Amanda Ashley (12 page)

This is what you hunted, what you hated. This is what you are!
The words reverberated through his mind.

He threw back his head, his laughter ringing out in the night. Fate, it seemed, had a cruel sense of humor.

He drank again, drank until the man’s heartbeat grew faint, drank until the man’s body grew cold, limp.

Kelly’s image rose up in his mind, her deep brown eyes filled with sadness and reproach. He saw himself as she would see him: his eyes burning, fangs dripping blood. Filled with shame and regret, he drew back.

He had seen Chiavari hunt. To his credit, the vampire was never cruel.

Ramsey looked down at the man lying back across his arm. His neck had been cruelly savaged. Blood stained the collar of his faded shirt, dripped down his neck.

With a cry of denial, Ramsey reeled backward, horrified by the savagery of his act. As gently as he could, he settled the man into a corner of the doorway, took off his own coat, and draped it around the man’s shoulders. Removing his wallet, he stuffed what cash he had into the man’s pockets.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered as he backed away. “So sorry.”

 

 

Kelly was sitting in the living room, trying to concentrate on a late-night movie, when Edward returned to the house.

She looked up when he entered the room, her eyes widening when she saw his face. “What have you done?” she exclaimed softly.

“I almost killed a man.”

“I didn’t know vampires felt remorse.”

Sinking down on the chair across from the sofa, Ramsey cradled his head in his hands. “I can’t go on like this. Damn it, I cannot!”

“I thought vampires liked to drink blood,” Kelly said.

He thought of Khira, who gloried in it, and of Chiavari, who had accepted it. “Some do.”

She shuddered. “How can you drink it?”

He looked up at her, his expression tortured. “I crave it, and the fact that I crave it so desperately—that I enjoy the taste so much—sickens me. Do you understand?”

“Yes. No.” She shook her head. “Not really. Is that why you tried to kill yourself?”

He nodded. “I sought out the vampire who made me, and begged him to end my existence. He refused.”

“Why?”

“He told me to wait, to give myself time to grow used to my new lifestyle. Damn it, I don’t want to grow used to it!” He slammed his fist down on the table beside him. There was a sharp crack, and the table split in two. He grabbed the lamp before it fell to the floor.

The girl looked at him, her eyes wide and scared.

Muttering an oath, Ramsey hurled the lamp against the far wall. The shade crumpled, the porcelain shattered. He saw each individual shard fall.

Kelly jumped to her feet and ran toward the stairs.

“Don’t go!”

She paused, one hand gripping the banister, her knuckles white, her whole body trembling.

“Kelly.”

She turned slowly to face him.

He stood in the doorway. “Tonight, when I was about to kill that poor man, I thought of you waiting for me here. I saw myself through your eyes. It is the only thing that saved him.”

She tilted her head to one side in a gesture that was becoming familiar. “Me?”

“Yes. Help me, Kelly. For the love of heaven, help me.”

“How? What can I do?”

“Your blood . . .” He took a step toward her, paused when she backed up against the wall.

Her hand flew to her neck. “No!”

“Please, hear me out.”

She glanced up at the top of the stairs, then looked at him again, her heart pounding. “I’m listening.”

“A few drops of your blood soothes the hunger within me. If you would let me . . .” He swore softly. Asking her was harder than he had expected. “If you would let me drink a little from you each night before I go out, I think it would be easier on those I hunt. I know it would make it easier for me.”

She shook her head ruefully. “Why did I ever agree to come here?”

“Does that mean you will do it?”

“I don’t know.” She massaged her throat. “Why does my . . . my blood soothe you? It’s no different than anyone else’s.”

“I don’t know. I only know that it does.”

She hesitated, her mind racing. Would he take it by force if she refused? It was gruesome to think of him biting her neck, yet perversely flattering to think that her blood soothed him.

“Please.” The word whispered past his lips, filled with quiet desperation.

“All right. You’ll only take a little?”

“Yes. A few drops.”

“Now?”

“No, it’s not necessary. But I can’t help wondering . . .”

“Why I agreed?” She shrugged. “You saved my life. I’m glad now that you did. And maybe, if you do as your friend suggested and wait a few months, you’ll be glad to be alive, too.”

“He is not my friend.”

“Oh. Well,” she said briskly. “I think part of your problem is that you spend too much time brooding about how awful it is to be what you are. I think you need to get out more, see people.”

He laughed, a sharp, bitter sound.

“I mean it. You must have some friends. . . .”

He thought briefly of Marisa and Chiavari. “No.”

“Well, I don’t either, not anymore. So, we’ll make new ones.”

“Kelly . . .”

“You can’t just sleep in your tomb all day and hide out in this house all night. You’ll go nuts. I’ll go nuts.” She descended the stairs and walked briskly toward him, grabbing him by the arm as she passed by. “Come on.”

“Where are we going?”

“To the movies.”

“Now? It’s ten o’clock.”

She looked at him and laughed. “So what? We have all night. Let’s go.”

 

 

It was his first date with a woman since Katherine.

The theater seemed to press in on him, his nostrils filling with the mingled scents of soap, perspiration, shampoo, toothpaste, a hint of marijuana, chocolate candy, soft drinks, popcorn and butter, chips and cheese . . . and blood. The scent of it surrounded him, yet it was the scent of Kelly’s blood that called to him, beckoning him with the promise of sweet relief.

Why did the need to take blood from others repulse him and leave him hungering for more, yet a few drops of Kelly’s blood taste like the sweetest nectar on his tongue, soothing his hunger, calming his tortured soul?

As though she read his thoughts, she turned to face him. His gaze met hers, hot and hungry—not for blood but for the taste of her kisses.

