by Jeff Schanz
Her eyes were closed as he tried to meet them. She tilted her head back and inhaled silently (a good sign). Though her body was still quivering, she wasn't making any motions to pull away. Her brows twitched nervously like something was brewing in her head. She tensed and squinted, her mouth trembling.
Brandt was fidgeting. He better understood now Lia’s anxiety when she had essentially offered herself and he had wavered. She had seen it as a denial. I’m sorry Lia. I was just confused. Still am. But I do want you.
As had happened so many times before, Lia seemed to sense his mind. Her arms raised and rested on his shoulders. Her lips trembled. Then her eyes opened. They were an almost neon, more brilliant than he had recalled them ever being before. They stared intensely back like she could burn holes through his pupils. The simplest way to describe her look was “hungry.”
Oh, thank God. Brandt tightened his arms around her, but it wasn’t necessary. Lia encircled her arms around his neck and pulled herself up to him, pressing into him with more force than he thought a woman could. It was all he could do to keep his balance, or they would both be laying on the ground momentarily. Might be a good thing. Later. She ate at his lips and tongue with a ravenous fever. He responded with equal vigor. Her hands found the back of his head and raked through his hair. His hands multi-tasked by caressing her back and head at the same time. Ambidextrous skills. Despite her slender figure, she was strong. As he lifted her to gain balance, he noticed that she was much lighter than he expected. Extremely. Like a toy. Maybe a third of the weight he would expect. Maybe a quarter. His brain couldn’t be functioning properly. It had been fritzing out before he was lip-locked with this beautiful woman, so it was probably even less trustworthy now that his hormones were running all bodily operations. So, she’s light. Even better when she’s on top of me. He was getting ahead of himself, but it didn’t seem like a crazy leap. She pulled her mouth away to kiss and lick his neck. He grasped her buttocks. Her response was a slight moan and a fervent ear kiss. He caressed everything he could reach, then decided to do something that might seem mundane, yet was one of his favorite things.
He loved the underside of a woman’s neck. Besides the typical things, the throat of a woman was the most sensuous thing to him. He pressed his mouth under her chin and she responded by tilting her head all the way back. She put her hands behind his head and encouraged his exploration. He kissed, nibbled, and caressed her exquisite throat with his mouth. She shivered even more and gripped his head with her hands, pulling him tighter. It was like she was in a passionate trance. He worked his way up to her jaw, then her chin. He was not done with her neck, but he needed her lips again. Those incredible, edible, electric lips of hers. He brought his hands to both sides of her face and angled her mouth closer to his. He looked at her wet lips, drinking in their bright red color. They seemed vibrantly crimson now. Her tongue licked them like she was prepared to dine on him. Though her eyes were closed again, her nervousness had faded. No more trembling. Just ecstasy and hunger. Her lips parted. He moved toward her.
And froze.
There was something wrong with her teeth. Very wrong. He had seen people with long canines before, but nothing like this. Two extremely long and slender objects extended down about an inch and a half past the other teeth, protruding from an odd cylindrical pocket of gum, and tapering into needle-sharp tips. Her mouth pulled farther apart as she came closer to his neck. The two lethal-looking teeth pulsed a little inside their raised sockets. For all the world, they resembled a serpent’s fangs.
Brandt shuddered and involuntarily pulled back. Lia began to close her mouth, and as she did, the fangs pivoted and tucked themselves inward just like a snake. A small little chirp of surprise emitted from Brandt’s throat. Lia came out of her rapturous trance and looked into Brandt’s eyes. Seeing his horror, she panicked.
She clapped both her hands across her mouth and took two steps back. Her eyes grew wide with fear. Falling to the ground, she scrambled backward like a crab until she was stopped by the stone wall. She looked like the horror movie victim who just found the killer in her closet.
Brandt was oblivious to that. He took a step back himself, numbly. His body was robotic and his mind was on fire. He simply couldn’t think past the image he just saw.
She has snake fangs. Fangs! She’s… She’s a….
But she couldn’t be. No one could be. There was a rational explanation for what he just saw. But he did see it. He was sure his eyes worked fine. Those things weren’t some misshapen canines or crooked teeth that resembled fangs. She had real, functioning, retractable, serpent-like fangs.
He had seen her with her mouth open plenty of times and never saw fangs before. Where did they come from? Why now? What the hell was she? Certainly, there were no such things as…
He seemed to notice Lia’s dismay for the first time. She was sobbing against the stone wall, curled into a fetal ball, arms thrown over her head. A part of Brandt wanted to walk over to her, cradle her, and tell her everything was all right. But the other more paranoid part of Brandt was running the show.
Nothing was all right. Lia had told him there were things about her that she needed to show him. Things he needed to know. Now he knew.
What do I know? He didn’t understand what he just saw. He had no idea how to react or what to say, and no idea what it meant. But his damaged brain was telling him what it thought it meant. She’s a vampire.
Lia picked herself up slowly, using the wall for support. She glanced at Brandt for a moment, then turned away from him again.
