The Executive's Red, #1

by Leeanna White

What in the name of all things holy is he doing?

  “Adrien!” I charge over. “You need help.”

  He’s downing it, swallowing fast, and now the bag is nearly vacuum dry.

  My jaw opens and my eyes water, watching as he wipes a smidge of blood from his mouth with his thumb. I’m really freaking-out and don’t know how to handle this screwed up situation. He’s lost his damn mind.

  He takes in a massive breath and stares down at his chest, dabbing the blood from his breast and body with the towel.

  Okay, I’m clearly tripping out, because what I’m watching his body do right now is simply not possible.

  The deep gash is not there. All I see are black thread veins moving beneath his skin, like worms stitching his flesh back together.

  I stop respiring in fright. The whistling in my head is loud and my skin is clammy cool. A tingling numbness spreads all over me. Oh, I’m going to pass-out. I waver back and forth, waiting for my face to meet the marble floor.

  “Elizabeth!” Suddenly I’m up in his arms, my vision whirling round and round. Focus Liz, focus.

  He lies me on the sofa and crouches next to me, stroking my hair away from my face. This is nice. It’s soothing. Nothing at all is wrong with this, is there?

  I abruptly discharge upright clutching my dithering chest, realising what just happened did actually occur.

  “Elizabeth, calm down.”

  I look down at his body. The cut has vanished but there’s a smudge of blood on his skin. The man I’ve fallen for has just sliced himself open, drank blood, and healed right before me.

  I shuffle back fast and hold my knees to my chest. I’m scared. I don’t want to be. But hell, it’s impossible not to think he’s going to latch onto my neck at any moment.

  “So... so I’m figuring out that I did just see that.” I hum in a confused state. “Are you... well...well...” I’m speechless. My vocal cords have shrivelled in shock.

  Still squatting, he looks at me attentively. “I will never hurt you. I had to show you.” He reluctantly hovers his hand out to me, but I flinch back. “Elizabeth.”

  “What are you?”

  “I’m of nemuritori,” he replies. “I need you to see something.” He stands up and extends his hand out to me.

  “Something else?” My voice breaks, full of doubt.

  “The truth.” His hand is still out waiting.

  I study him for a moment, contemplating whether I should run through that door and never come back, or go to the nearest psychiatric ward and check myself in. His eyes are luring me, but I’m more than reluctant.

  “Trust me. I will not hurt you.”

  I slowly outstretch my hand with a deep-set frown, my subconscious screaming, don’t do it. His fingers lock through mine as he pulls me up to my feet. As horrifying as this is, I have to know now. I need to be sure that I’m not going crazy.

  I’m sitting down at the desk in his office, watching him shuffle behind his chair. I think I’m going to have to tell him to put a shirt on soon. I’m losing my wits seeing his back flex in such an inviting way. To still feel lust is absurd after what he’s just revealed.

  His hand hovers across the books on the shelf. He places his fingers between book and wood. There’s a loud click, opening up a hidden compartment that conceals an electric safe. He pushes in a code. All I notice is the first number, two. He takes out a wooden box, and places it down on the desk in front of me.

  “That’s me, in that box. I’ve never let anyone see it before you,” he says, pointing hard on the top of it. “I’ll leave you with it. After you’ve seen what’s in there, you have to choose. Come back to me, or leave.” He leaves me alone, closing the door quietly behind him.

  Okay, I have to do this. I blink slowly and cautiously flip open the lid. The first thing I see is a long brown leather wallet. I lift it out, smelling the musty age of it. I slide off the elastic bind to open. There are yellow distressed papers and old photos tucked inside it.

  I glance down at one of the pictures, dated September 17th, 1916. First I see Laurie; I swear it’s him. And next to him, is a dead-ringer for Ben. I mumble to myself, completely flummoxed, thinking maybe it’s one of those fancy-dress snapshot parties.

  I pucker my eyes and lift the picture right up in front of my nose. I must need my glasses, because right there in the middle, in-between Connor and Ben, stands Adrien. All of them dressed in authentic military uniform, brandishing arms before a great mountain range. I drop the photo. This has to be some kind of prank.

