Secrets of the Jaguar (Crimson Romance)

by Jaye Shields

  He wasn’t sure what he hoped for, but the sinking feeling in his gut was something new. With no desire to observe other people being happy, enjoying the beautiful day, he merely sat in his chair unmoving.

  He told himself that it wasn’t unrequited love causing his nosedive into loneliness, but that he was intrigued by her and the lightness that came with Michelle’s company. Not love. For sure, not love.

  • • •

  Michelle had wiped the tears off her cheek, finished crying over her stupidity. Glancing around the room at the grand mess, she sighed loudly. I could clean this mess. I’d probably feel better. Surveying the damage, she scrunched her nose in dismay. Or I could find Duncan and apologize.

  So now, wiping her sweaty palms down the jeans that Duncan bought for her, the jeans that fit perfectly, Michelle continued her walk down Willow Avenue toward the beach. She began practicing what she would say to him, if he even desired to listen. She’d been a grand jerk. So much for the promise not to judge each other; Michelle had been the first to tear apart that vow.

  As the beach came into sight, she sucked in a breath. Her long, black hair whipped into her mouth from the reckless Bay wind. Michelle stuck her tongue out uselessly, as if to release her hair from its sticky hold on the crevice of her mouth. So much had happened in the previous week. For the first time, she had a connection to a lead on her past, on her nature as a shifter. And she finally found someone she didn’t want to run away from, who stirred powerful feelings inside her. And that person just happened to be a vampire. She forced herself to put that image out of her head as she turned to walk along the beach toward the bird sanctuary, the trail that led to Duncan’s house. Think of him as a person, not as a vampire. After all, Michelle, you don’t want him to just think of you as a shape shifter.

  It was a windy afternoon in Alameda, and Michelle let herself become distracted by the windsurfers whipping along the water. Awe built within her as she watched them leap into the air with their boards, and she smiled as she watched someone plunge into the water, his head popping up like a bobber.

  Then the cement walkway along Ocean View drive ended, and the dirt path through the estuary began. Sticking out her arms to fondle the tall anise plants, she wandered the path, watching graceful white egrets perched in the water, waiting for lunch to swim by.

  She recognized Duncan’s house not far from the pier they met on. The home was two stories, not unlike most of the houses on the estuary, but his house was by far the most clean and elegant. Two stories of rich wood craftsmanship sat nestled before a spacious front yard filled with lush greenery. The house had a second story deck where French doors opened to a cozy seating area. She noticed there was only one lounge chair.

  The yard had only a short wooden fence, unpainted, the same earthy wood of the house. Michelle opened the gate and walked into the backyard. She noticed a rosebush, planted next to a wooden recliner. The rose had seen better days indeed. Sure it was fall, but the leaves were crinkled and dilapidated, and the brown rose petals were covered in fungus. The rose bush told the tale that her new friend Duncan was definitely without a green thumb.

  You’d think someone who had all day and all night for eternity would have mastered the art of gardening by now. She chuckled to herself.

  From the yard, Michelle could hear the eloquent sounds of the piano coming from inside his home. Getting an idea, Michelle quietly backed out of the yard and ran through the estuary the way she came.

  • • •

  Sitting in his home, Duncan sat at his piano, playing long, classical streams as he gazed at the tide rolling in through the estuary. Duncan’s senses picked up something and he immediately ceased his composition. Standing from his bench he peered through the French doors that led to his backyard. The inkling left him and he saw that nobody was there. Reassured, he began to play once more.

  When Duncan had been reborn, he wondered about the other beings that existed in the world. He spent a good deal of time looking for more vampires and otherworldly entities. It seemed to him they were few and far between, and certainly not found unless they wanted to be.

  His latest encounter with a vampire had been in Seattle, Washington. During the nineties, Duncan had enjoyed living in the city thriving on an emerging grunge culture. Although a fan of classical music, he was thrilled by the new sloppy, yet passionately energetic genre of music, and he quickly became a fan of Nirvana.