Brandt couldn't move. His rational side wanted to go to her and assure her whatever it was it was all right. But it wasn't. The paranoid part of him wanted to get away from her. But he didn't do that either. He stood stock-still and stammered, “What…?” The need to say something was pressing. Words were about to tumble out of his mouth, pushed by his dysfunctional brain to address the awkward situation, but as the phrases flew by in his head, nothing was right. What are those? No. What’s wrong with you? No. Why do you have fangs? No. Were you going to bite me? No. Nothing was properly prepared to be voiced, but words came out anyway. His feverish and faulty brain opened his mouth and out came, “What are you?”
Through breath-halting sobs, she answered, “You see me as a monster.”
Again, he wanted to respond with something tactful, but the paranoid side of him just kept saying, vampire, vampire, vampire. His reasoning wasn’t working with so much irrational noise.
“I don't…” he started and wasn't sure how to finish it. “It's just…” he started again, and couldn't go in that direction. Lia was looking at him like he was the monster, even though she was the one with the fangs. He tried to justify his stuttering. “I'm sorry, but it almost looks like you’re a… But you couldn’t be a vam…” He stopped himself. He shouldn’t have started that sentence and instantly regretted uttering it. There was nothing in those words that could possibly make things better. He expected her to scream, or swear, or throw something, or laugh at him because he was crazy, or just storm away. But she did none of those things.
She stood up, straightened her back, and pressed her dress flat against her waist. He sniffed and forced her tears back, making only one move to swipe her cheek with her sleeve. She was gaining composure slowly.
“You were going to say vampire,” she said, contempt undisguised. “And I assume you already have preconceived notions as to what that means.”
Brandt was utterly dumbstruck. Was that an admission, or some kind of baited question? Was he misinterpreting her words? “You’re not saying you’re a…? You’re actually a…?”
“What I am is a woman,” she said with a haughty air. “My affliction does not define my identity. I am Natalia Viktorovna Zakharyina, daughter of Viktor Zakharyin, and heir to the titles of Zakharyin and Romanov. But for your simple mind, you will have a simple answer. Yes, you may call me a vampire.”
CHAPTER 7
&
nbsp; There it was. Just like that. Just freaking like that!? She’s a vampire?
That’s insane! She can’t be. Vampires don’t exist. They are scientifically impossible. There are no real vampires.
His cautious, argumentative side disagreed. She knows what she is. She just said it herself.
No, she’s confused. There’s no way… She has to be delusional. Vampires aren’t real.
…A pale person who doesn’t need to eat? But she did eat. A little.
…Who glides when she walks? So? She’s agile.
…Who can’t take the sun? She’s photosensitive.
…Who weighs as much as a house cat? Your brain is dysfunctional. You could be mistaken.
…Who has fangs?
They weren't an unsightly blemish or aesthetically unpleasing physical trait like webbed feet or a large nose. Those fangs were designed for some specific deadly purpose.
Brandt’s mind was churning. He began to shuffle sideways, then took several steps back. It was an unconscious act, but Lia noticed.
Brandt’s face was a muddled mess of incomprehension, incredulity, and fear. His survival mode was revving up higher. He had just been told that there was an undead blood-craven creature standing in front of him, who might have just been about to sink her teeth into his neck, and he was standing there frozen like every dumbass, horror movie victim he had ever seen. You need to move. Figure out things later. Move now!
His expression and actions were probably interpreted by Lia as revulsion, as her stony stare inferred that she had seen enough.
“Now you know. Do as you will,” she said with indifference.
She turned and stiffly marched back towards the house. Her form seemed to disappear into the inky distance.
Brandt stayed where he was. He knew he needed to do something, but he had no idea what the something should be. His mind was still occupied with trying to make sense of what was unbelievable. All the little clues that had been bouncing around in his skull were falling into their slots like roulette balls wiggling into a spinning wheel.
Maybe the clothes she wears were the fashion she was used to when she was alive.
She probably killed that chicken with her teeth, which was why the blood was on her chest and not lower on the apron.
Her skin turned pink after she drank the chicken’s blood. It refreshed her.
She doesn’t use their kitchen because she doesn’t need food. Their kitchen...? They!?
Was there a “they?” Lia’s father? Brandt had doubted the father existed, but now that Brandt’s concept of reality had been shattered, maybe the father was a vampire too.
Batman. Glowing yellow eyes. Wings. Causes me to faint.
Holy shit.
And if the father was a vampire, what would he do to Brandt now that Lia was done with him? Why had they even brought him here? For his blood? For their amusement? To turn him into a Renfield-like slave, a craven beast that needs his master to supply him with blood and bugs? Was Lia just bored and wanted a plaything for a while, and then they’d dispose of him? These all sounded insane even to his befuddled brain, but what was the truth? If Lia was a vampire, then her father probably was a vampire. They had brought Brandt to their island for a reason, and he was a pawn in some game of theirs, which he did not understand.
He needed to take control of his situation. Whatever the situation may call for, he wasn’t going to figure it out by standing here like an idiot. Like prey.
