by Addison Cain
Coffins were not entirely out of fashion, they kept the smell at bay. Until our eyes opened, until that heart began to beat again, whatever damage done in our rest immediately mended so long as we fed. Death reversed. Beautiful under the pus, tempting once the worms worked free… I don’t miss the days of digging a hole underground when moved to slumber.
In those foundling years, sleep could last for months. But with age came freedom from the grave.
With the passage of time came extravagance.
A windowless room where I might lay naked so expensive clothing would not smell of decay. Solitary and hidden in the hive while death took what it felt it was owed. After waking, bathing was a chore and a luxury in this era. I recall going years at a time, stinking putrefaction stuck to my furs. Not that it would be noticed under the foul odors unwashed humans emitted.
Even when circumstance required I’d lived in the mud, I’d always had a penchant for cleanliness. Typically, when I’d dined, I’d devour a family person by person, leaving the most industrious to wash, stitch, weave, or prepare whatever I might require.
Often enough, that person was female.
Had they performed to my standards, I’d even turn them so their service might continue. Well, unless they refused to stop weeping over their dead husbands, brothers, fathers, children. A lesson all vampires learned young. Don’t waste eternal life on those who might bear an endless grudge.
However, more often than not, the females were relieved to be free of their yokes. Half in love with the beautiful stranger who whispered in their ear that the world could serve their every desire.
Hundreds of women I gifted with the night. To this day, perhaps a dozen still walked the earth. For immortal beings, vampire’s lives were miraculously short.
War. Feuds. Humans. Earth too hard to carve out a hole in which to sleep before the sun might strike.
Boredom…
Centuries passed. True cities began to spring up, to offer hunting grounds and a haven for immortal delights.
Vampires became myth—desirable, eternally young, untouched by the troubles of the human world.
Glorified, yet every last one of us in this age was beholden to a master.
Those who lived ages, lived in even a way I—after century upon century—could hardly grasp. King Darius was not the only ancient.
If rumor stood, neither was he the most cruel. All of them were rotted souls on the inside, whether their bodies be beautiful or hideous. But they were also necessary to the survival of us all.
We were not a gentle species, and with such long memories, we rarely forgot even the smallest of slights, eager to exact our petty revenges. Kings were required to control the flock. Queens were required to enforce laws. Those who could not be cold and cruel and do what needed to be done became dust.
Jade was a terrible vampire, a terrible human, but for a daywalker… she was everything.
Could be anything.
So pretty with her lips parted and her chest rising and falling in rest beside me on the couch. Dark hair, thick and smooth as satin. I preferred her unpainted, unpolished, just like this.
With pink toes.
Had I met her when I was still human. Had I pillaged her village. At first glance, I would have taken her for my own, hefted over my shoulder after spilling my seed in her womb. Claiming her for my tribe to see.
She’d have born me a dozen sons, half dark as her, half fair as their father.
My mother and sisters would have taught her our language and marked her with lashes until she loved me as she should. No matter what modern history books say, women didn’t get traded for goats. They were stolen, branded, and claimed.
I would have fucked her day and night until her belly swelled with my offspring. As my father did my mother, I would have tamed her until she accepted that she belonged in my hut. In these modern times, males drew their women with food, drink, entertainment, gifts.
It was exceedingly unnatural.
Had I found her ages past, she would have earned gifts from me as she nursed our young. Stolen trinkets from the Romans, fine furs from my kills. We could have grown old together. Whichever of us had survived the other having been burnt alive with their spouse’s body so united souls might never be parted.
I’d burn with her now in this horrible rising sun if it would assure she’d be with me for eternity.
She and I in the fire, ready to face the Gods of the afterlife. Finding the children we’d lost to fevers waiting—and her brothers, slain by my sword, would smile to find her joined to such a powerful warrior. Even there I’d care for her.
It felt like eons since I’d seen my mourning mother burned with my father, since I’d heard the songs sung.
Jade would have been happy in my hut after I’d filled her with a child or two, after she’d surrendered. And what a glorious surrender. Those who fought the hardest made the best wives.
Modern humans had no idea what they’d lost with each advancement.
Had her King Darius not prevented my rightful claim, Jade would have done well to be locked in my vault for a few decades, where I could take care of her, and she could grow to know me in the old ways.
Hate could be broken with a hard cock and a practiced tongue, and my sleeping beauty was a glutton for physical pleasure I was only too happy to dole out.
Hidden underground, with no sun to set me to sleep, I could fuck her for years straight, feed her from my very veins as I pumped her full of seed. Instead, I watched her traipse around a window-filled penthouse. Instead, I rejected sleep so I could lurk in the darkest shadows of her life.
Instead, I bought up entire vintages of wine, created undead to serve her, left trinkets in her room she never noticed… and painted her pretty toes pink while she watched a movie.
Our night together ended.
With unearthly grace, I slipped my arms under her body, moving so slowly that not a hair was disturbed on her head. Lifted to my chest, I took her to bed, making sure she was covered by a blanket that would offer some respite from the rising sun.
Daylight’s rays might not kill her, but they still gave her pain.
