Walking The Razor's Edge

by Ileandra Young

  Kallisto weakened in his grip, sighing, then sagging, then drifting into unconsciousness.

  Saar stopped drawing the blood away when certain he could do no more without causing serious harm.

  The punchers in her wrist continued to dribble, a weak flow that appeared almost black in the dim light. Saar licked them, allowing his saliva to coat each wound. The flow slowed. Stopped.

  ‘I won’t allow you to die, Kallisto.’ Saar sighed and cradled the sleeping child against his chest. He would repeat the process tomorrow. The next day. The day after. However long it took. ‘You will live.’

  Lenina blinked, alarmed to find herself on the ground, Shawn’s limp body cradled to her chest. ‘I can’t do that.’

  ‘What?’ Kallisto’s gaze intensified.

  ‘Lick him—the blood—I won’t be able to stop.’

  ‘Then the human will die and we may speak uninterrupted.’

  ‘How can you be so cold?’

  Shawn’s eyes opened. Unfocused they swivelled left, then right before alighting on her face. He whimpered.

  His agony sang to her. She bit her lip. ‘I can’t do this. Last time I—’

  Nick’s face flashed across her memory. His terror. Pain.

  ‘I will have the Soldiers remove him. Perhaps then you will speak to me without distraction.’

  Heavy footsteps approached. A hand closed over her shoulder.

  ‘No!’ Lenina wrenched away and dipped her head. Blood smeared her nose, creeping into her senses. Hunger roared. Every scrap of skin flushed with warmth. She lapped at the wound. Remnants of Zoë’s lipstick streaked her chin. Blood pearled on her tongue.

  Oh, God . . .

  She couldn’t think. Could barely breathe. The teasing drops of ecstasy seared her throat as they slipped down, a burn that was all pleasure. More. Another lick. More teasing droplets.

  Help me . . .

  Her fingers knotted in Shawn’s shirt. His body shifted against hers.

  Moans.

  His life exploded before her, a vast kaleidoscope of colours, sounds, smells and tastes. She saw him training for his role with the police. Sharing lunch with his girlfriend. Playing with his new step-siblings. Crying over his parent’s divorce. Falling off a skate board. Throwing sticks for a chocolate brown Labrador. The memories went back, further and further until Lenina knew everything and more, her mind aching with the swell of yet another soul.

  But one image stuck out above all overs. She saw it as if through a veil of red, hemmed with jagged edges. A woman, walking away from him on a crowded street while he stared at the sparkling facets of a diamond ring, gleaming on his palm.

  Rebecca . . .

  She saw women, dozens of them, one night stands dotted across painful months of self-pity and misery. Kisses here, sex there, but no real feeling or emotion, just . . . action.

  Lenina opened her eyes, unsure of when she shut them. Her chest ached with pity.

  Shawn sprawled across her lap, legs spread, fingers fluttering. His hips thrust upwards.

  More moaning. Belly-deep and lustful.

  That’s not me . . .

  She jerked free and scrambled over to the bed. The honey-sweetness of Shawn’s blood lingered on her lips while he continued to moan and writhe across the carpet.

  Above her, Kallisto giggled. ‘Interesting.’

  ‘What’s happening to him?’

  ‘Humans are strange . . . some are closer to darkness than they care to believe. That one flirts with darkness the way a mouse dances before a sleeping snake. Eventually he will step too close and that darkness will consume him.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘He will live. Now, I have helped you, you will answer my questions.’

  Lenina struggled with the definition of ‘help.’ But she couldn’t deny that the flow of blood from Shawn’s throat had finally stopped. That the look of pain had vanished. He stilled gradually, falling into restless unconsciousness. His breathing evened out.

  Kallisto stood and rounded the bed to face Lenina. ‘Now we may talk without that or the lust you feel for Tristen clouding your words.’

  ‘I don’t lust for him.’

  ‘Foolish girl. Even were I blind I could see the desire in you. I smell it. Zoë saw it too, else she would have ignored you.’ Kallisto cocked her head. ‘I see him in you. In your eyes. Your manner.’

