William's Tale (18 page)

“Fair enough,” Micki replied as she studied her client. “You don’t need to share with me the exact title or duties, but I do want to know how you feel about this promotion and what it means for your career?”

Alex grabbed one of the pillows from the couch and, while she played with the tassels along its edge, she reflected upon her career. If she wanted something career–wise, she got it. She had always positioned herself strategically so she could command the best opportunities that were available. “I know. I’m putting my career above everything else. It’s what I do, but at least I can control what direction my career takes me,” Alex grimaced. She pulled at the strings of the tassel, carefully straightened them, and then moved onto the next one in the row.

Micki wrote in the folder as she commented, “Control is very important to you.”

Isn’t it to everyone? After a pause, Alex admitted, “At least I can get what I want.”

“And how is that working out for you? Is it making you happy?” Micki asked.

“Ugh!” Alex threw the pillow aside. “My career is great, but what I really want is a passionate relationship. I want a family. Where are all the real men out there?” She looked at her therapist, “I mean, I have this unclear picture of who I want. He’s perfect. He’s a Mr. Butch Manly … I just can’t seem to find him.”

“Alex, you’re a top level security specialist. Your accomplishments at this young of an age can be intimidating to some men.”

“To all men, I guess.” Alex said, “Except for the socially inept or the mama’s boys out there.” Alex bit her lip, looked down to the floor, and added, “Or the crazy stalker types.”

“Men come in many sized packages, Alex. But it’s what’s on the inside that really counts. A small–framed, computer nerd who loves playing games can be a wonderful catch. You need to get past the wrapping.”

Wiping away a tear, Alex confided, “It’s … it’s not the wrapping, Micki. I never get to know a man well enough to even get to the inner layers of who they really are.”

“I know, and you’re doing a great job working on that. You are approaching your 40th birthday in a couple of years. The big ones tend to get people thinking of where they are in their life and what they are doing. We’ve had this discussion many times in the past, Alex. You want to have a passionate romance with a ‘Butch Manly’ type of guy, and then you select men who never quite fit that bill, then you only go on one date with them. You force yourself to be emotionally flat in these relationships in an effort to protect yourself from being vulnerable.” Looking at her client she asked, “It’s been a long time since we discussed it, but you did just mention it. Do you want to talk about the stalker that attacked you some more?”

“Hell, no! I just wonder where all the heroes are.” Alex peeked at her watch and realized 45 minutes remained.

Gentle rain drizzled on Sterling’s nude body like healing kisses, renewing his sense of self–peace. His headache had subsided a little, but in truth, the ache always persisted. The pain was just more manageable now. Sterling reclined on the patio chair, his body dwarfing the size of the furniture as he stretched to wake up in his solitude. His skin chafed against the chair, feeling slightly sunburned. He opened his eyes to a cloudless sky and cursed as the sun blinded him . . . No more relief would come today.

As a half–breed vampire, he didn’t have the protective inner eyelids the purebreds had, so he closed his eyes against the sun. He thought of the day’s schedule. He knew he would spend most of his time down at the penitentiary. He groaned because every time he visited the place, his body ached. It wasn’t being around humans that did him in, but rather, the physical touching of evidence. His ability to get information from inanimate objects proved helpful in solving cases, and he was happy to help. But his body always paid the price, and he detested the side effects.

Sterling’s touch would tell him everything he needed to know about the item’s owner, what it was used for, and the feelings and emotions surrounding the item. Each touch would make his skin crawl and itch, and the more he touched, the more his skin would scream in agony. After a few hours, his head would pound with a migraine.

But the pain meant nothing; it was just one more damn thing about his human half he had to deal with. Most vampire abilities had good side effects, but it was just his lot in life to be cursed. Fortunately though, his ability did allow him to bring some of the sickest and most depraved criminals to trial, and that was the justification he needed to keep living his lonely life.

He squinted at the sun again as he reached for his sunglasses on the ground beside him, and sat up. The private sleeping porch of the Mansion was his little oasis, and his alone. No one would disturb him while he healed and sat in his solitude at his home, which everyone jokingly called Fang Manor.

Solitude and loneliness were only separated by a thin line. A very thin line — and he knew the feeling all too well.

Sterling inhaled deeply, taking in the crisp morning air. He heard the chirping of the songbirds nearby and the wind chime down below swaying in the breeze. Cursing softly, he realized he could also hear his father with his new wife stirring in their bedroom, next to his sundeck.

It was time to get up. The mansion’s walls weren’t soundproof, and he now tried to block out a conversation which had changed into more intimate noises. “Newlyweds,” he thought as he rolled his eyes. No way was he listening to an encore of last night. There wasn’t anything Oedipal in his distaste of the noise; it just reminded him how powerless he was to find a wife of his own. He had failed to secure an arranged marriage, and his own attempts to find a purebred vampire mate had proved unsuccessful, many times over.

He stood, scooped up rain pooled on the chair beside him, and splashed it on his face. Shaking the water from his shoulder length hair, he moaned contently at the soothing touch. He knew this moment would be the last time he would feel good all day.

Checking his rain catchers, he poured the collected rain into bottles to be used later. Sterling then walked through the few puddles of rainwater which sat on the stone floor of the deck. He opened the glass door and entered his private bedroom. He had chosen the decor himself. The cherry wood king–sized bed with matching nightstand and dresser filled the room. A hunter green duvet, with burgundy and gold pillows, in various sizes and shapes, were at the head and foot of the bed. An old gold cross, which he had inherited from his human grandmother, hung on the wall above the bed. As pleasant as the room was, Sterling spent little time here, even though this house had been his home for too many decades to count.