  The Blue Moon Tavern in Seattle’s U-district had been one of his favorite spots to people watch. In the good old days Duncan was fascinated by the beat movement, and it was at this small, local spot with wooden booths and rows upon rows of book-lined shelves where Duncan first encountered the likes of Allan Ginsberg and Jack Kerouac. So, quite often when in Seattle, he returned to the pub to watch the world change around him.

  It was at the Blue Moon Tavern prior to Nirvana’s success where he would often listen to Cobain fighting with the strings of his guitar, pulling them and poking them in mischievous and melancholy anthems. The anger and hopelessness in some of his songs resonated within Duncan.

  The musician was in a dark corner of the pub when Duncan watched a couple figures approach him. They caught his eye and his senses, disturbing him deep down to the marrow in his bones. He’d known immediately they were vampires. A man and a female in their early twenties, dressed in the typical clothes of the age — jeans, flannel and a leather jacket — whispered to the singer. Duncan had listened in with his acute sense of hearing.

  “How would you like to be immortal?” the girl asked the dirty-blond musician.

  The guitarist simply kept playing, never even caring to glance at the woman or her accomplice. Duncan got up though, startled since it was the first time he had seen vampires out in the open, and together no less.

  He approached the duo whose attention shifted from the guitarist to him. Standing with his hands in his pockets, he addressed the prowling couple. “Speaking of immortal, nice making your acquaintance.”

  The beautiful, yet wretched looking couple pushed past him out the door of the Blue Moon Tavern. The female glared at him menacingly on the way out. He followed, but just as he stepped outside a strong grip encircled Duncan’s throat.

  “You are bold. And stupid.” The male had long, blond hair and looked like a beautiful Viking version of the dirty singer inside.

  “I’m not the one who was trying to pick up a local musician for dinner,” Duncan gritted his words at the vampire male before him.

  “Not for dinner, for entertainment,” the female purred, smiling with a tightened, mischievous smirk.

  Duncan glared, angered by the grip on his neck. It was obvious this vampire was quite strong. But then he shifted into mist and appeared next to the woman. “I can’t imagine what you two find entertaining.”

  “Music and murder.” The dame said, looking at him from close proximity, obviously not threatened by his maneuver.

  Her lover spoke up. “Violence, definitely.” With that, the guy punched Duncan in the gut with the force of a wrecking ball. The vampire then swung upwards, smashing his chin to smithereens. “And here’s a tip since you’re obviously very young: try not to mist in public too much.” Then the female vampire laughed and smacked Duncan across his already throbbing face.

  “And since you heal quickly, you won’t mind if I get in another jab or two.” The female raked her sharp nails down Duncan’s neck as her lover held him from collapsing. The woman smiled at the trails of blood she left and leaned into Duncan to lick the crimson marks.

  In a hundred years Duncan had not been in many fights, and when he was, usually he walked away unscathed. He grimaced as he recalled the agonizing pain of the expedient healing process. The pain that should have healed over a week had healed even as the female licked the blood off of his cheek. He could feel the tiny splinters of his chin piecing themselves back together, could feel the punctures closing even as she sucked the blood from them.

  “Let’s go, he�
��s weak,” the male sneered at him. “I imagine his blood tastes like someone who has not fed from a human in some time.”

  The female drew away from his neck. “You are right about that. Obviously this vampire doesn’t drink very much at all!” With that, the couple drew away together into the night, and he had been left to ponder the encounter.

  Duncan was not infuriated by their appraisal of his physical weakness because he had never been one to seek out conflict. Also, he knew if he drank more often, he would be much stronger. It was not worth it to him. His short-lived search for vampires was only to see if there were more of them with a peaceful nature closer to his own. But he met only with disappointment, and lost all desire to encounter his dark peers.

  Duncan sat at his piano, but instead of playing his usual favorites his hands danced across the keys in a tune that reflected his emotion. Lightness escaped from his fingers and led the keys into romantic poetry. His song reflected the sudden shift in the capacity of his heart, its sudden beating, and the rising hope for a true life. His fingers pounded on the lower keys, shattering the idea that his life would be only time, and then he stroked the higher keys, the elusive happiness that had suddenly come to him.