  Next I take out a tatty piece of paper which has clearly been read countless times. All the folds are barely holding it together. Carefully, I unfold and position the loose sections so I can see. At the top in bold faded print it reads: Washington Certificate of Birth, and beneath the header is the name of the child, Adrien Emmanuel Knight. I nod my head and read it again. Crap, it’s still there. He was born on December 5th 1888, in a house on Connecticut Avenue. His father’s name was, Johnathon Knight, and his mother, Francine Knight.

  I can’t read anymore. My head is going to burst any second. My eyes and brain are in conflict, and I can’t accept any of this is factual. I’ve read plenty of fiction books, and watched movies. All for study or entertainment purposes. But this is beyond the realms of normal. This is really messed up.

  I push my hands against the desk as I stand, when something else in the box catches my eye. It’s a newer paper that has hardly been touched. I remove it from the box and open. It’s the contract I foolishly signed at The Mill, with my blood signature soaked into the paper. I fold it and quickly tuck it down my bra. He’s not having this contract. I’m going to find out what it is and burn it. But first, I have to get out of here.

  I hold the doorknob and take several deep breaths. If I’m dreaming, it is now the point I should wake the hell up. I dig my fingernail hard into the tip of my thumb, but I’m still fully conscious. Now I have to go and face him.

  I gulp and open the door slowly, peeking out to see him sitting on the sofa with his head in his hands. As soon as my feet move forward, he cranes his head and bleakly gazes at me. Why is he doing that with his beautiful eyes? And why am I not running to the door? I should be telling him to stay the hell away. But the truth is, I’m in love limbo and unsure what to do. To run a thousand miles from him, forgive him, or fear him.

  He stands up from the couch all broody, and really apprehensive of me. He hovers a step, then waits for me to make the next move. My wary eyes are stuck to him. He picks up a glass of wine from the floor and without a word, holds it out to me.

  I move closer, eyes drifting to the door then to him. It’s a crossroads, and the road I choose is going to either label me completely insane, or well-balanced.

  So, I guess I really am nuts. I have to follow my heart. It will always rule over my head when it comes to him.

  I take the glass from his hand and pour the lot down my neck. It heats my insides and gives me the determination to find out what in god’s name I’m involved in.

  I sit down quietly and he parks himself opposite in the corner. He’s waiting for me to do something, and watching his tapping foot he’s imagining the worst.

  “Elizabeth, shit, say something.”

  “What are you... a vampire?” I cringe, because it’s the most preposterous question I’ve ever asked anyone.

  “I’m nemuritori. Vampire. The undead. Evil bloodsucker. A walking leech.” It’s not the best reply. I stopped listening when he said the undead. “Sorry, I’ve never had to have this conversation before,” he adds.

  I frown. “How is that even possible?”

  “You didn’t look in the box properly did you?”

  “I got to the birth record that told me you were born in eighteen eighty-six.” I huff. “I couldn’t absorb anymore. So that’s real is it; you’re how old?”

  “One hundred and twenty-eight years, as nemuritori,” he states. “To you, I’m twenty-eight.”

  Okay, so I’ve been
having a love affair with someone old enough to be my great-great-grandfather. A very attractive senior citizen though. But surely it’s not acceptable.

  He laughs at my reaction. “I’m twenty-eight, Elizabeth,” he says. “I will always be stuck on that timeline. It’s when I died,” he explains. “I was First Lieutenant in the US army. Sent along with my second, Laurie, and Corporals O’Leary and Blackstock, on a covert mission,” he explains, as I struggle to listen. “During the Balkans battle in Romania, I was given top secret orders to gather intel on a weapon that the enemy used to kill hundreds of soldiers. I swore on oath that the information I received would stay with me only, until I returned to debrief my commander.”

  “The first world war?” I ask.

  “Yeah.” He moves a little closer. “When we were air dropped, the battle was at its peak. I was supposed to meet with one of our allies, a Sergeant Balan, out in the field. But we had no chance of finding him in the carnage.”