He lived here with his father, stepmother, aunt, and several team members, making up “The COLONY”, a special operative team of vampires employed by the federal government to protect the President and the American way of life. Sterling was one of the founding members of the COLONY, which had been established in 1866, after the assassination of President Abraham Lincoln. It was really the only life Sterling knew. The job had benefits and perks, but also pitfalls. But what job didn’t?

Sterling glanced around the room. It was a gilded cage with free room and board, paid for by Uncle Sam. Sure, he loved his family, and Fang Manor was a far cry from slumming it, but because of security measures he could never entertain guests at the place. A wife could live here with him, if he had one. A girlfriend? Hell, he never dated a woman longer than, well, an hour tops. And even then, the women were humans.

Speaking of human females, he was hungry, and there wasn’t one in his bed at the moment. This is exactly why he kept an apartment in the city.

Damn. His fangs were already extended, expecting to eat. It was time for plan B. He shook his head as he walked across the room. Next to the air purifier on the floor sat a small personal refrigerator. He opened it and pulled out a bag of AB negative blood. Bagged blood. Not his favorite, but at least the food was free. He poured some into a mug and warmed it in the microwave which sat atop the refrigerator. It took only a minute for him to down it all after the microwave beeped. There was no reason to savor bagged blood. Honestly, no reason at all. The packaging, for starters, was all wrong.

The dried rain still clung to his skin. Not wanting to wash it off, he skipped a shower. In his private bathroom, he stared at his blurred reflection in the mirror. One corner of his mouth turned up in a half grin, as his reflection reminded him of the vampire lore that Hollywood messed up in their movies. Hollywood did get the mirror reflection right though. Thanks to the silver in mirrors, and even the silver in the old fashioned photography, vampire images were always obscured.

As he brushed his shoulder length dirty–blond hair, he studied himself in the mirror. He spent time last night in the mansion’s private gym lifting weights with his father. Sterling’s muscular physique was well formed, and even the poor reflection showed his ripped muscles. He took great pride in this lure since it worked so well where human women were concerned.

He paused and leaned into the mirror. Was that a gray hair? Yep, but only one. Next, he studied his eyes. Wrinkles had formed overnight as well. Looking down at the medallion of the Patron Saint of Rain, Genevieve, he noticed a gray chest hair. Guessing his age was now in the mid–thirties he continued to brush his hair as he waited for the effects of his breakfast on his body.

The wait wasn’t long. He felt the warmed blood course through his veins and his cells began to regenerate. His hair gained more color, his wrinkles ironed themselves out, and he had a healthier glow about him. He took a deep breath and glanced back in the mirror. His fuzzy reflection showed him at the age of twenty–seven again. It was his age during his Jahrling Year, when he transitioned into a full vampire and his fangs extended to their full size to allow him to eat a blood–only diet. His fangs came in late because he was a half–breed. If he had been a purebred vampire, he could look as young as the age when most humans got their wisdom teeth, their early twenties. It was just one more thing to thank his long dead mother for, not that he ever had a chance to meet her.

The blood lust from his morning’s breakfast finally hit him. The sensation would come quicker if he had injected the blood directly into his veins. By orally consuming it, his spleen had to process the blood from his digestive system to his circulatory system, which took time. The first drops of blood acted as a fountain of youth, then eventually affecting other areas of his body like liquid Viagra. With no woman to satisfy him, he ignored his aroused state and decided to dress. Besides, feeling miserable was the norm. It didn’t bother him to remain uncomfortable.

He opened the top drawer of his dresser and pulled out a pair of socks and underwear. From the middle drawer, he pulled out a set of skin coverings. They resembled long johns, but were made from a light cotton fabric. They covered him from neck to ankles and prevented most of everything from touching him. They weren’t a great fashion statement, but they worked well. He walked to his closet for a pair of jeans and a shirt.

He had just finished dressing when his cell phone buzzed. It was another COLONY member, Daniel, who was working downtown, and the one vampire in the world Sterling avoided as much as possible.

The phone rang again, and Sterling stared at it with a grimace on his face. When it rang a third time, he answered it. “Yes, what?” Sterling huffed.

“Good morning to you too, mate,” Daniel said in a slightly faded British accent. “I’m with the police looking into a bloody murder, quite literally. I think you ought to see this.”

Sterling cursed under his breath. Miss Manners never covered the social protocol of how to behave when dealing with a man you murdered in cold blood, and then had turned into a vampire against his will.

He could understand the need to exact revenge, but Daniel forgave him for what he did. On top of that, Daniel was nice to him, which made no sense to Sterling. He gritted his teeth, “Text me the address.”

Watching the apartment window from where she was seated in her parked car, Sulie let out a huge yawn. She couldn’t help it. Her insane schedule was taxing her body. Between her shifts at the hospital and her responsibilities as a member of the COLONY, the secret vampire task force for the White House, she needed a break. She wondered how human women could keep up. It wasn’t like she had a career and a family, but two careers were enough — at least for now.

She had awakened before dawn to give the President his yearly physical before leaving for Camp David. As the President’s private physician she would be accompanying him once again. She cringed at the thought. The man was a letch when it came to women, especially blondes. Sulie looked all of twenty–two and had long blond hair, curled in locks. She inwardly cursed herself for not cutting and dyeing her hair before the trip.

It was all routine. Her packed bags had already passed through security checks and had been loaded onto Marine One, the President’s private helicopter. The trip was not business related, and should—in theory—be relaxing, but she always hated going to Camp David. Again she would have to dodge the President’s advances, or ignore the man’s parade of women. The Secret Service would be discrete, as always, and Sulie would be asked to compel any humans to forget anything less than proper. She hated doing that. She was a trained professional doctor and soldier, not the man’s personal cleanup crew.