Vampire, Hunter

by Maria Arnt

  “You know what I mean,” he growled.

  “Okay, yeah.” It was a hell of a lot better than what she had been imagining.

  “Swear it,” he demanded, taking a step towards her.

  “Okay, okay! I promise I will show up for your stupid obedience classes tomorrow,” she spat at him, hugging herself tightly.

  He pressed his lips together, looking as if he had half a mind to take back his earlier promise not to hit her. “It will do,” he ground out, and then turned to punch a series of numbers into the keypad next to the door. When it unlocked, he opened it, took one last look at her, swore under his breath, and slammed it behind him.

  She collapsed onto her knees, shaking. Good job, Tanya, she thought. You have well and truly fucked this up.

  Throwing the Jaguar Coupe into gear, Seth pulled out into traffic and started heading for the Galleria. He’d been avoiding it lately, not wanting to become too familiar, but at this hour, in this mood, he didn’t have a lot of options.

  How did this go so wrong? he wondered, the thought pounding in his head, turning and twisting his mind in circles and spirals. How could he have misjudged her so badly? First as to how she would take the change as a whole, and now this?

  He resisted the urge to let loose the roaring engine and barrel down the unusually clear highway, unsure how he would handle a police officer at the moment. It had been a very long time since his temper had gotten the better of him, but it was ever a close struggle. And it had been a very, very long time since anyone had said something so terrible to him.

  How could she? Who did she think she was, accusing him of—of.... He ground his teeth together and took a deep breath. Say it, he told himself. Face it, or it will rule you. “She accused me of raping her,” he told the dark and empty leather interior. His voice shook, and he gripped the steering wheel tighter.

  Where had he gone wrong, that she would think such a thing? The very thought of it, of anyone doing such a thing to her, was enraging. That she thought he would was... unbearable.

  At the Galleria, he confirmed his membership and did a quick sweep of the rooms. The usual display of depravity held little fascination for him, but he spied what he was looking for in one corner of the second room. Fresh meat, a young woman with little to no experience looking for something more exciting than the usual deadbeats that passed for men in this era.

  A quick introduction and a few questions, and she was more than willing to find a secluded corner to share with him. He was rougher than he should have been, his eyes closed as he drank deeply, the taste of her blood just different enough from Tatiana’s to keep him from losing himself.

  Her protests were all an act, as he had guessed, and when he pulled away she seemed disappointed that it was over. He smoothed away just the edges of the wound, leaving something for her to remember him by. He would certainly forget her long before it faded.

  As unsatisfying as the exchange had been—and he knew only a ka would have sated him in this temper—it had the effect of clearing his head. On the drive home, he was able to think more clearly, to try and deduce why Tatiana had reacted so violently, and how he might repair the damage, even use the situation to his advantage.

  He had waited a very long time for this, and he was not willing to give up just yet.

  Eventually, Tanya managed to drag herself up to the bathroom. She had glimpsed it the night before but hadn’t realized how fancy it was. It was incredible, granite tile floors with big fluffy rugs, marble sinks like huge bowls that had graceful, swan-like faucets that turned on with a touch. There was a glass-walled steam shower with a rainfall head, which she was seriously tempted to try, just to spite Seth.

  But she had experienced one too many panic attacks already, and she wasn’t willing to risk it. She went to the bath, which was more like a hot tub sunk into the floor, with room enough for three people. There was a console on one corner, where sure enough, she could set exactly what temperature she wanted. She fiddled with the buttons until it said 100, and then watched it fill rapidly from six separate jets.

  She went back to the counter and looked at herself in the mirror. She was a mess, perfect or not. What, exactly, had happened to her? Was Seth telling the truth, or was it all some kind of ploy to gaslight her? Maybe he was capable of a more subtle control than the one he had demonstrated.

  Maybe he didn’t know he was doing it.

  The sound of a soft chime alerted her that the bath was full, and she stripped off her clothes. She had never seen herself naked since the change, at least not in full light, she realized. She was more than a little surprised at what she saw in her reflection.

  She’d always had parts here and there that she was fond of, her long slender neck, the small of her back, with its two little dimples. Her calves weren’t bad either, especially on the rare occasion when she wore heels.

  Now, every part of her had that same perfect look to it. There was just a hint of muscle under her flat stomach, and her hips showed in a nice contrast to her waist, the hourglass shape she’d barely hinted at before more pronounced now. Her breasts, although still not as big as her preteen expectations, were larger than they had been, and more shapely. She turned to get a look at her back and saw that she had gained the elusive line of definition between her butt and thighs that no amount of squats had been able to create before.

  Dammit, but I look good naked.

  She scowled and walked away from the mirror. She didn’t want to like the way she looked. She didn’t want to like anything about what had happened to her. She made her way to the tub, sticking just a toe in to test the temperature.

  The temperature was just fine, but the water felt... weird. Wetter, somehow, like it clung to her, even after she jerked her foot back. Belatedly she realized that was the effect of her new, hyperactive senses, and immediately went back to loathing her new body. She was determined to wash Seth off, though, so she stuck her foot back in and pushed through the weird sensation.