Jade should never know pain unless it was to make her better. Had she been mine in that long-ago time, I would have only beaten her to guide her to prosperity.
Now I tucked her into bed, the vulnerable daywalker none the wiser. And I waited with her until my skin began to blister and the stink of burning flesh tickled her nose.
Casting a magical gate, I retreated from the cursed sun, straight to the pens to feed. I ate ten men in the twenty-two minutes since I’d been forced to be parted from her.
And then I went to my private rooms, to my monitors, to guard her sleep. I’d rest another day, perhaps in a year or two. Old as I was, I no longer required much time in the coffin.
I’d refused sleep since I’d first set eyes on her.
The very woman who turned over, settling into the pillows, and slept as if the thousands of undead in the Cathedral didn’t want to see her dead.
Watching her, I pulled down my fly.
Chapter Eleven
Jade
I hated waking up in my father’s Cathedral, baked and aching from so much direct sun. I swear, the conservatory was designed to amplify discomfort, the glass panes gathering daylight to dump on my head and burn me senseless. To make me stronger, my father claimed.
What it made me was irritable. Head pounding, I sat up to find a fresh glass of water had been left at my bedside. Parched, lips cracked, skin taking on a stinging pink burn, I drained the whole thing with no care for who had left it.
Or what poisons might be inside.
Instant relief, but only a temporary one. I could walk in the sun naked the whole day through and survive it, but to do so would leave me weak, horribly sunburned. Fortunately, I had fed well last night.
Which was the last thing I wanted to think about.
In the m
ain room, breakfast waited under a silver dome. Fluffy omelet with ham and… a teacup of blood. Fresh, so fresh it must have only just been milked from a vein.
“What the fuck…”
Beside it sat a note, folded over and written on fine paper.
Finish your breakfast. All of it. Afterward, your weekly commitment to the Cathedral will be considered complete, and you may return to your apartment.
Malcom’s feeding schedule. I wanted to roll my eyes, but it was impossible to remove them from the black liquid, warm and smelling of everything I’d ever wanted. Rim of the cup at my lips, I sipped before my mind might warn me of the trick. One taste, and both my hands pressed the china closer so I might gorge.
In a frenzy to swallow every last drop, I’d begun to moan, to use my fingers to scoop out any lingering smear. And then I split the porcelain in half so I might lick the inside completely clean.
My skin no longer burned, my throat was soothed, and my eyes cleared.
As did my thoughts when not a single scented molecule of a disturbingly familiar flavor remained.
Malcom.
The fresh vampire blood had come from him. Which meant he was watching this, most likely grinning. That he’d mock me mercilessly later.
Fingers fluttering, I dropped the split halves of the teacup, checking the corners of the room for laughing immortals. I was alone. Of course I was. The sun was up. None of them could touch me here. But it still felt as if he were in the room with me.
He had been inside me.
The room still held traces of his scent from all the hours he’d haunted my space last night. Eyes back to a note written in his vicious penmanship, I found the arrogant scrawl such an obvious taunt that my cheeks burned.
Had I not been groggy, uncomfortable in so much light, and eager for breakfast, I’d never have fallen for his trick… like a true idiot.
Feeding schedule.
Jesus, was I doomed to drink my food from a teacup? Was I to be denied the throats of my prey?
He wouldn’t dare! Such a thing was unnatural; even as a daywalker, I cringed at the thought.
Finish your breakfast. All of it. I could hear his voice in my head, his snide tone sinister. I could even feel his goddamn smirk.
I didn’t even want the human food, just as I had not wanted so much as a bite of the lamb from last night. I was full enough. And I hated when he treated me like a human. Especially here.
There was no higher insult in the Cathedral.
Golden fork to my dish, I shoveled in eggs yet tasted nothing. All I got for my trouble was a sour stomach, a sinking feeling, and growing resentment. But I cleaned that plate. I drank the juice. Swallowed each crumb, and then I fled the Cathedral to find sanctuary in my home.
I found no such thing upon arrival.
My apartment waited, devoid of life when the door snapped shut at my back. Ethan was gone, his blonde was gone.
Blaring sports didn’t come from the den, the smell the astringent greasy lingering of takeout stink didn’t add to the room’s flavor.
The house was dead.
My heart beat three times, slowing, slowing… slowing… until I was dead too.
And then that godforsaken thing beat again.
No messages waited for me on my phone. No notes taped to the door.
Ethan had not even sent a text, because he was holed up with his blonde bunny. And I could see it. I could fucking see his warm palm circling her belly while he cooed nonsense to a fetus he’d abandon with the first dirty diaper.
This was loneliness. That horrible, worming feeling right there. The hole in my heart that ate me alive and turned my mouth to ashes.
Sniffing, I glanced around the elegant foyer, and found I didn’t want to go deeper into what had once been my sanctuary. Not when I’d have to see with my own eyes how hollow it was.
But I didn’t have a choice.
With Ethan or without Ethan by my side, I had obligations to fulfil. Charity events to attend. Important men and women to sup with and manipulate.
