Blood Song: Refrain (Blood Song Series Book 2)

by Charli B. Rose

  “I’ll make sure it’s a smooth flight for Celesta. And we’ll probably only be about thirty minutes later arriving than we originally planned.”

  “That’s perfect. Thank you, Jake.”

  “My pleasure.”

  After Jake left, I couldn’t contain my gratitude. I pressed my lips to Toven’s, catching him by surprise. It only took him a moment to respond and for his lips to soften and part beneath mine. When I’d kissed us both breathless, I pulled back. “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For talking me through my panic and bringing me back. And for asking the captain to go around the storm.”

  “I’d do anything for you.” His eyes were so tender as they gazed deeply into mine. My heart stuttered, causing him to smile.

  “It’s been a long time since anyone took care of me.” The truth of my statement made my heart ache.

  “Then I’d say it’s long overdue.” He bumped his nose against mine causing me to giggle, breaking the intensity of the moment.

  “Toven . . . I mean, Mr. Adams, here are your snacks,” Sarah announced in an annoyed tone.

  “Thank you. Just set them over on the table, and we’ll go over there in a few minutes.”

  “Will there be anything else?”

  “No, we shouldn’t need anything else for the rest of the flight. You can shut the privacy door until we’re approaching LAX.” He waved in the vicinity of the front of the plane.

  “Very well. You can just buzz for me should you need anything during the flight—beverage, blood, anything at all.”

  “Thanks,” he said dismissively.

  Toven hugged me tightly to him, our hearts thudding against each other. “When you were barely breathing and I couldn’t get you to answer me, I was so scared.”

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered in his ear and pressed a kiss to the hollow beneath it. He gave a low growl in response. His hands tightened on my hips.

  “We’d better go have those cookies before I get other snack ideas,” he teased.

  “I might like those other snack ideas. I’m not a member of the mile-high club yet.” I gave him a wink.

  “Don’t tempt me. I still don’t trust myself not to lose control. And if I were to start losing myself, this plane is too small for me to be able to put enough distance between us.”

  “OK,” I pouted. “I trust you. And one day soon, you’ll trust yourself too.”

  “I hope so,” he whispered. After pressing a kiss to the pulse point of my neck, he helped me get to my feet.

  Indulging in the mile-high snack fare served as a distraction for a little while from the fact that we were hurdling through the sky. But once we were done and my focus was no longer occupied by the succulent fruit, sweet cookies and tangy cheeses, my nerves started to rise again.

  “What can I do?” he asked, taking my hand in his.

  “Distract me,” I begged.

  “How?”

  “Well, you already vetoed what my first few suggestions would be,” I answered with a giggle.

  “Don’t tempt me.”

  “Let’s talk then.”

  “OK. About what?” His thumb stroked the back of my hand.

  “Well, there are so many things I want to know about you.”

  “Ask away. It’s not like I can run off if you ask the wrong thing.” He shrugged.

  “What would be the wrong thing?”

  Shaking his head, he said, “With you, probably nothing. For some reason, I want to be an open book with you.”

  “I can ask you about anything?” I couldn’t keep the excitement from my voice.

  “Yep. Be careful what you ask for though. I will answer honestly, so make sure you really want to know the answer,” he threatened.

  “So . . . Midnight Wing, huh?” I broached cautiously.

  He smirked at me. “I thought you might have figured that out. I wondered why you didn’t say anything after we left the club.”

  “Well, you looked truly horrified that someone might have made a connection between you and the 80s band, so I didn’t want to upset you. But I am curious about it.”

  “Yes, I was Lex, lead singer of Midnight Wing,” he admitted, sending the teenaged heart that lived deep within me into an all-out fan girl twitter.

  “Why were you going by Lex?”