  It took her a good ten minutes to get all the way into the tub, with the water up to her neck. She leaned back against the shelf that ran along the side and tried to relax. She could wash her hair once she’d gotten used to the feel of the water.

  While she waited for her body to acclimate itself, she turned her thoughts back to Seth and this latest mess he’d put her in. The thing that irritated her the most was that he made a good point about her not protesting. She’d just been so wrapped up in what was happening, she hadn’t had time to think about it.

  Not even when he asked you? some annoying corner of her mind asked. And her new, perfect memory was more than happy to supply her with every detail of her skanky response. She shuddered, causing ripples on the surface of the water. Was that something she would do, really? It had been a good year since she had even bothered trying to get some, and the experience had been so disappointing she’d kind of given up on guys for the time being. It just didn’t seem to be worth the bother when she didn’t have time for an actual relationship.

  By now she’d gotten used to the water enough to wash her hair. There was a small set of shelves set into the wall that held a candle, a small fern-like plant, and a couple toiletries. Among them was a shampoo that had an almost non-existent floral smell, and a bar of soft, lemon-scented soap. She used both, realizing conditioner was a moot point when her hair was perfect. As she scrubbed her skin carefully, she discovered that she didn’t need to shave her legs or armpits, either.

  She wondered if all of her would remain just the same as it had been when she’d been changed, and tried to remember if she’d thought to shave just before she went out to kill Seth. She ran a hand through her hair, short as it was. She’d always wanted to grow it back out, although who knew when she could have done so—she didn’t exactly have plans to retire from vampire hunting, even if she did find her attacker.

  She also found her scar and examined it closely in the bright light above the tub. It was exactly as she remembered, two silvery arc
s, one running along the big vein on the inside of her elbow, the other on the outside edge. Tanya wondered why it was still there when all her other scars had healed in her transformation. The memory of that night remained crystal clear as well, and with a sickening lurch she realized that she felt much the same as she had when she woke up in the hospital. Vulnerable, weak, confused, and violated. She hated it.

  Finally clean, at least on the outside, she leaned back against the tub. She felt a rush of fatigue, and wondered what time it was, or more accurately how long before sunrise. Distantly she wondered what would happen if she just stayed here, in the water, until she passed out. It was certainly deep enough to drown in. When would Seth be back? Could a vampire drown?

  With a sigh, she stood from the water, feeling each droplet as it scurried down her skin. She didn’t really want to die, she knew. She grabbed a towel—bamboo terry cloth, she recognized—and gently dried herself off. What she really did want, though, she wasn’t sure.

  12

  Tanya made her way down the stairs the next evening, not sure what she would find. Seth was sitting in the living room, and on the coffee table, she recognized the box of scents he had put off for today. He didn’t look up, but his head turned towards her a little at the sound of her footsteps.

  “Please have a seat,” he gestured to the couch adjacent to his chair. She sat, albeit on the far end.

  He rubbed a finger against his top lip pensively, and finally looked up at her, wary. “I feel I owe you an... explanation,” he said.

  More like a fucking apology, she thought viciously. “Okay,” she said instead and crossed her arms.

  “When a Master turns a human and makes that human his child, a bond forms,” he began, in what she was beginning to think of as his ‘Professor Walker’ voice. “You are familiar with one aspect of that bond, the mental control a Master can exert over his children. It is forged during the change, and is a physical, mental, and emotional dependence of the child upon the Master,” he explained.

  She raised her eyebrows. “So, what, you thought I’d just spontaneously developed Stockholm Syndrome?” She scoffed. “I haven’t even been here a week.”

  His eyebrows twitched, and he pressed his lips together. “I knew you would not be as dependent on me as most,” he went on. “You are a very independent young woman, and very strong. But I had not anticipated that you would be so resistant to any connection whatsoever.” He made it sound like she was being a stubborn, spoiled brat.

  She snorted. “Yeah, because you’re so likable. You’ve done so much to make me like you.”

  Seth shifted in his seat—clearly she had hit a nerve. “From my perspective, I have. I have given you everything. But I had not considered the cost of my gift, what you would have to pay.”

  Is he... is he actually going to apologize? she wondered. If he did, could she forgive him? She held her breath, waiting for his next words.

  “I will endeavor not to repeat that mistake,” he said instead.

  Ugh, what an asshole. “Did you keep your end of the bargain?” She asked. If he hadn’t, there was no way she was going to put up with this crap.

  He shot her a cutting look. “Of course. I know a man’s word isn’t counted for much these days, but I still keep the old ways,” he snarled.

  Ooh, was he in a temper. She sniffed, refusing to be intimidated. “Well, here I am, so I guess that makes us both men of our words,” she jabbed.

  The corner of his mouth twitched as if he was trying not to smile. “Indeed.” In one fluid motion, he unfolded and leaned forward to open the box. He pulled out a tiny jar of cotton, placed it on the coffee table, and slid it towards the other end.

  Tanya put out her hand, catching it before it could fall off. She wasn’t as graceful or nonchalant about it as she would have liked, but it didn’t crash on the floor. Opening it, she took a sniff and the smell of fresh-cut grass flooded her senses.