Yet hours passed while I stood like a corpse in my foyer, staring forward, unblinking. And in all that time, still no messages, not a single apology from my lover.
It wasn’t until it began to grow dark that I moved, walking through the tomb-like house to find my bedsheets still rumpled, Ethan’s clothes haphazardly thrown around our room.
He’d taken nothing with him.
Not that I’d really offered him the chance.
And even that had not earned me a spiteful text demanding I let him gather his things. Nothing. I’d earned nothing.
Fine. Let him sulk a day or two, but he would come back. His collection of fine watches was here, his heirloom cufflinks, his future wife. His uncle or his father would make him come to me. And then there would be no more blondes.
Unless they came with a dick.
Perhaps I should even ensconce a lover under the roof, so Ethan might understand just how fucking lenient I had been. A lover whom I’d allow to wear Ethan’s clothing, wear his watches, and claim my affection while Ethan was out fucking old women for the glory of his family.
“He’s not worth crying over, Jade. He’s only a human.”
“Goddamnit, Malcom!” The sun wasn’t even full down, yet my babysitter dared stand in the room’s darkest corner. A quick wipe of my cheek with the back of my hand removed embarrassing evidence before he might see more. “Why can’t you leave me a moment’s peace?”
As my back was to the man so I might repair any smeared mascara, I heard him take a step toward me. Instinctually, I countered, stepping more into the light. But the light was fading, even then I could see only the last sliver of sun sinking away from the skyline… and this male… this male braved the sun in reckless and dangerous ways.
“There are going to be changes, Jade. Alterations to the status quo.” His voice was even nearer than it should have been, so close I knew his skin must be burning to a crisp. “It would be best if you chose not to resist, and instead put faith in my ability to know what’s best.”
A scoff, a tired, worn, and unhappy laugh.
“You were raised by a human nursemaid. After she was killed, you were left to your own devices, sent to human schools, and rarely mixing with your own kind.
He could not be more wrong. “I don’t have a kind. I’m the only known living daywalker.”
“You lack the basic fundamentals of being vampire. You fail to feed until you’re weak physically and mentally. And when you do feed, you devour without restraint, and leave a mess. More importantly, you enjoy your infamy within the flock. You enjoy that they fear you since they have been forbidden to love you.”
I didn’t need this right now. Not while I was stung. Not while the sun continued to disappear and stretching shadows brought my tormentor closer. “You get such sick joy out of this, don’t you?”
“It has been discussed, moving you permanently into the Cathedral while reassignment is organized.”
The blood drained from my face, Malcom earning my full attention. “What? No!”
I was going to marry Ethan and secure that family to my father’s bidding. If all went well, I’d have at least ten years enjoying the role of being his wife. Ten years with a partner who made me happy. For Christ’s sake, I had spent fifteen with the last husband and he was awful in every imaginable way. Ten years was not asking much. And at the end of it, I’d bribe one of my father’s flock to change him, to make him as much like me as they could. We could have eternity.
As if he could read my thoughts, pity crossed Malcom’s angelic features. “Your father would never condone it.”
“My father disappears for months at a time. I don’t even think he knows what decade it is. One new fledgling would be nothing to him.”
Cold, dismissive, my guardian said, “The answer is no.”
Fists clenched, my heart racing and my color high, I marched straight for the block
ade to my only happiness. Close enough to physically challenge him, I hissed, “That is not your decision to make, Malcom.”
“It is forbidden from changing humans from a certain class.”
“Bullshit! Marie was the queen of France before that ogre Gustavo snatched her away. I can fake Ethan’s death.”
“And spoiled Ethan would run right back to his family. Don’t you think a man of his cut would want to rub immortality in their faces?”
“…Then I keep him from them for a few decades until all his living relatives are dead. This is not novel. Many fledglings have to be locked away until they’re ready to accept their new role in life.”
Fire lit behind an ethereal gaze. “I’m glad you agree on that score.”
What had been shrill dropped to an animal growl. “You wouldn’t dare…”
“Locked you up?” Dressed in his typical spy-on-Jade black slacks and sweater, Malcom crossed his arms over his broad chest and smirked. “I would have buried you so deep underground that no soul but I would have known you existed. Hunted for you, fed you, taught you our ways… properly. Eons might have passed before I felt like sharing.”
Now he was goading me, and for once I was not falling for it. “You want to talk about infamy? You’ve changed hundreds of females and left them all to scatter and stumble through immortality. How many of your children still live? Ten?”
The fastidious man didn’t know the exact number, and I could see in his expression that it irked him.
Trailing a finger between the flexed pectorals of an agitated male, I dug my nail in right over his heart. “And I wasn’t changed, Malcom. I was born. You’ve never sired a pureblood, though not for lack of trying.”
Miniscule, the movement was so subtle. A slight cock of his head. “Is that what you believe?”
It was impossible to read that expression, leaving me without the proper dagger to make my next stab at such an ego.
In typical Malcom fashion, he spun the argument out of my comfort zone. “I know you were born. I held you as an infant. The first time, you nipped my finger and drew blood. You had a taste for me from that day forward.”