by Unknown
A LIFE IN BLOOD
By Martyn Currill
Copyright © Martyn Currill
The author(s) assert the moral right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author(s) of this work.
All Rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
British Library C.I.P.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.
For Revah
who tolerates me regardless
CHAPTER 1
Beginnings
She smelled like cinnamon. It wasn’t like death or decomposing flesh or anything I expected a vampire to smell of. I couldn’t explain it, but she actually smelled like cinnamon, a spicy, sweet scent that lingered in the air.
Excuse me. Perhaps I should start from the beginning.
I never wanted to be a vampire. Indeed, I had spent much of my illustrious career trying to avoid that ‘honour’, but it seemed like Fate had other plans. Granted, it has certain benefits, but ever since my turning it has seemed to be just as much a curse as a blessing. Once, all I needed to worry about was doing my job, and aiding the cause of my employers. Now I run a worldwide vampire organisation, I have at least three different enemy factions trying to kill me, and I seem to be constantly at war with my own biology.
My name is Deimos Black. Forgive the name, it’s something of a tradition in my family line, to be named after mythological figures. My father was called Tyr, my older brother is Remus and I have a younger sister, Tisiphone. Look them up if you don’t know them.
In case you were wondering, my mother’s name was Elizabeth.
Anyway, I was born on August 20th, 1998, into a family of vampire hunters; one of the best, in fact. I was supposed to follow in the footsteps of my brother and father, and for a while I did.
Except, when I first hunted alone, I was too young, too hasty and far too inexperienced.
My father warned me not to go before I was ready - and no, he didn’t die trying to save me. He was the pain-is-the-best-teacher type, and figured if I got hurt then it would teach me a lesson. As a matter of fact he was right, but it wasn’t the lesson he would have wanted for me.
I first hunted alone in Oxford, England, and I was eighteen. It was relatively close to my family home and I knew the city well, but it constantly amazed me that such an esteemed centre of higher education was also home to a very large number of vampires. Maybe they were nostalgic - Oxford is quite an historic city after all - or maybe they all wanted to go to university.
Or maybe they like the taste of students. I don’t know.
After sitting in a bar to acquire a lead, and perhaps drinking more than I should while on the job (like I said, inexperienced), I tracked my quarry to the Oxford Ice Rink. Okay, not the ice rink itself, but the building is bordered on two sides by a very expansive field, at the far end of which runs part of the river Cherwell, and this particular vampire had apparently holed up in the treeline along the river. A nice spot, dark and shaded yet with perfect views of the field, allowing any predator to observe young lovers or old dog-walkers, especially at night.
My approach was perfect - or so I thought - sneaking through the trees far to the right of a bend in the river, keeping low and quiet. I moved slowly, each step as quiet as possible, a long-bladed knife in my right hand. Contrary to popular belief, you can’t kill a vampire by stabbing it through the heart with a stake or otherwise, since the heart does nothing for them. It is, essentially, dead weight. They are highly allergic to silver, however, but like any creature, they can’t survive if their head is not attached, which is why the blade I carried had a high silver content and was honed to a razor’s edge.
At some point my concentration must have slipped, because I looked up and realised that my prey was no longer where I had last seen him, watching the field with keen interest from the river bend. I whipped around trying to find him, too fast as twigs snapped and betrayed my position, but it mattered little as a deathly-cold hand clamped around my throat, lifted me like a rag-doll and threw me backwards with no effort at all.
My back slammed against a tree and pain flared as my spine bore the brunt of the impact, even as I fell to the ground in a semi-conscious heap. Before I could recover, a vicious kick to my left smashed four of my ribs and sent me sprawling, and I cried out as fresh pain blossomed across my chest. I had lost my dagger, but I forced myself onto my knees and reached for my back-up - a smaller, Army-style combat knife, just as sharp and still with enough silver in it to harm a blood-sucker. But once again my opponent was there, knocking the blade away and delivering a punch to my face which cracked my eye socket and broke my jaw, followed by a vicious backhand which knocked me to the ground.
“I hadn’t expected such good fortune tonight,” he told me almost conversationally, his accent the well-enunciated tones of the local university set, “to be able to feed on not just any young person, but a young hunter!” He laughed at me as I tried to rise again, then knocked me over - pushed, really - before stamping hard on my shin.
My scream of agony was only just heard over the snap of my leg, and tears streamed down my face. You may think I had it coming for being too sure of myself, but do you think I deserved that much torture? Do you really think I deserved to die, just because I thought I was ready?
I don’t know how long I was sobbing into the grass, praying for someone to find me and help me, muttering the names of my father and brother over and over, and praying for my mother. I was bleeding, I couldn’t tell from where, and I knew the vampire I had hunted was standing close by, savouring the scent of my blood. I could hear him moving around, shifting position, moving closer to me. Then I felt his hand clench in my hair, yanking my head back as he crouched beside me, and his voice was low and dangerous.