  ‘Tristen? He’s my sire by default, he didn’t—’

  ‘Not him, girl, Saar.’

  Lenina pressed her lips shut. What could she possibly say to that?

  ‘You have his memories, I take it? Fragments of his life?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What do you see?’

  She studied the shorter god-touched. ‘Why?’

  A smile. ‘You grow bold, Lenina Miller. But bravery is close kin to stupidity. Make no mistake: Vessel or not, I will take what I need should you fail to give it freely.’

  She didn’t doubt it. ‘I saw him fighting. Arguing with Kiya and Mosi. With Antony. Other things.’ Heat flushed Lenina’s face as she remembered.

  ‘Then you should know what happened to Saar’s Fang, the dagger he took from Kazemde.’

  ‘He gave it to Mosi.’

  Kallisto growled. ‘I know that. We all know that. Where is it now?’

  ‘Tristen has it.’

  ‘Impossible. The dagger was lost in 1815 when Saar died in battle. But the weapon is linked to Saar through blood. It is the third sign concerning the Vessel. Tell me the truth.’

  Anger wormed through Lenina’s belly. ‘I already told you—’

  ‘Do you know why Tristen Blake is so well respected throughout Red Fang? Feared? Compared to dozens of others he is weak—I could crush him with a single swipe no matter how easily he toys with you.’

  ‘I’m sure you’re going to tell me.’

  Kallisto bared her teeth. ‘Tristen killed Mosi. In a swift, decisive act of sweet revenge, he opened Mosi’s throat and offered that traitor’s blood to Set. Hundreds of others returned to the sand that day, many older than Tristen, yet he survives. What does that tell you of him?’

  Lenina looked inward, conferring with Saar. Just like the night before, everything around the battle in 1815 was blurry and sketchy. Sounds. Smells, Splashes of colour. The occasional taste of blood. Nothing like the visions she experienced on the floor of Tristen’s house. Just a blank, hazy space . . . and a vague sense of anger.

  She bit her lip.

  ‘We will find the Fang. You are here, it must be close. When it comes, I will see my father again.’ Kallisto stalked away, pausing near the door to ask, ‘When did you last give tribute?’

  Several seconds passed before Lenina caught up with the question. ‘I’m not sure. Yesterday?’

  Kallisto frowned. ‘You are young. Vessel or not, young Blood must give proper tribute to ensure the lengthening of their lives. To refuse the hunger is to invite death. Remember that.’

  #

  Time moved slowly in that room.

  Lenina helped it pass by dragging Shawn into bed and covering him up. His throat looked raw and sore, but clean. The smell of his blood called to her, Kallisto’s warnings ringing in her mind. With nowhere to go, she left him on the bed and wedged herself into a far corner of the room. Tears dripped off the end of her chin.

 

  ‘You wouldn’t understand.’

  Saar seemed to step back, to consider her from a distance.

  ‘No—’

 

  ‘Just because you don’t feel anything.’

 

  When she didn’t answer, Saar spoke again, this time recounting stories of his time with Kallisto. Of the journeys they took together. The people they killed. He seemed thrilled at the memories and more pleased to share
them, reliving the events with a pleasure that bordered on indecent. Through it all, Lenina watched, fighting to ignore the images but unable to break away. How could she escape the inside of her own head?

  After an hour Zoë reappeared, sombre and humble. She carried a tray laden with the components of a carvery-style roast: chicken, beef, pork, roasted potatoes, Yorkshire puddings, gravy, sprouts, carrots and a tall bottle of beer. She set it before Shawn without a word then turned and walked out again.

  The delicious smells stabbed Lenina’s senses and set her mouth watering. She stood to look at the tray, imagining the soft give of delicate chicken between her teeth. The tart crunch of sprouts. The sweetness of carrots.

  Her stomach gave an angry growl, reminding her that she hadn’t successfully eaten solid food since her encounter with Jason two days before.

  Blood on the other hand . . .

  Shawn stirred in his sleep, one hand clutching at the pillow. His forehead furrowed. To the side of his throat, soft clots of blood picked out the damage of Zoë’s fangs; a small ring of punctures beneath his ear.