  “Okay, okay.” I wave my hand, shaking my head. “I need a second.” I take a few shallow breaths, but it doesn’t help.

  He gets up from the sofa and pours me another glass of wine. I must be giving off signals that I need it.

  “Do you want me to stop?” He returns to his seat.

  “No, but you’re going to have to be prepared if I pass-out again.”

  He smiles awkwardly for a second. “My men and I moved back with the Romanian army into the Carpathian Mountains.” He shuts his eyes, reminiscing. “The enemy had us surrounded. Connor was shot first, then Laurie, and Ben. All I kept thinking was, why is it taking so long. I’m done. Just shoot me already.” He grinds his teeth. “Then I saw them, the black shadows flitting in and out of the darkness, and heard the screams coming through the whiteout. I ran, that’s all I could do. Then I got what I asked for, a bullet to my chest. If I were to die, I wanted to die with my men.”

  Wow, I need a break. I have a headache and I’m beginning to feel nauseous again. I put my glass on the floor and stand up. He glances up at me, sensing I’m not handling this very well at all.

  I walk by the kitchen with my view falling onto my escape route. But I take a different path, an illogical path, and pace swiftly into the guest bedroom. I just need a five minute breather away from all the weird supernatural talk.

  I lock myself in the bathroom and turn on the hot water. I swill my face and rub away the eyeliner that has stained my cheeks. To stop him interrupting my subconscious talking sense into me, I leave the tap running as background sound.

  I can see fireworks across the city igniting the sky. I forgot that it’s New Year’s Eve. I forgot what happened at the party. God, this has to be the most peculiar night of my life.

  When there is water running, or sound coming from a bathroom, it means do not disturb. But I swear I’ve just heard a small tap. It happens again, this time louder. I haven’t had my five minutes yet, and I’m still wrestling with my judgement.

  “Elizabeth, you having a bath in there?” Adrien asks through the door.

  I smile impulsively. Is he being serious?

  I cautiously open the door to see him standing by the bed. He has to finish what he started. I need to know the truth, no matter how farfetched it is.

  He has my drink in his hand, so I take it from him, and go to sit in the black leather chair near the fire. I can’t go near that bed. It will set off wild thoughts and memories. I need to take a step back from his magnetism, and be as rational as possible under these bizarre circumstances.

  “Okay, I’m ready.”

  “For what?” he flirts.

  “No games.” I blink and nod. “How did you end up like this?”

  He sits on the bed, disappointed that I have now finally grasped the art of control around him.

  “The shadows were no shadows.” He takes a swig of his beer. “I thought I was in hell, dead, suffering from the most excruciating pain you can possibly imagine. It wasn’t from the bullet. It was a hunger so intense, I wanted to rip off my own skin. I was locked in chains, desperate to quench the thirst, and that’s when I met my creator, my sire, Selene. She bit me out in the field when I was nearing death, and had my existence in her hands. She gave me a choice, either be turned, or die. When I heard Ben howling, I knew I had to exist somehow, so I consented.” I watch the revulsion flash over his eyes as he relives the horror story. “She gave me her essence, her own dark blood, then fed me with fresh. At first I didn’t understand why the odour sent me crazy. I didn’t know I wasn’t human.”

  “So, she is also a vampire?” God, I’m never going to get used to saying that word.

  “She’s a pure child. Her sire lineage descends back to the first, Lilith. She is the daughter of Demetrius Valt. A pure who is over a thousand years old. They’re part of the sange pentru. The order,” he explains. “Unlike me, I am only a demi, turned sang by the venom and blood of a pure.”

  Holy shit, the order, his secret society, is not a freemason thing at all. He must have affected my reasoning in a big way. How could I not conclude that signing that paper in my blood was not normal? Oh, that’s right, maybe because vampires aren’t supposed to exist. And is it wrong that I keep expecting Vlad the Impaler to pop-up into this conversation? I mean, it is quite possible, considering what I’m hearing.

  “So, do you kill people?” I nervously ask. “Drink their blood.”

  “Really?” He rolls his eyes at me.

  “Yeah... really.” It’s probably the most relevant question of the night, and I can’t believe he wasn’t expecting me to bring it up.