  “Well, around the time I hooked up with the other guys that would go on to form Midnight Wing, I was tired of being Thoven and desperate for a new identity. I’d tried going by my middle name, Alexander, for a while. But that didn’t really sound like a rock god’s name. So, I shortened it to Lex, and a new identity was born. For a while, I thrived on the rush of performing to sold-out arenas, fans screaming my name, playing music for the sheer love of it. I was able to shake the monster persona. Being a rock star afforded me certain eccentricities. The women who came backstage were often so high they didn’t really understand what was going on. I could partake of the blood I needed with no one really being the wiser. No one remembered enough to call me a monster, and I was high enough through their own drug use that I didn’t have to face my own nature either. It was great.” He grew quiet, contemplative.

  “I’m sensing a but coming,” I gently prodded.

  “But . . . the more popular we became the more was demanded of us. Everyone wanted a piece of me. At first, I was honored. After a while though, I ran out of pieces I was willing to give. I wanted out. The music execs wouldn’t let me though. They were more concerned about their bank account balances than my sanity. Being in the public light made it hard to be me, hard to write music, hard to find peace and hard to get the sustenance I needed. The tripped-out groupie blood was tainted and soon became a problem for me. I was too much in the public eye. Back then, vampires were still just monsters from fictional books, not the bus driver or the doctor at the clinic or the lead singer of a rock band,” his voice was sad, tinged by his lack of acceptance.

  I frowned, remembering what I knew of the band that was before my time. “I thought the whole band died in a plane crash.”

  He chuckled. “Yeah, except for the one member of the band who was already dead.”

  “What happened?”

  “Well, much of the official story that was in the news was accurate. We were traveling by private plane across the country to start the East Coast leg of our tour. As we flew over the Appalachian Mountains, we started having some mechanical issues. The pilot was unable to get in touch with any nearby airports for assistance.” His eyes took on a faraway look, seeing the past rather than the present.

  My heart raced as his story fueled my own fears.

  “Are you sure you want to hear this story considering where we are and how you feel about that?”

  “I’m sure, just . . .” I fidgeted in my seat, not wanting to sound so needy.

  “Just what?”

  “Can you just hold me while you tell me?”

  He didn’t answer. He stood from his seat and lifted me out of mine. In a few long strides, he settled us back on the couch with me across his lap.

  “OK, so, where were we?” he asked, his palms rubbing my arms to expel the goosebumps.

  “The pilot was unable to contact anyone for help,” I reminded him.

  “Right. The plane quickly lost altitude. We all fastened our seatbelts and prayed. The guys had never made a big show of being religious before. But death can suddenly make a man find religion.”

  “I bet.” Hurtling through the heavens had certainly made me find it a time or two.

  “The wings were ripped off in a loud screeching sound as we streaked through the forest. The nose finally crashed into the ground, killing the pilot and co-pilot on impact. The stewardesses were thrown from the plane because they hadn’t managed to fasten their seatbelts before the quick drop in altitude. A large tree branch crashed through right where the drummer sat, killing him instantly. The branch pinned in our bassist. The guitarist was beside me.”

  My heart thundered as I imag
ined the scene. “That must have been so scary for you.”

  “Honestly, a part of me was relieved that everything might finally just be over. I’d grown weary of everything about my life and who I was. And I was so tired of being a monster.”

  I didn’t say anything. I didn’t really know what to say, so I just hugged him tightly.

  “The guitarist and bassist were still alive, and we talked about how we could get help. I tried to crawl out, but the pain was excruciating. My legs were shattered by the tree branch, and something had stuck into my abdomen. I still tried to stand, but then I passed out for a while from my injuries.” He shuddered beneath me, reliving the pain.

  “Oh, my gosh,” I gasped.

  “The strong smell of blood finally roused me. While I was out, the other guys had died. Their hearts no longer beat. Over the coppery scent of their blood and the stench of death, the air was filled with the smell of jet fuel. I knew it was only a matter of time before some spark ignited the whole wreckage. And though after the crash, I welcomed the thought of surrendering to the eternal emptiness, I couldn’t bring myself to wait for my funeral pyre. Instead, I dragged myself out of the plane and a safe distance away.” He rested his forehead against mine and closed his eyes for a moment.