Slowly, so slowly, he closed the distance between them, and when she didn’t back away, he claimed her lips with his.

He had expected her to slap him, or push him away, or scream in revulsion because a vampire was kissing her. Instead, her hand slid around his neck to cup his nape.

It was not his first kiss. He was, after all, forty-two years old. But even Katherine’s first kiss had not affected him as profoundly as did this one. He was stunned when Kelly’s tongue met his. It was a kiss that went on forever and ended too soon.

“Oh, Edward,” she murmured.

“Forgive me,” he stammered, “I didn’t . . . I don’t know what got into me. I . . .”

She laughed softly. “Don’t apologize, Edward,” she whispered as she drew his head toward hers. “Just do it again.”

The movie, the theater, the people around him: all were forgotten as her lips touched his. Soft, warm, yielding, more intoxicating than whiskey had ever been. He felt like a teenager on his first date: clumsy, uncertain, his hormones raging. She murmured his name, clinging to him as though she might never let go.

He never remembered what the movie was about, or even who was in it. All he remembered from that night was Kelly sitting beside him in a dark theater, and the intoxicating taste of her lips on his.

He drew back, somewhat embarrassed, when the lights came on.

After the movie, they went for a long drive. Not much was said, but the silence between them was easy, comfortable.

When they returned home, he kissed her good night in the living room, stood at the bottom of the stairs, staring after her like a lovesick schoolboy until she was out of sight.

So many hours until dawn. Taking off his coat, he tossed it over a chair, frowned as someone knocked on the door. He knew a moment of trepidation. He had no friends in this town, no acquaintances to speak of save Chiavari and Marisa, and he didn’t think they would be calling at this hour of the night.

Chiding himself for jumping at shadows, he opened the door. “Khira!” She was a vision of shining silver hair and a whisper of black silk.

She smiled her most beguiling smile. “May I come in?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Surely you are not afraid of me?” she chided.

He shrugged.

Khira glanced past him. “Such a quaint little place,” she said, laughing softly. “Will I find Barnabas Collins lurking in the hallways?”

“Very funny.” He stepped outside and closed the door behind her. “What brings you here?”

A pretty pout teased her lips. “Aren’t you glad to see me?”

“Sure.”

“You’ve been with a woman.” Her nostrils flared. “She’s here. That little mortal you were playing with.”

“So?”

She glided toward him. Reaching up, she dragged one fingernail over his cheek, hard enough to break the skin. “I told you before, I don’t like to share. Not territory. Not anything.”

He grabbed her wrist, forcing her hand away from his face. “I don’t like jealous women.”

She ignored his grip on her arm. Rising on tiptoe, she licked the blood from his cheek. “Who is she?”

“No one.”

Her gaze burned into him like blue fire. “You’ve fallen for her, haven’t you?”

“Of course not.”

“I’m in the mood for a little fun,” Khira said. “Come, hunt with me.”

He wanted to refuse, but it seemed wiser to do as she wished. And so he smiled back at her and followed her out into the night.

Khira quickly found a young man to her liking. He was tall and blond, with green eyes and a trim, athletic build. Her hunger was a palpable thing as they followed her prey into a nightclub.

Ramsey sat back and watched her, mildly amused as she flirted with the young man, plying all the tricks of an old-fashioned Southern belle. The man was polite but uninterested, and Ramsey’s amusement quickly turned to revulsion as Khira slid into the man’s mind, bending his will to hers.

Ramsey followed her outside, trailing behind as she led her prey down a dark street. He watched as she toyed with him, making him kneel at her feet. He kissed her hand and declared she was the most beautiful woman in all the world. Like a queen granting favors, she placed her fingertips on his shoulders and bade him rise, and then she gathered him into her arms—arms that could easily have broken him in two—and buried her fangs in his neck.

The man struggled against her, and Ramsey knew she had released control of his mind, that the man knew her for what she was. His eyes were wide with horror as he looked death in the face, his voice high-pitched with terror as he realized there was no hope of escape.

The rapid beat of the man’s heart echoed in Ramsey’s ears. The scent of terror, of blood, filled his nostrils, and he had an overpowering urge to join her, to feast upon the man’s terror.

His fangs lengthened as the Hunger surged to life within him, and he took a step forward, and then another, the lust for blood thrumming through his veins.

Khira looked up, her bright-blue eyes glowing hotly, her lips and fangs stained crimson.

The man was barely breathing now. His face was ashen, his heartbeat slow and heavy in his chest. He looked at Ramsey, hoping for a savior. “Help . . . me . . .”

Khira’s laughter rolled through the darkness like smoke from a funeral pyre.

Ramsey halted, sickened by what he saw, by his eagerness to be a part of it.

“You can be a man with a peculiar lifestyle, or you can be a monster. . . .”
He heard Chiavari’s voice echo in the back of his mind.

“Please,” the man gasped. He held out his hand in a feeble gesture of entreaty. “Help . . . me . . .”

Khira caressed the man’s face with one pale hand. “There is no help for you, my handsome one,” she said. “No escape.” She smiled at Ramsey. “Come, join me.”

He shook his head and backed away.

“Come, Edward; it is time to accept what you are. Finish him.”

“No.” Since becoming a vampire, he had thought of himself as a monster, but there was only one monster here, and it was Khira. She was like Kristov in her thinking, and that sickened him. Once, he had thought all vampires were evil, but he knew now that he had been wrong. Chiavari had told him he could be as good or as bad as he desired. Looking at Khira, he knew she was evil disguised in beauty.

He took a last look at the man imprisoned in the vampire’s arms. There was no way to save him, except to bring him across. He was too far gone.