“I am going to kill you, little hunter. I am going to drain your blood, and just for laughs I am going to turn you. I will keep you enthralled to me, and you will crave death long before it ever comes for you.”
I think he smiled at me in that moment, and he lunged at my neck. I felt his fangs pierce my throat, could feel my blood start flowing as he began to drink from me - and then it happened, the bizarre event which would change the course of my life forever.
Something slammed into my attacker, tearing him from me so suddenly that he took a piece of my throat with him. I clamped a hand over the wound as quickly as I could, but I could feel the blood pulsing through my fingers. I rolled onto my back, and looked towards the sound of fighting - but my eyes couldn’t keep up. That could only mean two things - either I was blacking out, or I was observing a fight between two vampires. I could tell the newcomer was female, since she was of a more slender build and had the lithe grace that only women can achieve. Just about a thousand times faster.
Before I could even comprehend what was happening, the guy I had hunted had his head ripped off, literally, and the new figure crouched beside me. I thought it was a territory thing, that she had killed him only to have the meal herself, but instead she pressed something soft to my neck while she spoke to me.
“Don’t be alarmed,” she said softly. My mind was swimming from blood loss, and I could barely even remember my name.
“Who...what are you?” I
managed, although it took several attempts and it didn’t sound much like my voice.
“All in good time. First we need to get you some medical assistance, and public hospitals ask too many questions.” I think she tied a cloth or handkerchief to my neck wound at that point, I’m not entirely sure, and shortly afterwards she picked me up. Despite her attempts to be mindful of my injuries, too much had been broken, and I cried out in fresh pain as she lifted me effortlessly off the grass.
I must have passed out after that, because what I remember next was waking up in a medical facility of some kind. I was dazed, weary, and my whole body felt like it was on fire. Nearby was a middle-aged gentleman, wearing a white lab coat and examining some x-ray photographs. He looked like a typical doctor, with greying hair, small round spectacles and a tidy beard, all matched to a round face lined with age. I felt certain he was mortal, and when he looked at me his grey eyes held no malice. He smiled, and set the x-rays down.
“Welcome back to the land of the living,” he said, with a mild Scottish accent reminiscent of Sean Connery.
“Don’t feel much alive,” I answered, my speech a little slurred, still wary of the man. I had no guarantee yet that he was on my side.
“Well you are, thanks to our friend here.” He gestured to my right, and I turned my head to see my saviour. She was a standard height, perhaps only slightly shorter than my own five feet eleven, and had a slim face with prominent cheekbones. Her raven-black hair reached her shoulder blades, and despite her skill in combat she didn’t appear muscular. She wore a black turtleneck sweater, black combat trousers and had a long black leather coat - clearly someone who valued the cover of darkness. Or some sort of existential poet, I thought.
She also smiled at me, but that faded quickly when I attempted to get away. I saw her fangs and felt terrified - I’d been almost killed by one vampire, and now another stood over me as I lay helpless.
“Hold still please, you are still healing-”
“Get her away from me!” I yelled. I was a born hunter - all I had been taught of vampires said I should hate and fear them in equal measure.
“Mister Black, please listen! She saved your life, she’s only just returned to see how you are recovering!”
I gave him the ‘are-you-mad?’ stare.
“How do I know? And who are you?”
“You don’t, and I can understand that, but if you listen you will believe it.”
I wouldn’t get any answers by trying to run away. Plus, if she wanted me dead I wasn’t in a position to fight anyway.
“Alright. I’m all ears.”
They both smiled and took seats by my bed.
“My name is Doctor McEwart,” the Scotsman began, “and this is Corvina Delacore. Yes, she is a vampire, but she is not going to harm you. We both serve an organisation known as The Order-”
I began to laugh, but stopped when my ribs hurt.
“Really? You people couldn’t invent a better name than that?” I hoped my voice carried the derision I intended, not the half-asthmatic rasp it felt like. I wasn’t confident.
“The title goes back centuries, and no-one has seen fit to change it,” Corvina explained, “and before you ask, it’s just ‘The Order’ - not The Order of Something Ominous, like you often get in stories.”
I couldn’t help but to laugh this time. I admit, she had my kind of humour.
“Anyway,” Corvina continued, “The Order is a vampire organisation - that you already knew, I’m sure.” She’d held up a hand to forestall any further interruptions from me, obviously eager to get the explanation out. “What you may not know is that we are actually committed to not harming mortals - we feed from them only with permission, and never allow them to die or be turned. We are simply working to provide a better existence for the preternaturals-”
“And to co-exist with us mere mortals? I don’t think so.”
