she knew what he was, she knew it was true, she had always known.

  "Say it, and we'll take it from there,” he said.

  Her eyes lowered to his mouth. She knew what lay behind that sensual mouth, behind those beautiful lips, and instantly she felt herself yearning for it.

  Say the word.

  "Say it,” he said, pulling her tighter against him.

  She shook her head. “No, you're not.... No, no, you cannot be. If you are—then I am—I don't know what I am."

  Sadash smiled, though his brows rose quite menacingly. “Are you teasing me with philosophy?” he drawled, caressing her face and neck with a sweep of his predatory eyes.

  "You don't understand. I can't say it.” She was vaguely aware that she had stopped trying to push him away, that it was feeling increasingly pleasurable to be in his arms, and that she was suddenly overcome with a vengeful urge to provoke him and make him mad. And yet she had never known such raw fear ... the anticipation of what was to come, of what was to happen to her was perfectly shocking, yet the thrill of it all was too much.

  What if she started screaming and yelling for help? But she didn't want to yell for help. She wanted to be right where she was, imprisoned in his arms. She averted her eyes, trying to shield her thoughts from him.

  "It's no use,” he told her.

  "What's no use?"

  "Trying to hide your thoughts. You're crystal clear. Now stop debating with yourself and say the damn word. God, you're stubborn."

  "Me, stubborn?"

  "Say it!"

  "I can't!"

  With his left arm clasped around her waist, he gallantly took her left hand as a waltz partner might. Smiling, he gave her a formal nod, as if he were bowing. Then he lowered his head, at the same time lifting her wrist to his lips. He kissed the inside of her wrist, pressing his cool mouth against the translucent paleness of this delicate part of her flesh, and for an odd moment his lips lingered here, his silky black locks shielding his face and her wrist.

  Alana watched him, too mesmerized to utter a sound.

  Abruptly she felt a sharp pain, quickly followed by a burning, stinging sensation on her wrist.

  "No...!” she gasped, trying to jerk her wrist free.

  But already he was drinking. He began to walk very slowly and randomly about the room, carrying her in this waltzing fashion as easily as a grown man holds an infant. She shuddered, the fever of her passion burning her cheeks and in her eyes. Steady, spasmodic ripples of illicit pleasure surged from her wrist and through her limbs. She arched against him, her dark red hair hanging well below her waist. She moaned and shut her eyes. With her free hand she pressed his head still harder against her wrist, her fingers twisting the black strands of his hair.

  It was a long moment after he had pulled himself away from her wrist that Alana finally opened her eyes to look at him.

  "Reality springs into focus, Alana,” Sadash said.

  Sadash had uplifted her arm for her to have full view. A dark ruby trail of blood flowed from her wrist all the way down to the short sleeve of her white T-shirt. The collar and the front part of his white shirt were slightly stained and splattered with blood. The sleeve of his shirt was stained with blood, too.

  Alana screamed.

  She stared wildly at him, at that perfect mouth which was now shiny with blood, her blood ... like a jewel, darkly crimson, such a rich and lovely hue.

  "Say it,” he whispered hoarsely, almost cruelly.

  And she saw his evil teeth, glistening with a mixture of saliva and blood, elongated and sharp, instruments of death ... and yet so overwhelmingly luring and beautiful.

  "My wrist ... I'm going to die...” She began sobbing, looking at her wrist.

  "Of course not. There's no wound.” He lowered her arm.

  Looking again through her tears, Alana saw there were no open punctures, there was no open wound. Only a fresh thick trickle of blood remained.

  "I don't want to die,” she sobbed. “I don't want to die.” But she was not begging him, it was more as if she were saying these words quietly to herself.

  "For heaven's sake! What the hell do I have to do to you..."

  "Vampire!” she breathed against him, filled with resignation and rage, her face falling against the crook of his neck, her arms lovingly wrapping themselves around him.

  CHAPTER 7

  For a long moment she sobbed quietly in his arms.

  "That wasn't so bad, was it?” he whispered, holding her face between his hands and wiping off her tears with his thumbs. Then he lowered his head and lightly, very tenderly kissed her mouth, his lips merely brushing hers.

  Closing her eyes, Alana caught a taste of her own blood from his lips. Metallic, salty blood. It instantly muddled her senses like wine. When she opened her eyes she saw his teeth had almost gone back to normal. Just the slightest hint of the fangs remained, the pointed edges being just a little too long, just a little too sharp. But even this added to his feline beauty.

  "You're the panther, aren't you?” she said, calmer now.

  "I'm everything you want me to be. An illusion, for your eyes."

  "The unknown person in my dreams, with the long nails..."

  "Well...” he smiled, somewhat guiltily. “I wanted to scare you just a little, just for the hell of it."

  "And in Salem, the raccoon..."

  Sadash nodded, running his fingers through her hair as he gazed at her.

  "When I went out into that forest...�
�� she began.

  "It was real. It was not a dream."

  "But I was ... I was flying from one tree to another. I was..."

  "You were. Hand in hand with me. We've flown together many times in the past."

  "Many times in the past...” Alana took a deep breath, perfectly flabbergasted. “How many times?"

  "Many."

  "How long has this been going on?"

  "Since that night in Istanbul. Yes ... What you saw in the bazaar was not an illusion."

  "Oh God ... I look at you ... I look at you now and I can't believe what I'm seeing, what I'm hearing. What ... what about the sleepwalking?"

  "You were sleepwalking, and yet you weren't. You were under my spell."

  "Under your spell...” Alana repeated, staring into his eyes. Her head was a tornado, and she didn't know how to continue, what to ask.

  "I know. And I will answer all of your questions. I will tell you all you wish to know. Tonight. Before sunrise."

  "You can read my thoughts."

  "It's only telepathy."

  Alana took another breath. She took Sadash's hands into her own and studied them closely. Big strong hands, the fingers long and lean and darkly tanned, dusted with black hairs. Irresistibly beautiful hands.

  He smiled. “Do you like them?"

  Alana looked up at him. How to believe he was not real? How to believe he was not what he was?

  Vampire ... Vampire ... Vampire ... Vampire ... V-A-M-P-I-R-E!

  Sadash laughed. “You should see the expression on your face."

  But Alana couldn't laugh. She turned over his hands and peered into his palms, tracing the lines with her thumbs. She remembered last night, and how he had held her hands and studied her palms. Had it been only last night? It seemed ages had passed since then.

  "How long will you live?” she tentatively asked.

  "That's only the mortal life line on my palm. It's short ... as yours is."