by Virgil Moore
He knew this feeling. The pressure weighed on his nerves. There was a hatred that he tasted in the back of his mouth. It seethed. It licked at his subconscious doubts and worries.
“There are few creatures that will ever know the terror I wield, that you presently wield. Blood is the fuel that burns through your veins. I am the match,” the sound of the words emanated from all around.
He said nothing. He held his tongue out of more than caution, he was gripped by the stark words. It tempted him.
“Did you like the vision of her throat torn out? The serene meadow brushed back to reveal her slaughtered corpse?” the voice pressed, from beyond the shoreline, from far out into and beyond the red ocean.
He refused to answer. His will slowly came back to him. A small perseverance returned as he began to make sense of where he was.
“Eventually you will crave the flow of fresh blood from every heart that still beats in this world. Eventually you will call to me,” the voice rang through his ears without sound. It pried at him. It taunted him to action.
He bit his lip. He tried to shut the message out. Cold fingertips slid over the back of his neck, sending stern chills through his body. There was someone behind him.
“It comes slowly at first to all who dare to taste the feeling of power. The pleasure of lust is before you. All you need now is to know the pain of immortality. Everything will slow as you drink it in. The wine will last. The meat will abound. The blood will flow. Once you awaken me, once you accept me, there will be no confusion to the course. There will be no hesitation to cause any doubt. You will be mine and behind your cold eyes I will force you to perform.” The ocean rumbled. Waves crashed at his feet. He was afraid to turn around.
He screamed out. He seethed with anger. He nearly suffocated from the steady whisper. It gnawed at him. He turned around, slowly, not knowing what he might find.
Nothingness sat waiting on the shore behind him.
“Focus Zack,” the voice called.
The sky began to rain black liquid. It soaked him. The voice toyed with him. His anger gripped his thoughts.
“Your emotions are good. They will serve me well in my war. The contender is within your own body. It is a stage that will play the motions if it must. Anger will prime your flesh to do my bidding. It will cement my puppetry over your life, your personality. The hatred I provoke in you shall be the key to the gates of my personal Avalon.” The voice sighed, “if they let you live.” A crackle of thunder rang in the distance. “But thankfully she might serve useful in that regard.”
He steadied himself. He tried to calm down and resist the demon’s influence over him. He could feel the attack, his mind bent as it was forced into complying with each wish, each word the voice spewed out. He hated it. He wanted it to stop. He said softly and without essence, “stop.”
“Petty attempts to stave me off are futile and eventually to no measure. Greater men have tried and greater still have succumb to my lush dreams. I will show you horror. I will show you pain incarnate. There will be blood with no end. You will be trapped with no other route less my gift, my key cast in blood at your broken feet,” the voice breathed heavily in the distance. The rain stopped.
He squinted. He looked out into the abyss of the nightmare and saw nothing.
“Blood tells. It changes what you are inside. The hunger that resides in you is a pitcher waiting to be filled. You will watch it rise, and I will watch it overflow and spill. Let yourself slip, become what we both feel you are.” The rumbling voice waited, “you won’t last long with her. You can smell it already, calling you, tugging at your white virgin teeth. The scent of her gift, her blood. Rip, tear, rend, and enjoy swallowing her silken blood like smooth warm milk. It will only take time until you accept my offer, until you accept me.”
The same cold fingers slid across the back of his neck. They smoothly clasped his throat. Lips pressed to his left ear. A breath without wind spoke, “until you need me.”
Chapter Thirty Five
The Island in the Pale Still Water
Zack awoke to Kyli. She had to shake him hard to wake him from an apparent nightmare. He was covered in sweat. He spoke, clear as day, his eyes were firmly closed, “I will never need you!”
She stepped back. She wasn’t sure why he would say such a thing to her.
He opened his eyes. He wasn’t tired, not dazed at all. He felt better, much better actually. His body was light, almost springy. He looked around the room. It was bright, but his vision was still blurry. The sun stung his eyes through the blinds but he didn’t have to squint for some reason. He pushed his glasses up his nose.
“Kyli, are you there?” he looked around. The whole room was heavily blurred. “Why are my eyes so out of focus?” he randomly searched for her in the bright sunlight.
“Over here,” her voice called from across the room.
“What’s going on? Did something happen?” he held his head for a moment.
“Nothing really. You were having a bad dream,” she told him gently.
“A bad dream?” He barely recalled the fleeting moment of terror in the back of his mind. A chill slid up his back as he remembered. “I was resisting something, screaming out to it to go away and leave me alone. But I couldn’t say it loud enough. It was disturbing.” He propped himself back up on the couch. “I hope I didn’t say anything that bothered you in my sleep.” He remembered last night. Her storming out of the room. “And I’m sorry for bringing up what I did last night. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“No it couldn’t be helped. But thank you,” she accepted his apology. “To answer your question, I’m right here, and I’ll help you after you drink this,” she handed him an insulated cup with a lid and straw.
“Are you sure you know what’s wrong?” he asked, his vision wasn’t getting any better as he rubbed his eyes.