  “How long did it take for your injuries to heal?”

  “I’m not sure. The plane exploded, incinerating everything. I fell asleep. I must have healed while I slept. I woke to the sound of rescue crews finding no one left alive to rescue. They put out the fire. Something kept me from calling out to them. They left, and I stayed hidden in the mountains. When I finally made my way back to civilization, looking a lot worse for wear, I found the whole world mourning the tragic loss of every member of the band Midnight Wing, including me.”

  “But how did no one recognize you?”

  “Well, I dyed my hair while I was in the band, so I let it go back to its natural color, and I cut off all the long locks. I’d lived for so many years with long hair that I decided a lot of change was in order. I changed my hair, changed my name back and quit performing music. I retreated and just composed. I became a recluse. I sold my songs when I could.” He shrugged like it was no big deal to go from being a star on top of the world to being a nobody. “I was content with living in the shadows for a long while. Then you came along and dragged me back into the light.”

  “You belong in the light.” I didn’t expand. I knew he wasn’t ready for me to convince him. Laying my lips against his, I spoke my feelings through my kiss rather than through my words. I only prayed he was speaking my language.

  He pulled away leaving me breathless. “No trying to seduce me,” he playfully scolded.

  “I’m quite certain that you are utterly un-seducible.”

  “You underestimate your powers. But before you test that theory, do you have another question for me?”

  “There is something I’ve been wondering about for a long while now. But I don’t want to make you mad or for you to think I’m being critical of your work.”

  “You could never make me mad. Ask away.” His face was filled with curiosity.

  I drew in a deep breath. It was now or never. “Toven, I’ve read through hundreds of pages of lyrics written by you.”

  He nodded, but with confusion on his face because he couldn’t see where I was going.

  “You’ve written stanzas about heaven and hell, women, rock and roll, partying, day and night, light and dark, fire and ice, loss, death, life, colors, even about a damn phone number.” I ticked the items off on my fingers.

  A perplexed look covered his face as he grabbed one of my hands and laced it with his. “Is there a question in there somewhere?”

  “I’m getting there. You’ve written words that cover nearly every component of the human experience. Your words have made me laugh, cry, cringe, hope. You’ve run my heart through a myriad of emotions as I read through your words to understand you better. But I noticed something is missing from your song topics.”

  “OK . . ..” A frown marred his perfect features. He had no clue where I was going with this whole conversation. I looked down at our intertwined fingers.

  “Why do none of your songs talk about love or even heartbreak? Those topics are very relevant to music in every generation. Nothing can make a heart sing like love can, and nothing can make a heart rage like heartbreak.” I hazarded a glance up at him.

  Understanding crossed his features before he carefully schooled them into a look of neutral detachment.

  “I can’t write what I don’t know. Song lyrics are a personal expression of the writer’s life and experiences. I’ve written no songs about love because I haven’t ever been in love. I’m pretty sure that’s part of my curse. The vampire heart seems to be incapable of anything as selfless as love. And that’s why all of this,” he said, waving his hand around to encompass everything in our surroundings, “will be over soon for me.”

  “What do you mean this will be all over soon?” It was my turn to frown in confusion.

  “I’m running out of time.” His voice was barely audible as he spoke words that hit my heart like a sonic boom.

  “Toven, you’re scaring me. What are you talking about? You’re immortal . . .. Time is one thing you can never run out of. You mentioned something the other night about your situation that made it sound like you were going to jail or dying. I just swept it aside as nonsense in the heat of the moment. But now . . ..”

  “But my freedom has an expiration date. Life as I’ve lived it for the past ninety-nine years has a planned finale.” A humorless chuckle escaped his lips as he shifted me to the seat beside him.

