by Adrik Kemp
Table of Contents
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Epilogue
Blood of the Land
More books
About the Author
Books by Adrik Kemp
Single Titles
Blood of the Land
Blood of the City
Blood of the City
ISBN # 978-1-78651-449-3
©Copyright Adrik Kemp 2016
Cover Art by Posh Gosh ©Copyright 2016
Interior text design by Claire Siemaszkiewicz
Pride Publishing
This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Pride Publishing.
Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Pride Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.
The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.
Published in 2016 by Pride Publishing, Newland House, The Point, Weaver Road, Lincoln, LN6 3QN, United Kingdom.
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Pride Publishing is a subsidiary of Totally Entwined Group Limited.
If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book”.
Book Description
After a century apart, Mack and Jason rediscover their love and lust, but will trying to fit into a modern world keep them together or tear them apart?
When vampire lovers Mack and Jason are reunited after decades apart, they think of nothing but each other’s company. But over time, Mack’s old-world views conflict with Jason’s liberated life, and it throws them into a spiral of confused despair. When Mack seeks solace in the arms of another and Jason’s ex-lover Greg is murdered, their relationship breaks down and Mack flees.
While in solitude, Mack is handed the surprise opportunity to rekindle a relationship with his returned, now-vampire father, Allen. They return to Sydney to introduce him to Jason, but Jason has already sought revenge on Mack’s lover and committed an atrocity of his own. Fractured so soon after their reunion, the three of them travel back to where it all began, in the country town of Wattlebrook.
Blood of the City
ADRIK KEMP
Dedication
For my dear friend and inspiration, Jack Lopez.
Trademarks Acknowledgement
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
Romeo and Juliet: William Shakespeare
Chapter One
Temptation
The driveway was long and dusty, marred by shadows clawing from the bases of the pines dotting the road. They marked the edge of the property, leading all the way back to the unassuming home on a small incline in the eastern part of the land. The shadowy curves lengthened as the sun dropped below the mountain range. Insects roared through the dying heat and a light flickered on in the house.
Old, brick walls, wooden beams and rippled, aged windows with thick glass sat under a corrugated iron roof, rust blooming in the corners. The light spilled out onto the yellowing lawn, where a couple of sheepdogs play-fought around their water bowl. Both were tethered by long leads to a kennel and a run beside the house.
A spoon scraped a can inside and both dogs’ ears pricked up. They stared at the front steps, muzzles taut and alert, hoping for dinner. The rattle of dry food mixed with wet and a couple of footsteps sounded before the screen door crashed open and one of their owners came striding out, holding two heaped silver bowls. Both dogs were salivating and started barking with hunger, joy and excitement, until their owner put down the bowls and patted their gorging heads as they scrambled to beat each other to finish.
As he stood watching the two animals, the last of the sun’s rays falling beneath the earth, Allen took in an unnecessary deep breath—more to taste the air. The sweetness of the petrichor oozing from the gums, insects biting and buzzing around, dog sweat and, in the distance, the lanolin-drenched sheep that needed shearing, all sent their odors fluttering over the breeze. The smells were music to his taste buds, but the air itself was useless and passed out of his body with no impact. His heart was quiet, something he’d taken years to get used to, but now found comforting. He could lose himself in his surroundings in a way he had never been able to when he’d been alive.
He was an imposing silhouette, standing over the dogs as he was—over six feet tall, with a grizzled jaw and heavy muscles under his dirty, off-white work shirt and grimy jeans. His leather boots were scuffed, but effective, and as he heaved back over the rickety front stoop, his footsteps clopped on the wood.
Inside, Joanna sat in her rocking chair, carved decades before by Allen’s own hands. Her frail knees were covered in a red, yellow and black crocheted blanket and she worked on another in her lap. Spectacles with plastic-beaded string hung around her neck and her frizzy, gray hair was tied behind her head. Her skin was dark, with deep ridges, and her fingers were gnarled, even as she wove deft patterns in the wool. Although her frame was slight and her skin aged, there was a quiet strength to her and her dogged determination to continue her task.
“Are you hungry, my love?” asked Allen.
Joanna started just a little then glanced up at her husband. “You gonna feed me with the dogs now?” Her words were harsh in a way, but her eyes were amused and playful, reflecting the lamplight around her.
“Depends on whether you behave yourself.” Allen grinned, then leaned down to kiss the much older-looking woman. Her lips were soft against his. She put a knotted hand to his cheek and stroked his jaw.
“You’re still exactly the same,” she said.
