"Yes."
Alana turned around to face him. “How do you know?"
"I saw her. When she jumped down from the bedroom window. I saw her,” he lied.
"Where is she now?"
"I don't know. I didn't follow her. I knew sooner or later it would happen."
"Why didn't you try to stop me?"
He gave her an odd, sarcastic half smile. “And compete with a mortal, knowing full well sooner or later you would get your hands on her? I decided I wouldn't compete with that sweet, alluring spell of a mortal. On the other hand, if she became a vampire...” his voice trailed off. Then he added, slipping his hands into his pockets, “Nothing can compete with the enticement of a mortal. You don't desire her anymore ... didn't you notice? You blood isn't burning for her anymore. Not like before."
Alana didn't answer him, but Sadash knew it was the truth. He suddenly was overwhelmed by the urge to wrap her into his arms and take her far away from here. He wanted so much to make her forget. There were so many things he wished to show her, so many pleasures and treasures and secrets he wished to share with her.
"Her suffering seemed so sincere ... after my mother's death,” Alana mumbled. “What makes you think it wasn't a complete accident? What makes you think she was playing Russian roulette?"
"She kept having these little fantasies, you see ... about killing your mother,” Sadash said. The expression on Alana's face burned through him like acid, but he had to say this. It was the truth. “That's why I became instantly suspicious of her, after your mother died. But again, I don't know. Fantasies are just that—fantasies. It doesn't mean she actually made them real."
With a beckoning smile, he extended his arms towards her. “Come to me. Don't look so sad. It gives me unbearable pain."
She didn't move, her eyes lowered to the floor. She would have made a mesmerizing portrait for any painter, with her sorrowful yet bold gaze, her perfectly curved white throat, her lustrous red hair streaming down her back. The swell of her breasts, which he suddenly wanted to impale with his teeth and deplete of blood, was also perfect.
Sadash gave a sigh. Since she didn't go to him, he went to her.
"What would you have done?” he asked her, clasping her shoulders. “If you would have found out the truth before giving her your blood?"
"I don't know."
Sadash pulled her to him, enveloping her in his embrace like a bat envelops his young with his wings.
And while she sobbed quietly against his chest, he rocked her from side to side and thought to himself.
He had not dropped the match over Valeria's body. Something, at the last moment, had made him stop. Maybe his own conscience. Maybe his loyalty to Alana. Or maybe the simple fact that, after all, he believed Valeria to be innocent.
He really didn't know.
The hell with everything.
Valeria had awakened from death, her moist brown eyes glowing with the dark hunger. And he had let her go. And then, quite annoyingly, he had been forced to go to his house in order to change his blood-stained clothes. Thank God he always kept a spare dinner jacket at the back of the closet.
"Maybe I'll never stop loving her,” Alana said against his throbbing heart, sobbing. “But I'll never, never forgive her."
"Shhh...” Sadash whispered soothingly, pressing her tighter against him.
"I hate what I am. You seduced me, you didn't give me a choice. You want me to believe you gave me a choice, but you didn't, and I hate you, and I hate what I am."
"Shhh...” he whispered again.
Sadash sighed one more time, looking up to the ceiling, telling himself to be patient. Having to deal with the tantrums and depressions of a Fledgling was all part of the curse and blessing of being a Maker.
Epilogue
Brussels, Belgium, years later...
It was Christmas Eve in the Grand Place, the old cobbled plaza in the ancient heart of the city. The place was filled with lights. It had been lavishly decorated for the holidays.
Huge and radiant white-and-golden angels had been propped up in pedestals all around the plaza, their open wings blazing as if on fire. In between these golden angels were big golden bells and floral arrangements in red and green and gold. The gothic church, high and imposing, loomed above the plaza like an angry mystic giant. There was music, Christmas carols softly pouring out of hidden speakers, and the air was filled with the aroma of roasted chestnuts and the pungent spicy smell of hot wine to heat the blood.
For it was freezing cold, and everybody was wrapped up in their warmest coats and scarves and gloves. Many were drinking hot wine, the Styrofoam cups close to their faces to catch the rising steam.
In the very center of the plaza an ice-skating rink had been placed. Skaters went this way and that, swirling, showing off. Some people watched the skaters, others strolled around the plaza, admiring the angels and humming to the carols.
The old church clock struck midnight.
Alana and Sadash stood among the crowd. She went up on tiptoe and kissed him full on the lips.
"Merry Christmas,” she told him, smiling anxiously. She knew he didn't believe in Christmas—she didn't even know if she herself believed, even though she still kept Valeria's crucifix against her throat—but she wanted to capture the purity, the intensity of the moment, and in this Sadash did believe.
Sadash smiled back. His large hand clasped the nape of her neck, and pulling her to him, he lowered his face and kissed her. After a long moment she drew away from him, and gazed deeply into his eyes.
Her love for him was as perfect as his physical self. Black wool coat shielding his tall panther-like body, red scarf contrasting with the blackness of his hair, warm amber eyes glowing under the slanted brows of a demon. Perfect.
"She's here somewhere,” he said. “And I'll be right here. Go on."
Alana could hardly breathe. “All right..."
She turned from him and peered all around her as she walked through the crowd. She had been trying to communicate with Valeria for the past few months, trying to send her images and little telepathic messages, summoning her. It had taken Alana a long time to reach this level of forgiveness.
All through the plaza she walked, hardly aware of anything except the awful tightening sensation in her chest and stomach.
There was a little alcove beside the old gothic church, a place that had been saved for the golden icon of the Virgin Mary and baby Jesus imbedded in a slab of carved stone. It was supposed to be holy, this thing, and people were supposed to touch the face of the Virgin and Jesus as they passed by. It was here, in this alcove, that Alana found her.
Valeria was standing in front of the icon, touching it with her hands, her back to Alana. She was clad in a long red wool coat, and her sleek blond hair shimmered under the light of the golden angels.
"Everybody does this ... touches them, I mean,” Valeria said, somewhat shyly, without turning around.
Hearing her soft husky voice after so long, Alana held her breath. She took a few steps forward. Then she stood motionless, staring at the back of Valeria's blond head. Her own long red hair, her black wool cape puffed lightly in the breeze.
"Do you think it has an effect, if I touch them? Do you think something changes?” Valeria asked.
"I don't know,” Alana said after a thoughtful moment. A few more steps and she was side by side with Valeria, and Alana reached out with one hand to touch the icon. Her fingers stroked the face of the Virgin and baby Jesus. “I don't think so,” she finally said.
And then they looked at each other.
"Me neither,” Valeria whispered. Her big brown eyes were suffused with emotion, but she didn't move, she didn't blink, she didn't even breathe.
Alana embraced her gently, feeling Valeria's body shuddering against her, feeling Valeria's arms closing around her waist.
"Don't you dare cry now,” Alana said. “We're in public.” And she closed her eyes, glad to have her in her arms.
The En
d
Author Bio
Mayra Calvani is the author of two books. Her stories, articles and reviews have appeared in many online and print publications in the States, England and Puerto Rico. In addition, she is assistant editor of Voice in the Dark newsletter, where she writes a monthly column. She has lived in America, Asia, the Middle East, and is now settled in Brussels, Belgium, where she lives with her husband, two children and a variety of pets. Her hobbies include playing the violin and astronomy/sky observing.
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