“Yes, Mister Black, precisely that,” McEwart said firmly, and I could tell from his eyes he meant it. “You’ve already been told that we both serve The Order - but what if I told you that thousands of mortals, of varying skill sets and walks of life, serve The Order willingly around the world?”
I would probably have told him that he was insane, if I had been any other person, but I always prided myself on keeping an open mind. I could see that he was sincere, and he certainly didn’t seem to be a thrall or anything...unnatural.
Instead I thought about what he was saying, and added it to what I knew - that I had been saved from one vampire by another, and for no discernible reason other than because it was right.
“I...would say I was curious,” I told them cautiously. “I’m wary, and I don’t know who I can trust yet, but I’m willing to keep an open mind.”
“That’s all we ask,” Corvina said with a fresh smile. “Doctor? I suppose we should fill him in on his injuries now.”
“Indeed we should...”
I tuned out that part of the conversation, since I was already intimately familiar with the damage that had been done to me. Instead I focussed on Corvina, who for all the fact that she was a vampire was certainly not unattractive. I tried to listen whenever she spoke, because her voice had an almost musical cadence to it, and considering her cultured English accent it made her voice somewhat entrancing. I wondered how old she really was; as a vampire, her real age could have been anything from the twenty years she looked to the four thousand years I know some have lived to.
Long enough, she told me telepathically, a small smirk on her beautiful features as she looked at me.
Her eyes were a startling pale grey, almost silver, but that was not what caused my gasp at that moment.
See, the human brain is woefully under-conditioned to receive information via someone else’s loud thinking. It understands messages from the five senses, and a handful of other sources, but that’s it. So when someone speaks to you without actually speaking, the words appear in your head and your brain is left wondering where the hell they came from. It starts trying to figure out what happened to the ears, if they suddenly took a lunch break or simply left a memo at reception, and by that point it usually starts to hurt. A lot. So for the sake of two tiny words, I wound up with a bitch of a migraine and a killer nosebleed.
Annoyingly, that still hasn’t changed.
“Sorry, Mister Black!” she said, sounding genuinely concerned and moving to wipe up the blood from my nose pretty fast. I attempted to move away again, terrified that my blood would send her into some sort of feeding frenzy, but again it seemed she was picking up my thoughts.
“Please relax. When you’ve lived for long enough you develop the self-control to not pounce at every drop of blood that you see or smell.”
Her close proximity to me at that point startled me, mostly because of the smell. She didn’t smell like death, or decomposing flesh, or anything I expected a vampire to smell of. She smelled like cinnamon. I couldn’t explain it, but she actually smelled like cinnamon, a spicy, sweet scent that lingered in the air.
She moved away to fetch me something for the headache, and I noticed McEwart looking slightly disapprovingly at her. Maybe he didn’t like other people doing his job.
“I wish you would stop doing that to the unprepared,” he chided her, leading me to assume this was not the first time she’d broken someone’s brain.
“And please call me Deimos,” I added. “After I bled all over you I think it’s safe to say we’re on first-name terms.”
She laughed at that, her amusement as musical as the rest of her voice, but then she became serious again.
“Very well,” she said, becoming serious once again. “Deimos, I have an offer for you. I want you to see who we really are, and what we in
The Order are working for. If you will accept, you can stay with us here at our facility as a guest. You will not be held in any way against your will - if you wish to leave, you can do so at any time. But for the duration of your stay you will be given access to all of our non-secure areas, free to see us as we are, without any bias.”
I thought about this for several minutes. Much of my body was still traumatised and aching like hell, but I was concerned about being in the middle of what was, almost literally, a nest of vampires. But as I mentioned earlier, the events of that night changed my life, so I guess it’s pretty clear I accepted.
It had nothing at all to do with the scent of cinnamon.
CHAPTER 2
Eyes opened
I had to stay in the medical facility for some time, as you can imagine. My injuries were not the sort that i could just get up and walk away from, and my recovery was long and painful. In fact, the first month or so I spent as a ’guest’ at the base was actually still spent as a patient, what with needing regular check-ups, tests and a few physiotherapy sessions after my leg healed.
Thankfully Corvina waited until I was walking unaided before giving me a grand tour. I had never been able to get the hang of the crutches, and I didn’t want to embarrass myself in front of a bunch of strangers - especially since I had no idea if any of them would see me as a nice, vulnerable snack.
She’d come to see me on the morning I was discharged, a book tucked under one arm and wearing something a bit more...well, normal. Instead of what she called her ‘night ops’ clothes, she wore a black shirt, black pinstriped trousers and a pair of crimson high heels, which made her marginally taller than me for a change. I liked the look on her, even if she looked like an office-worker goth, and I began to feel a little under-dressed in the spare T-shirt and jeans that had been generously donated to me by one of the other medical staff.