“Yes, Zack. Have I lied to you so far?” There was something about her intentions that he didn’t want to trust. She was holding back something. But he wanted answers, so he waited.
“No reasons that I can think of,” he sniffed the end of the straw. It smelled like ice cream.
“Cranberry juice,” she said with confidence and a smile.
“Of course,” he knew it wasn’t cranberry juice. He took a sip from the cup. It didn’t taste like cranberry juice. It was cold like juice, but thicker, smoother. There was a slight film to it, like drinking thick chocolate milk. It tasted good, very good. It was wholesome even. It filled his appetite and satisfied his thirst. He knew this taste.
“I told you, cranberry juice,” her playful tone had come back. She smirked.
“Maybe to you. To me it’s a milkshake. To the average person this is A- blood.” He was getting good with his sense of taste. He had recalled the flavor from the last bottles he drank. They were clearly labeled in the fridge. “What’s wrong with my eyes?” he tried to adjust his glasses up and down, change the angle, anything to help get things into focus. Nothing helped. It began to bother him.
“Close your eyes and open them the second I ask you to,” she sat down next to him on the couch.
He closed his eyes tight, “sure.”
She swiftly and quietly lifted his glasses off his face without a sound or reaction from him. “Now open your eyes and look right at me.”
He flung open his eyes and focused on her immediately. “What’d you do? I can see you so clearly, so vividly now.” He took a moment to admire her. He absorbed every part of her being as he looked her up and down. She had changed clothes since last night. She was wearing a thin black low-cut tank top with navy blue boy-leg shorts. He knew she was tall, but her milky legs were far longer than he had imagined. Her skin was just as flawless as he had dreamed. Her shirt left little for him to fantasize about. The ribbed cotton fabric was light and hid only the most intimate features from his sight. She appeared slimmer than in the club, more toned. She was beautifully sculpte
d and proportioned. She was a Gothic Goddess.
She leaned forward. Suddenly, her scent filled the air. Cherry and lavender overcame him as the smell rushed through his lungs. She was far more seductive when she had relaxed at home than buttoned up at any club. His eyes stared at every inch of her body. Examining every curve, he couldn’t stop himself. She was gorgeous before him.
She enjoyed the attention. She welcomed it as she drew closer to him.
“You are so… beautiful,” he continued to scan up and down, across her naked skin.
Her black hair showed darker than normal, her eyes a fresh blue that were accented by the room. He was in awe of her.
She felt a wave of excitement as she watched him mouth the words. “Thank you, Zack. You’re cute too,” she leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. There was that cool skin again. The supple flesh that she wasn’t used to. It was inviting, it was distracting. “I think I really like you.”
“When did you hate me?” he slipped his hand across her back. The warm sensation burned as he embraced her.
“Not anymore. Not with that face,” she chuckled. “Not with that touch. But it’s part of being a vampeal in the end.”
“How so?” he couldn’t get her scent off his mind. It was overwhelming. He moved closer to her, slid his fingers behind her neck. He felt her hair. His fingertips danced over her skin.
She enjoyed the feeling of his hand on her neck. She took a moment to relish it before continuing. Then she went on, “what do you remember of the vampires you’ve read about in books? The facts they mentioned. Everything and anything you can think of concerning them?” She propped her head on her hand, with an elbow she pushed into the back of the couch. She let his hand keep touching her skin. It was soothing, gentle. She let herself be played with.
He stopped suddenly and thought about the question, “do you mean like Dracula and other popular vampire books?”
“Yeah, everything, all of it,” she stared at his face. “Start with the basics. Tell me what you think you know and we’ll go from there.”
“There’s the need for blood. And then there’s the threat of stakes and sunlight. They burned in direct sunlight.” He focused on the furniture around them. His eyes were surprisingly sharp. He noticed small trace freckles on her skin that made her even cuter than he remembered. He tried adjusting his glasses, and realized they were gone. “When did you take my glasses?”
“Remember the part about self-regeneration? Powerful healing abilities?” She held his glasses and tapped them on her toned bare right inner thigh. She wanted to bait him. She wanted him to touch her again.
“I need those to see.” He reached for the glasses, and she jutted backwards. The glasses were millimeters out of his reach. He fell onto her.
“You can see me fine right now, can’t you? I know I can see you,” she was flirting with him. His body was pressed against hers, his weight fully across her legs and abdomen. She pushed on his chest with one hand and lifted him with ease. “Next is strength. All the books always talk about how strong vampires are.”
She set him back on his side of the couch. He could feel her fingertips as they pressed into him. The warm touch, like hot knives on his skin. She got up and went to the middle of the room.
“And then there’s finesse and agility,” she turned away and bent over into a full handstand. She faced him while upside down. Her hair fell loose to the floor, long and black, shiny and straight, it danced by her hands.
The color in her eyes amazed him, “such blue.”
“What was that? You like my shorts?” she bent her legs and twisted them to the side. “Do they really look that good?” she straightened them out.
“No, I didn’t mean that,” he continued.