  He shrugs those strong shoulders. “The order was formed over eight hundred years ago by the pure ones, to try and regain some control over the conflicts between the different strains.”

  “Strains?”

  “There are two kinds of the nemuritori... vampires.” He arches over, clasping his hands over his knees. “The sang: those who mainly require blood as a life source, but who can also gage energy from physical touch. And the vigore: those who require blood and much more,” he explains. “The vigore feed from blood, but can also take energy from any living thing. They can see into your thoughts if you’re not shielded.”

  “You... you can see what’s up here?” I nearly squeal in alarm.

  “No,” he says and I sigh with relief. “Selene is pure sang, which makes me the same. We have different attributes: healing, strength, and speed,” he explains. “The vigore traits, depend on how much energy they take.”

  “Why have I never heard of you before?” I ask. “I mean there’s folk law and stories, but it’s nothing like what you describe.”

  “We have rules to fit into society, which mean we don’t go out hunting humans for blood. We have evolved, learnt control, using donors and organised collections.” He hangs his head a little and hesitates for a moment. “But I have killed and drunk from the living, Elizabeth.”

  I flush and perspire. He has just admitted murder. Damn right I’m feeling rattled and thinking of a way to get out. I stare down at the floor, anxiously. I cannot look at him.

  “When bitten and turned, the awakening period is when a young nemuritori are at their most dangerous.” I pluck up the courage to look at him. “The appetite sends you into a violent frenzy. You’ll kill, and rip off your own limbs to get what you need. I was so sick, retching up what old blood I had left in me. I even chewed off my own fingernails.” I cringe, this is becoming way too graphic for me. “I was being held in a cell below the mountains, as were many others. I bit through my chains and shattered my own teeth to get out.”

  I gulp, feeling the contents of my stomach making its way up my oesophagus. I cover my mouth and screw up my face, holding in a dry gag.

  “Elizabeth.” He stands up. “I’m sorry, but you must understand, I only killed because it wasn’t truly me.” He aims to calm me down.

  “How many?”

  He paces back and forth. “There was a Nazi camp set up twenty miles from the mountains. That’s
where I was re-caught and secured by the order.” He pauses with guilty eyes.

  “How many?” I push him to answer.

  He sighs heavily and drops back down onto the mattress. “Fifty, maybe more,” he replies, ashamed. “You have to understand, I was fighting against death, being reborn into an obscurity. I would have rather died from that bullet, but the sange pentru thought me worthy to serve.” His hands animate. “Even more so when they learned that the ones I fed off, were holding one of their own. A pure blood. The weapon I was sent to gather info on, was a member of the sange pentru. The Nazi’s starved and used him in the war. Demetrius immediately had me down as some superior sang. He respected me, even though I didn’t want it.”

  His body slumps over, and I see his ribcage taking in slight breaths. He’s tearing himself up over what he did. But as evil as it was, I hate seeing him like this.

  “And you’ve not killed since?”

  “Not to feed, no.”

  I swallow down the nerves. “So is that why you get sick around me, because of my blood?”

  He gazes at me, and I at him. “You’re so different, Elizabeth. When you entered that building, before I even laid eyes on you, your presence stimulated me in ways I couldn’t understand or explain. I didn’t want to feed off you. I wanted to savour every inch of you.”

  “Why?”

  “You took me back in time. When I was a man, I loved only one. And you, you reminded me of that. I had to have you. When your scent hit me, it changed me completely. You healed a part of me that I thought was lost.” He pauses to watch me blush. “This trapped soul was lost, until you.” He touches his bare chest. “Shit, that sounds ridiculous to you doesn’t it?”

  Blood is whooshing through my body. And if he can’t smell it, my longing for him, then there is something very wrong. I sip the last bit of my wine and cough needlessly. They say love is blind, well so is lust, because I still crave him more than ever. Whether it’s seen as wrong or not, I don’t care. Now I need to be close to him.

  I put my glass on the mantelpiece and blow out. He observes with his eyes all over my yearning skin. I sit down by his side as he lowers his chin to his chest.