Allen got up and turned to the little bar kitchen across from her. On the other side of the large room was a double bed, also covered in crocheted blankets, a quilt and huge pillows. Their home was tiny, but crammed with knickknacks. Some had been collected from Jo’s children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren—dried gumnuts, twigs and polished rocks, some quartz crystals, antique jars and tins, as well as intricately painted items passed down to her through generations. Mixed throughout were photos of them all—smiling, playing and posing to capture moments of past joy. The rare photos at night also featured Allen, looking the same as always in every one.
Allen took out some bread from the pantry, cheese and ham from the small refrigerator then began making his wife a sandwich.
“You remember that day, Allen?” Jo asked.
“Going for a walk down memory lane?” count
ered Allen.
Jo smiled to herself and continued. “You were a gibbering fool, not much different to now, by my count,” she laughed, coughed then composed herself. “Had blood all over you, naked as the day you were born.” Her eyes developed the sheen of nostalgia. “The others ran away in fear, but I stayed. Do you remember?”
“I’m standing here now, aren’t I? And don’t try to tell me you stayed ’cause you’re brave. I know you were just thinking filthy things.”
Jo laughed and clapped. “Oh, you know me too well, my love.”
Allen buttered bread and laid slices of cheese and ham on it. He unscrewed the lid of a mustard jar and slathered it on the other piece of bread before closing then cutting it for Jo.
As she ate, tiny crumbs rained over her chest and onto the blanket, dropping to the floor. Allen sat in an armchair close to her, so their feet were almost touching, and they could look at each other and smile.
“You’d been eating—I dunno—was it a kangaroo?”
“An emu.”
Jo laughed and put her half-eaten sandwich down. “That’s right. You had a leg, holding it like a drumstick, but you were sucking at it, trying to get out all the blood, weren’t you? Greedy then, greedy now.” Jo scratched at her neck, over a few old scars.
Allen touched her knee. His thick knuckles had dark hair over them, but his skin was pale. It had been decades since he’d seen the sun. Jo covered his hand with her own and sighed.
“You’re still so handsome.”
“And you’re beautiful,” said Allen.
“I know that. You don’t need to tell me,” said Jo. “You know, these days—these long days—I sometimes wish I’d let you turn me back then.”
“Oh, stop it,” Allen said. “I know you’re not gonna sit here feeling sorry for yourself when you’ve got all these kids and grandkids to show for your life. And even apart from that, you mean everything to me. I’ll never forget you and what you did for me.”
“Damn right you won’t. I lost a lotta friends ‘cause of you. And family. Lucky I’d already had a few kids, right. You’re pretty useless on that front.”
“Not for lack of trying, though.” Allen grinned.
Jo blushed a little. “Filthy old bugger,” she let out a mischievous laugh. “We had good times.”
“You’ve gotta stop talking like you’re dying tonight,” Allen said. “Please.”
Jo smiled and clutched Allen’s hand. “You’ve gotta let me finish. Always interrupting a lady, forgetting your manners.” She shook her head. “I said I sometimes wish you’d turned me. Sure, now that I can barely walk and God’s just waiting to take me, it stings a bit more that you’re still fit and handsome, but life’s long, and when I look in your eyes, I see you’re tired of it too.”
“I don’t know what I’ll do without you,” said Allen.
“Don’t get all mushy on me. And if I see you trying to off yourself like some Romeo for my Juliet, so help me I’ll kill you myself.”
“From heaven?”
“Of course from heaven. What? You think I’m going to Hell with you? Ha!”
“I thought you didn’t believe in that anyway.”
“Old habits die hard,” said Jo. “Besides, getting hitched to a vampire means a one-way ticket to Hell, doesn’t it? Bible doesn’t really cover what we’ve got.”
“Nothing does.”
“Getting mushy again, old man?” Jo gestured at him. “Help me up.”
Allen got to his feet and held Jo’s hand as she stood and tried to stretch. She clasped both his hands and took a couple of steps to the side, trying to start a waltz, but leaning on Allen too much. They shuffled around the room, hips swaying in time to no music, but the sound of cicadas washed over them in waves and a cool breeze drifted through their home.
“I love you, Allen,” said Jo.
“I love you too.”
Jo sighed and pressed her head against Allen’s shoulder. “When I’m gone—”
“Not this again,” Allen said.
“Just let me finish. I’m worried about you. I really do wonder what you’ll do without me to keep you in check. I’ll be dead, so it doesn’t much matter to me, but I wanna die thinking you’ve got a life ahead of you.”
“I’m already dead.”
Jo slapped his chest. “Shut it.” She broke away from him to hobble to the shelves.