  Michelle’s proclamation should have set him into a decade-long brood, after all, when you had nothing but time, you had all the time in the world for melancholy. But even just his brief moments with Michelle had inspired him. She was beautiful. She was lightness. She was bliss. And if he couldn’t have her, he’d hold her in his memory and continue to watch over her from afar. She may not want him for a friend, but she was bringing out the guardian angel in this vampire.

  Chapter Ten

  Duncan cocked his head to the side as he made out the image of Michelle crossing the street with a big bush in her arms. She looked like a live walking tree. Jogging over in her direction, he realized she could not see him as she turned onto the estuary path.

  “Can I give you a hand?” When she turned around, he noticed the massive bush in her arms was laden with red roses.

  “You ruined the surprise!” she exclaimed. Bright blue eyes peeked out at Duncan from above the rosebush.

  “A surprise? For me?” Duncan was puzzled.

  “Yeah, it’s an apology gift, I guess.”

  A warm feeling spread across his chest. His heart melted for the beautiful woman with a huge rosebush in her arms.

  She chewed on her bottom lip as she adjusted the plant in her grip. “Your rose was pretty dead, so I thought we could plant a new one together. You know, a fresh start. Like our friendship.”

  He reached out and swept the rosebush easily into his arms so she didn’t have to carry the heavy plant any farther. Leaning down, his face inched toward her and he inhaled her sweet scent mingling with the flowers.

  “If you don’t like — ”

  Duncan put a finger against her lips to silence her. He lowered his lips to the edge of Michelle’s mouth, planting a soft kiss on her cheek. “You are very sweet, Michelle.” She immediately flushed ten shades of red and he couldn’t help but smile. “Would you like to show me how it’s done?

  • • •

  “Kissing?”

  He laughed and motioned for her to begin along the path to his place. “Gardening.”

  “Oh, yes of course.” She sheepishly turned back to the trail and wished she could replay the moment that his lips met her skin. Clearly she was getting far deeper into this “friendship” than was good for her.

  When the duo neared Duncan’s backyard, he gracefully maneuvered in front of her to open the gate.

  “After you, mademoiselle.” Duncan looked ever the gentleman, even with the gigantic rose bush in his arms.

  “Merci beaucoup.”

  “I didn’t realize you spoke French. A lady of many surprises.”

  “Actually,” she giggled, “that’s all the French I know. Oh, and sacre blu!” she announced emphatically as she stood in the center of the yard.

  “Still impressive,” he teasingly assured her.

  “Do you speak much French?”

  “I speak French, Spanish, Italian, Turkish, Russian, and a couple other languages. When you’ve got nothing but time, travel and learning different languages comes easily.” Setting down the plant, he motioned to his French doors. “Why don’t we go inside so I can give you a proper tour? It’s not too large, just enough for a century old bachelor, I suppose.”

  A smile escaped her. “I suppose I am somewhat curious about the living quarters of a vampire.”

  After a quick glance at the bedroom and living room she had already seen on the first floor, she was taken up an old-fashioned curling, wooden staircase.

  “And here at the top of the staircase, we have a washroom.”

  She glanced inside and was stunned at the elegant, modern fixtures and the gigantic soaking tub accompanied by a contemporary all-glass shower in the corner. Glancing at the fancy toilet, she looked quizzically at Duncan. “I didn’t realize vampires … ”

  He laughed. “Rarely used. Quite a bonus for my once-in-awhile tenants. The fixtures always seem brand new.”

  “Clever of you to include such a fancy soaking tub. I’m sure your tenants are ecstatic about it.”

  “As your friend, I am going to let you in on a secret. I bought the tub for myself. I can’t help but enjoy a soak on occasion.”

  “I don’t blame you. It looks dreamy. Unfortunately, I don’t have a bathtub at my place.”