She pouted. She enjoyed playing with him. “You don’t like my legs either?”
He knew he should have seen it coming. “Really?”
“Okay. I’ll stop.” She relaxed as she held the position.
He was skeptical. “Yes, a handstand is impressive, but I don’t see what that has to do with proving-” he stopped mid-sentence.
She lifted herself onto her fingertips, and then took her left hand away.
“But you’re only a little more than a hundred pounds, that would be easy for someone in shape that knew what they were doing.” He defended the fact that Kyli’s acrobatic prowess was skilled, but still very human. He focused on her face. She wasn’t even exerting herself in that pose.
“And this?” she supported herself with five fingertips, then shifted to her index finger alone. “Hurts just looking at it, doesn’t it?” With her other hand she put on his glasses and pivoted into a standing position. She shifted her legs down and lifted her head back up. She sat back next to him on the couch again. “Still think I’m merely talented?” she smiled as she wore his silver glasses proudly.
Chapter Thirty Six
Redefining Terms
“What about speed? Aren’t vampires supposed to be really, really fast?” Zack raised his eyebrows with doubt.
Kyli quickly blitzed and pinned him into the couch. The actions unfolded as he took in a single breath. Before he was able to exhale, she had overtaken him. There was a trace, a hint of motion. It was fast, far faster than he could easily follow. She held his wrists behind his head. Her body pressed on his. Her warmth affected him. Their skin reacted to each other. It was intimate.
“Don’t forget about speed,” her hair dangled down in his face. It whipped across his eyes and nose. It acted like a tunnel that connected their faces. It was captivating. There was stillness in this moment, this display.
“I want them back,” he said calmly.
“When I’m done with them,” she responded, not letting him budge an inch.
“Do vampires have gifts, supernatural abilities?” he softened his voice. He was pacified by her face. He didn’t care that she was holding him down now. He started to enjoy it.
“Yes. There are three very different types. Focus is a gift that enhances some aspect of the vampire. Either physical or mental, it hones that part of the person.” She tucked her hair behind her left ear and let go of his right hand.
“You mean it’s not a focus ability if it does something to anyone else?” he deduced.
“Yes, we call those alteration gifts, or in some cases, psychic gifts, abilities activated at will by the mind. They affect an individual other than the user. Considering both of those gifts are extremely varied, that covers most of it,” she sounded like she was reading from a vampire text book on the subject rather than recalling a passed down history of her kind. “And then there’s the demon gift,” she broke eye contact. It sombered the mood. “A gift like that has real power.”
“Real power? Like picking up a car?” he asked.
“Zack, I can pick up a car,” she sighed. She crawled closer and pulled him over to her with one arm. She leaned into his shoulder, “think bigger.”
“A gift that can stop bullets?” he threw the idea out there.
She shook her head, “no, that would be an alteration gift.”
“The ability to control the elements? Weather and fire, something like that maybe?” he tried a little harder.
“Bigger,” she buried her head into his arm. “I’m talking about the power to control the minds of a thousand people at once, or the ability to lift entire land masses on command.”
“You mean demon gifts can lift islands?” he was astonished.
“No, I said entire land masses, not islands. They have the potency to overturn continents if they choose to do so,” she gravely informed him.
“That’s impossible. That kind of power doesn’t exist. Even if it did, why wouldn’t they have used it already?” he asked fervently.
“Blood, they need oceans of it to use that level of gift.” she was suddenly quiet.
He was speechless. A chill ran through his body. He knew what an ocean
of blood looked like. It seemed too eerie that she would mention such a gruesome thing. The memory of his recent dreams came back to him. It was too similar.
“Are you alright Zack?” she felt the change in his skin. He was flushed.
“No, it’s okay. I was just thinking of what that would take.” He became pale.
“Hundreds of thousands of people would have to die to let them evolve that far, to let them accrue that much power.” She let go of his arm. She turned him to face her. Then she pushed him back on the couch and propped herself above him again.
“That sounds terrible,” he responded as he tried to not stare at her seductive body. A twinge of pain rang through his head. A flash of the red ocean came from his memory. It was unnerving.
“There’s a catch too. The demon gift’s ability isn’t the worst part. They absorb their hosts in time.” She eased her grasp of his shoulders. She rested her head on his chest.
“They? These are abilities we’re talking about right? Not actual demons?” he worried over the thought. Her head was so close to his heart. It soothed him. Her words were terrifying but his pulse raced as she came closer.
“Demon gifts are abilities, Zack, not people. They have grown with each incarnation, with each vampire they appear in, taking on new attributes as they evolve. The longer a vampire lives and drinks blood, the more powerful the gift becomes until it asserts dominance. It forces the vampire’s mind out and controls the body directly. In essence, it kills the vampire host. That is why they are called demon gifts. They embody terrifying power, but are considered curses by everyone, since they come with the ultimate cost.”
His mind ached. He didn’t want to accept it but he had to. There were too many things that she had said that made sense to him. That she had shown him. Eventually he gave in. “Okay, I believe you.”