  “Scent is a powerful tool, Tatiana.” He leaned back in his chair again, gripping the arms and stretching out his long legs. “It can tell us what has happened, who has come and gone, what the weather will do. It is the most immediate trigger of memory and can remind us of our loved ones long after they have gone. What does this one make you think of?”

  Closing her eyes, she remembered. “Summer. My dad, mowing. Sticky evenings, and fresh watermelon. The sun...” she gasped, the image of the sun burning through her memory. It hurt, and yet she felt grief wash through her. When would she ever see it again? Would she ever have the chance to just lay back and feel its warmth sink through her skin and into her bones?

  She felt hands, gentle and strong, on her own, and opened her eyes to see Seth take the bottle away and close it. He was crouched next to where she sat, and turned to put it back in the box. “Perhaps I have rushed you,” he said softly. When he turned back, his face was full of concern. He reached out to touch her face, and she flinched away.

  Her hand shot up, and she felt the tears. She hadn’t even been aware she was crying. She scrubbed them away. “No. Give me the next one.” She sniffed, trying to clear her nose.

  Seth pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and held it out. She laughed in spite of her tears.

  “What?” He frowned down at the proffered white square of cotton.

  “You would carry a handkerchief,” she laughed, taking it to dry her eyes. “No one uses these anymore.” But Nana had. She’d always had a clean hanky stashed in a pocket or a sleeve, ready to dry tears or sniffles or skinned knees.

  He shrugged. “Old habits die hard,” he smiled.

  Her breath hitched in her throat. Why did he have to be so damn considerate sometimes? Why couldn’t he be consistently an asshole, and as ugly on the outside as he was on the inside to boot? She sat there, clutching the handkerchief, trying to decide if he was genuinely sorry or if he was just trying to manipulate her.

  “Give me the next one,” she held out her hand.

  He sat on the coffee table, pulling the box over towards them. “It may be easier to process these if we continue talking,” he suggested.

  “Okay,” she took the bottle he handed her. “What do we talk about?” She smelled oranges as soon as she opened it.

  “I thought perhaps you might like to ask me some questions,” he reasoned.

  Tanya handed back the jar, frowning. “Yeah. Is my hair always going to be this short?”

  He smiled. “It doesn’t have to. If you want your hair to grow, it will.”

  “What? How?” She smelled the next bottle, some kind of flower. Roses maybe.

  He took a deep breath, thinking. “You’ll be wanting a scientific answer, and I don’t have one,” he said, sighing.

  “So, magic?” She raised an eyebrow.

  “I think there probably is a scientific reason, I just don’t know it. I think eventually science will find a practical reason for everything, including magic. But it is a very new religion, science, and it will need some time to gain that kind of power,” Seth mused.

  “Wait... science isn’t a religion,” she protested. “I wouldn’t say it’s the total opposite of religion because there’s lots of religious scientists. But there’s no ten commandments of science—”

  “There are laws of science,” he argued. “The Empirical Method, Newton’s laws of motion, Einstein’s Laws of Quantum Physics.”

  “Yeah, but governments have laws too,” she pointed out.

  “And they are a sort of religion as well,” Seth continued. “They are a belief system which guides and directs a person’s behavior, shapes their view of the world, and which they are emotionally attached to. Have you ever met a truly patriotic person? How different are they from a religious fanatic?”

  He had a point there. She wanted to press the subject, but she sensed somehow that she wouldn’t get anywhere. “This is a weird argument,” she said instead, shutting it down.

  He chuckled. “Forgive me. I may have spent entirely too much time in Academia. This
most recent post at the museum is only the latest in nearly a century’s worth of scholarly work, all told. Did you have another question?”

  She sighed, lingering over the particular scent she had in her hand. Chocolate. “Sure. How did you turn me into a vampire?”

  Blinking, he leaned back. “What?”

  Tanya rolled her eyes and rephrased the question. “How does a vampire turn a human into another vampire?”

  He frowned and pressed his lips into a thin line. Rubbing his hands together, he looked everywhere in the room but at her. “Tatiana, I can’t tell you that, not yet,” he said regretfully.

  “Why not?”

  “The knowledge of how to turn someone is a closely guarded secret. At least, it should be—it used to be. A Master should not tell a child that until he has discerned that they are ready for the responsibility.”

  Raising her eyebrows, she put down the bottle. “You really think I’m going to make someone into a vampire?”

  “Well, no, not now, obviously, but...” he seemed to be searching for words.

  “But what?” She pressed.

  Seth gave her a hard, assessing look. “Immortality does strange things to people’s personalities. By the time they become a Master, they could be a completely different person. Or exactly who they were. It depends.”

  “Depends on what?”

  “Many factors,” he explained, resting his elbows on his knees and steepling his fingers. “The age of the human is important, younger changelings tend to be more volatile because their personalities have not yet been fully developed. The care that is provided them in the first few decades is also very important, which I suppose is true of human children as well. But sometimes...” he trailed off.

  “Go on,” she started taking the jars out of the box herself so he could concentrate on what he was saying.

  He shook his head. “Sometimes, they just... go mad with the power.”

  That stopped her in her tracks. “Why? What happens?”