  Saar nudged her.

  ‘I can’t.’

  Shawn started awake. He saw her first and scrambled back, kicking the tray. Lenina caught it with one hand, saving the food from the carpet.

  ‘Your face has changed again.’ He licked his lips.

  Until that moment, Lenina hadn’t noticed the brightened colours in the room. The deeper smells. Harder edges. She closed her lips over her fangs and turned to hide the empty blankness of her eyes. ‘Sorry. I’m hungry.’

  ‘The food is yours?’

  She put the tray back on the bed without looking at him. ‘Zoë brought it for you.’

  Mention of Zoë made Shawn stiffen from head to toe. He touched the side of his throat. Winced. ‘What happened?’

  ‘She bit you. I stopped her.’

  ‘But my neck—’

  ‘I stopped that too. I’d rather not talk about it.’ That or any of the distressing memories she picked up as a result.

  Shawn rolled crusted clots of dried blood between his fingers. ‘I should be dead.’ His voice trembled, fear and something else . . .

  Disappointment?

  ‘You’re not, so eat.’

  ‘I’m not hungry.’

  ‘With all the blood you lost, you should be.’

  ‘I can’t. If you’re hungry, then—’

  ‘God-touched don’t eat.’ Her jaw knotted with the effort to stay away. She returned to the corner, each step dragging on the carpet.

  Rustling bedsheets signalled Shawn moving across the bed. He sniffed. ‘Smells great. Why are they feeding me? I thought they wanted me dead.’

  ‘They’ve already lost one hostage.’

  He toyed with the fork. ‘What’s the point? I’m going to die here.’

  Lenina clenched her fists. ‘Eat the food, Shawn. You’ll need the strength.’

  #

  Shawn set the empty plate back on the tray and pushed it under the bed. Licked a spot of gravy off his fingers. He stared blankly at the opposite wall before tucking the steak knife into his pocket. ‘Last dinner of the condemned,’ he murmured.

  Lenina looked up from her rummaging through the wardrobes and drawers. She held two handfuls of moth balls and several old shirts with ruffled necks and sleeves. ‘We’ll be fine.’

  ‘And if not?’

  She didn’t answer.

  ‘Lenina?’

  Her name on his lips was such a strange sound that she couldn’t help but pause.

  ‘I know you need blood.’

  ‘How—’

  ‘I told you, movies, but I heard Kallisto talking while I was half out of it. You’re young, right? Two days? Even for a human baby that’s too long without food. I know you have crazy powers but you can only do so much.’

  She slammed the shirts to the floor. Moth balls scattered. ‘Make your point.’

  ‘You need to admit you’re getting played. They just fed me a huge meal when it would be easier to let me starve.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘Don’t be difficult! If I can accept it, you should too.’ He scrambled off the bed, stepped closer.

  Lenina leapt back. ‘Don’t.’

  ‘You’re thinking about it now! Don’t think I can’t see you eyeing my throat like a kid at a chocolate factory. You want my blood. You’re thinking of it now, in your mouth, washing down—’

  ‘Stop it.’

  ‘Lenina—’

  ‘I killed Nick,’ she roared.

  In the stunned silence she heard the hissing of her own breath. The drum-roll of Shawn’s heart.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I killed him, not Jason.’ Tears stung her eyes. ‘We were at home—I got angry—confused. I didn’t know what was happening, but I knew what to do. I bit his throat. Drained him and, God help me, I liked it. It was better than anything—better than sex. It was the most thrilling, pleasurable—’

  Each confession tasted like ash on her tongue.

  She pushed on, gritting her teeth through the tears. Shawn’s gaze slid across hers and she caught it, held it.

  ‘I loved Nick with everything I had, and in the end he was just food.’ She sniffed. ‘That’s what I am now and you can’t possibly know how that feels. So don’t stand there and tell me I should accept it.’

  Shawn lowered his hand. His entire body shook. ‘I—I’m sorry—’

  Lenina snatched up the shirts and hurled them at him. ‘Don’t be sorry. Just do what I tell you.’