Among the photos around the room, in between misshapen pottery gifts, macaroni cards and behind countless colorful handprints on paper was a small black-and-white photo of three people. Allen in his heyday, back when he was human, standing beside a demure, pale woman. Both were dressed in heavy, period clothing, but the sun beat down on them, nonetheless. And between them stood a young man, his face set in seriousness. None smiled, because none did back then when photographs were taken. But that little family was the only memory of Allen’s other life that remained.
Seeing the photo, even hidden as it was, Jo picked it up and held it between her aged, but deft, fingers. She stroked Allen’s unchanged face as she passed it to him.
Allen examined it with the long memory of an immortal being. He gazed upon the faces of his wife Evelyn and his son Mack, and tears welled in his heart. He looked at Jo through a shimmer of salt water.
“Where’d you get this?” Mack asked.
“Wasn’t easy, lemme tell you. Had to pull one over on that museum that opened up at your old place.” She shook her head. “The things they said about you all…”
“You stole it?”
“Not stealing if they stole it first, right?”
Allen stared at it again.
“Go find him when I’m gone.”
When he clenched his fist, it hid the portrait from sight, along with the memories of his former life. Jo sat on the edge of the bed, breathing heavily.
“I’m the one who’s gonna die, so you gotta listen to me. I’ve loved you for half my life, Allen. I know you, even if you think I don’t. I know the darkness inside you as well, and it scares me to think of you alone. I’m afraid you’ll lose yourself in all that horror.”
“I won’t.”
Jo snorted. “You say you won’t, but you’re all the same. Vampire or not, men are weak. You gotta find him then make it right between you.”
Allen sat beside Jo. “Did you enjoy our life together?”
“Of course I did,” said Jo. “I’m still enjoying it. Just promise me, when the time comes…”
Allen uncurled his fist and together, they stared at the photo.
“He’s a handsome man, like his father,” said Jo.
Tears fell in silence down Allen’s cheeks and into his stubble. Jo reached up to wipe them off. She lifted his hand and kissed the back of his knuckles then held him as he sobbed beside her, still clutching the photo of his old, almost-forgotten family.
****
Muted sunlight streamed through the tinted glass of the hotel room windows. It diffused through soft gauze curtains and fell against the carpet and bed. Under crisp, white sheets, Mack slept on his stomach, naked and peaceful. He wasn’t breathing and his heart wasn’t beating. He was resting in the odd way that vampires seemed to need to during daylight hours. The contours of his pale, muscular body were outlined in the shape of the sheet and his dark hair was a splash against one of the too-soft pillows. Outside, the sun set over Sydney, sparkling off buildings and giving one last blast of heat before the day ended.
Along one wall of the room was a desk, a large tube television, a telephone and a tray with two glasses, two cups and saucers and an array of teas and coffees. Jason, clad in a terry-toweling robe and nothing else, grabbed the glasses then sat them on top of the tiny bar fridge. He glanced at Mack and smiled before grabbing a milk bottle filled with blood from the fridge and pouring two large glasses from it.
He squinted
at the dying sunlight and strode through it to Mack’s side, holding the two full glasses. He placed them on the bedside table, next to the lamp and second telephone, before leaning down to nuzzle against the back of Mack’s neck. He drew in the smell of sweat and alcohol, a little cigarette smoke and some blood before Mack stirred awake and brushed at his neck.
“Evening, my love,” said Jason.
Mack groaned and cracked his eyelids just a smidgen. “Already?”
Jason nodded at the blood. “Want a drink?”
Mack pulled himself up and rubbed his eyes. He turned on the lamp and gazed at Jason before grabbing the glass and drinking it back. Only when he was done and blood was coursing through his veins did he touch Jason’s hand and kiss him lightly on his mouth.
Jason drank his own in silence before pushing Mack back on the bed and kissing him more passionately. They both rolled over the sheets for a moment before Mack pulled away and smiled.
“What’s that for?”
Jason shrugged. “It’s nice, you know, when it’s just us.”
Mack hesitated a moment before smiling. “Reminds me of when we met. Remember? We would sneak away to the paddocks and I’d go hunting. You showed me how to change my form too.”
“I helped you figure it out, you mean. I was still human then? Anyway, why do you always bring up that stuff? It was so long ago.”
Mack nodded. “Not so long ago for me,” he said, his voice softer.
“We used to make love under the stars,” Jason said. “I miss that more than anything, you know. It felt like we were completely alone out there.”
Mack kissed Jason and jumped up to get dressed. “You’re up early tonight,” he said. “What’s happening?”
“Nothing. I just wanna get on with our lives, you know. I want us to move on from the crap back then. You get that, right?” Jason was filled with conviction.
“Yeah, I get it, baby,” Mack replied