  Smiling mischievously, Duncan leaned against the entryway of the bathroom. “That’s really a shame. If you had a bathtub, you’d have even more space to store your dirty dishes.”

  She playfully punched his shoulder, finally proving she had a sense of humor. “Watch it, buddy.”

  “Anyway, you’re more than welcome to take a soak in my tub anytime you desire. As you recall, my doors are never locked.”

  This time it was Michelle’s turn to blush at the implied intimacy. “Yeah, maybe.”

  “Let’s finish up the tour, shall we? My favorite room is just ahead.” He led her down the hall into a large sun-filled room. Nearly the entire wall facing the water was window. It was as if the entire pane was a dreamy beach watercolor filling the room. The accompanying walls were a deep crimson, nearly black. The room was filled with hanging instruments, most of them in deep wooden hues. Several violins, guitars, a cello, a harp, and an accordion all decorated his wall. To the right of the room, in front of the expansive window, sat a beautiful black piano. She recalled the night that she fell asleep to him playing piano. It had been beautiful.

  “This is my life. When I was younger, music was my passion. As a vampire, all I have is time, and so I fill the empty spaces of existence with music.”

  “You play all these instruments?” She was in awe.

  “Yes. My first love was for piano, but since I have become enchanted by cello, violin, and even on occasion the harp.”

  “So you are a master of the classical genres I see. And the guitar? I’m guessing you aren’t a Metallica fan.”

  “The guitar is very universal. I’m sure I could play whatever you desire, whether is it classical Spanish romance or grunge music.”

  “You like Nirvana?” Michelle was surprised and Duncan looked slightly miffed.

  “Just because I play piano doesn’t mean I don’t like to head bang on occasion. After all, when I was going to Mudhoney and Pearl Jam concerts, you were probably in kindergarten.”

  “Yeah, I guess you’ve got a point.” She smiled and pointed to the heavy instrument hanging on the wall. “And the accordion? I didn’t peg you for a polka fan.”

  “My dear, there is no music more compelling than the dark romance of the gypsies. Let me demonstrate.”

  He walked over to the wall and picked up the large instrument, hugging it to his body. He fingered the keys on one side and pulled out the opposite end, and a low haunting note escaped the instrument. Focusing his gaze on Michelle, he continued to stretch the in
strument to and fro, weaving an intricately dark and romantic tune. Her mind drifted to the dark streets of Paris, where she imagined nomadic musicians gathered around a large bonfire. During that period of history, gypsies had been condemned as thieves and fortune tellers. The eeriness of the music was riddled with dark notes stretching in lamentation, but a rhythm of reckless abandon and optimism. As he continued to play the haunting, yet playful song in the Romany tradition, his eyes closed as if in a trance.

  Michelle did the same, and her feet moved into a dance of enchantment. Her legs carried her to and fro, her body swaying to the music, her arms reaching toward the ceiling as she twirled.

  All too soon, the music stopped and she had a new appreciation for the accordion. And apparently from the way Duncan was looking at her, had a new curiosity of Michelle.

  “The way you move to the music is beautiful.” Duncan had already replaced the accordion on the wall and moved toward Michelle. He looked like a predator as he moved across the large room. As sunlight spilled onto them through the window, Michelle stood motionless when Duncan arrived in front of her and placed his hand on the small of her back. He pulled her body close to his.

  Whispering into her ear Duncan spoke softly, sensuality permeating every word. “Perhaps you were a gypsy in a past life. I swear you have me under a spell.” Shifting his lips away just a little so he could gaze into her eyes, he continued. “You should be careful how you enchant me.”

  Awareness and vulnerability sent shivers down Michelle’s spine. Duncan, too, seemed affected, for he stepped away slowly. She watched him take another step backward, noting the blackness of his eyes, their emptiness, and as she fought a shudder, they focused on her neck.

  Suddenly he became thin air and reappeared only a breath away from her. His stance was ominous and she fought to keep her feet on the ground, wrestling the instinct to run or shift.

  He spoke slowly, his voice nearly a growl. “You should go. We can plant this rose next week.”