  He shook his head.

  ‘Can you do this or not?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘Be sure. We get one try.’

  Backing off again, Shawn fiddled with his glasses. He picked up the shirts and folded them on the bed. Slowly his scent faded from fear into resignation. ‘I don’t want to die here.’

  ‘Good. Then get ready.’ Lenina stretched out on the floor and took a deep breath. Closed her eyes. Screamed.

  Chapter Ten

  Lenina’s shriek rang off the high walls, bouncing back and rattling around her brain. Shawn swallowed hard and waited half a beat before running up to the door.

  ‘Hello?’ His voice trembled. ‘Hey! I need help in here. I think she’s hurt. Hello?’ He beat his fist against the wood.

  The door flew open, admitting all three guards wearing wary expressions.

  Lenina immediately began to speak, fluttering her eyes and grasping at her chest. ‘The Fang—I see it—there’s water—sand—bright sunlight.’

  Shawn stayed close to the wall, his face pale enough to lend further weight to his act . . . if it was an act. ‘What’s the Fang?’

  The guards shared a glance.

  The first backed towards the door. ‘Kallisto will want to know. I’ll go.’ He darted out the open door.

  Two against one . . . better than three. Lenina gave a low moan, twisting slightly to watch the remaining two through slitted eyes. Come on, Shawn, get them closer to me.

  ‘Is she okay? Should we get her on the bed?’ Shawn kept well away, pressed to the wall near the door. More than once his gaze flickered towards the hallway, watching for company.

  ‘The Fang,’ she murmured, nerves cracking.

  One of the guards bent low into her face. ‘You see it? Where?’

  Lenina surged into a sitting position, driving up with the heel of her palm. The blow caught him in the nose and she followed with a punch to the side of his face. He went down groaning, conscious, but hurt.

  It would have to do.

  The remaining guard stepped back, eyes wide and fearful. He didn’t notice Shawn until the policeman pressed the point of the steak knife into his back. ‘Get into the corner,’ he said.

  Anger flashed through the Soldier’s eyes. He hesitated, hands twitching.

  Lenina leapt to her feet and kicked his companion in the head. The immobilised figure grunted and flopped into stillness. ‘D
o as he says.’

  Shawn gave her a stunned look.

  She hated that stare and everything it meant. Anger rose. ‘What? Did you think this would be easy? That we’d politely ask them to step aside while we ran? They’re god-touched, Shawn. Vampires.’

  ‘I thought—’

  ‘Kallisto wants my family. I can’t just sit here.’

  ‘So you’ll kill them?’

  She looked away.

  ‘Lenina?’

  ‘You think I want to make these choices?’ She took a deep breath. Squared her shoulders. ‘I don’t want this. I’m not built for it. Vampires, blood and death . . . but if I don’t make a decision, if I don’t act, my family will die. You will die. Is that what you want?’

  He made a helpless gesture. ‘I’m supposed to help people.’

  ‘They aren’t people.’

  ‘You are.’

  She glared at him. ‘I’m a monster and the sooner you get that, the better. Let’s go.’

  Lenina turned, meaning to take charge of the guard and use him to lead the way out. She made it half way before her feet stuck, rooted to the ground as though pinned with nails. She stumbled.

 

  ‘Let go.’

 

  Shawn gave the hallway another wary glance. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Saar—I can’t move.’

  Snarling, the guard stepped away from Shawn and ducked into a crouch on the turn. He rushed forward like a charging bull, grabbing Shawn by the backs of the legs and heaving him into the air. Shawn’s back struck the wall beside the door. The steak knife spun out of his hands and skittered across the floor towards the bed.

  ‘No.’ Lenina wrenched against the invisible hold on her legs. ‘Please, this isn’t fair. Let go.’

 

  Shawn punched the guard’s head. The big brute seemed not to notice. He tightened his grip and hurled the struggling policeman to the ground face first. Then he stood over him and pulled him up by his hair, one knee planted in the small of his back.

  ‘Kallisto will eat you alive,’ he snarled. ‘She doesn’t take kindly to tricks.’