  “I’m so confused. Please explain.” The thought of Toven running out of time was scaring me, even though I didn’t understand the implications of his words.

  “There’s so much I haven’t explained to you about my past.” He dragged his fingers through his hair in frustration.

  “I don’t care about your past. I care about your now and your tomorrow.” I gripped his bicep, trying to anchor him to me.

  “That’s just it. Cassandra, my creator, owns my past, and she’ll soon own my future. All I have is right now.”

  “Your cryptic talk isn’t clearing anything up.”

  “To understand, I have to tell you about a dark point in my life. I was the lowest I’d ever been. I don’t know if I have the strength to tell you about my weakness.” His eyes were filled with sorrow and regret.

  His words and expression really frightened me. But I had to understand what he was talking about. I had to hide my apprehension about what he was going to share.

  “Well, I’m a captive audience, and we have plenty of time. Toven, talk to me please. It isn’t good to keep these feelings locked inside.”

  “I was never really happy once I was turned. I mean, for a while it was exciting and thrilling. I lived it up for about fifty years. But there were always parts that I struggled to stomach. The longer I was part of Cassandra’s . . . harem, the more of myself I lost. Everything I ever found enjoyment in didn’t matter. The world full of beauty and colors that had inspired so much of my music had faded to a dull gray. What music I did create was angry and rage filled. I lost my family, my friends, my music, my passion, my joy, myself. When I looked in the mirror, I didn’t recognize the reflection staring back at me. I didn’t like who I’d become. I wasn’t just a monster in the literal sense that I needed to hurt people in order to live. I became a monster in a different sense of the word. I no longer cared about the well-being of those I encountered. I had hollow sex; it wasn’t just meaningless. I didn’t even really derive pleasure from it anymore. It scratched a physical itch. It made the blood taste better, but it eroded something inside me.”

  He paused and didn’t seem as if he wanted to continue. I hated seeing the pain in his eyes. I took his hand in both of mine, silently giving him my support. His words hadn’t run me away yet.

  “After existing as a vampire for ninety-four yea
rs, I’d finally reached rock bottom. I hadn’t written a song in five years. There was no more music inside me. I had no desire to sit at a piano anymore, because sitting there for days still produced nothing. My only purpose in life was gone. It wasn’t just though. I began to see the potential to fall even further into darkness. Some things transpired that really made me spiral. And I was just over it. I was ready to be put out of my misery. I went to visit an old priest who I’d known for a long while. Father Elmo was a good man. He knew what I was, but he never looked at me as if I was one of the damned. I begged him to do the righteous thing and rid the world of the abomination I’d become. I wasn’t brave enough to stake myself through the heart, but I hoped to appeal to a godly man.” His chin dropped to his chest, and his shoulders curved inward

  “Oh, Toven.” My heart ached with his pain.

  “Father Elmo didn’t believe in taking a life, even one as horrible as mine. Even though I openly confessed to being a murderer, he told me that I wasn’t beyond the reach of God’s forgiveness or love. I thought I could horrify him with all the depraved sex Cassandra had forced me into and that I’d willingly participated in. He admonished me and said God’s forgiveness was more powerful than anything I could’ve done. I even stalked up to him and bared my fangs. He just launched into a prayer for me. For me. Praying that God would open my eyes to forgiveness and love.” Toven shook his head in disbelief.

  He stood and began to pace the length of the plane’s cabin. He was like a tiger confined to a cage that was ten times too small. I could feel the pain and helplessness rolling off him in waves. I longed to take it away and replace it with peace and joy and . . . love.

  “Father Elmo ultimately believed salvation was available to my kind as well. He didn’t think our souls were gone just because we were turned. He recognized that the illness—that’s what he called it, an illness—made us more animalistic in our urges and actions. But he felt there was still good buried beneath the animal. His mother had been turned years earlier. He always believed she could be saved.”

  ♪ Saint Elmo’s Fire by John Parr