Brandt’s feet moved faster. He had no idea where he was going, he just needed to move. He needed to be as far away from Lia and the house as this island would allow, to buy time until he could sort things out. He headed for the same little cove he had visited when he was blindly looking for a way off the island. Maybe there was a cave there to hold up in. It wasn’t a certainty, but it was better than nowhere. He started sprinting.
* * * *
Tobias stood at the helm of the sloop, scanning the horizon. The sloop wasn’t a large craft, needing only one-man crew. It wasn't the optimum sized boat that anyone would want to sail around in the open ocean. However, that wasn't its purpose tonight. It was being used for stealth. A sailing craft made virtually no noise and could approach an island unheard as long as no one was looking out to sea and saw a sail. But at the witching hour of four o'clock in the morning, which would be the time they planned to get there, he suspected nobody would be.
The island was a dark silhouette ahead. They were miles away from it. Tobias knew there may be residents on the island with exceptional hearing, and was gauging at what distance to cut free of the towing boat.
The client’s launch, a 38-foot luxury Chris Craft, slowly motored through the chop, pulling the little sloop behind it. Three other men were on the launch, aka towboat. Two of them were Tobias’ fellow assassins, plus a third man piloting the towboat. The pilot was the client’s right-hand man named Alex. Tobias didn’t like Alex. The man had the broadest shoulders he’d ever seen, and though he was the quiet type, he looked like he’d just assume rip Tobias’ head off if the client gave him permission. And Tobias wagered Alex might just be strong enough to do it.
Tobias had stayed in the sloop to make sure everything was in place. He needed to prepare a few things, including the C4 charges in the forward hold to sink the sloop. Once the mission was over, he expected to dispose of the boat and possibly the other men, and he didn’t want the men to see him plant the devices. Although he disliked killing his own men, sometimes it was necessary for his survival. He planned to live a very, very long time, and no one else’s life would get in the way of that goal. And this mission was a huge leap toward his goal. Once he was satisfied with his preparations, and the distance to the island, the two other men would join him in the sloop.
Tobias set timers on the C4 in case he was too far away from the sloop to detonate them effectively. He had a remote to cancel or delay the timers if needed. When he was finished, he went back on deck.
Tobias breathed in the heavy, moist air. He had lived in the interior of Los Angeles all of his life, unlike the other two mercenaries, so he was unused to the fresh air and wanted to soak it in before he had to put on his battle face. Metaphoric battle face. The other two men had actually smeared their Caucasian faces with black paint for their own battle prep. Tobias had ebony black skin which wasn’t even shiny. He was naturally prepared for the jobs he did. And despite the tongue lashing he received from the client the other night, he felt he did his job exceptionally well.
His clients were exclusive, and he had never given up a single shred of information on any of them to authorities, despite sitting across the interrogation table from an FBI tandem once. He got locked up for that one, but he told them nothing, and he never would. It was bad business to do anything else. And business was good at the moment. Even though this current client was the strangest, most freakish person he had ever worked for, it didn't matter to Tobias. No part of the client's personality or idiosyncrasies ever matters if the check cleared. Child molester, murderer, third-world dictator, none of it mattered. There were never good-hearted clients out there that wanted to pay Tobias to kill people. It was a lesson he learned the first day on the job. Clients don’t matter, just the job and the fee. And if clients bailed or double-crossed him, Tobias also wouldn’t hesitate in eliminating them as well. Tobias lost the pretense of morality a long time ago, and it didn’t bother him anymore. He had a place in the world doing a job that had been around for thousands of years.
That said, this was the strangest job he had yet been a part of. Two reasons: One, he was not killing the main target. Both of the important secondary targets, yes, but not the primary. He had an issue with people staying alive, discounting clients, who could identify him. But he was assured the primary would die by other means, and would not ever be able to identify him. And the second reason, the client was paying him the least amount of cash he had ever received in fee. He was receiving something else more valuable t
han all the money he had.
It was the most amazing thing he had ever known. He had the vial of it in his pocket. A single vial of it wasn’t enough to permanently do what he wanted it to do, but it was still amazing. After he injected it, he felt invincible. Stronger than he’d ever felt, more aware, more energy, and he healed unnaturally fast. It was like cocaine mixed with steroids, but instead of it destroying your body, it made it better. Better enough to extend his lifespan more than threefold if he got the full complement of elixir. Though hard to prove the lifespan claims, of course, he had seen enough to believe that the elixir might just work as advertised. All he had to do was be his client’s man for a few jobs and Tobias was promised a case of the stuff. And as soon as the client got what he asked for, Tobias could retire. Well, at least for a while. He’d probably get too bored to stay away. And he’d have an exceptionally long time to decide.
There was no hard evidence that the primary would be on the island. It had only been a guess, which was why this mission was being called recon. And if the primary wasn’t there, then the mission would continue elsewhere until the primary was found. But should he find the primary on the island, then he could be done with the client in one fell swoop and gain his ultimate reward.
Tobias took another look at the tiny island in the distance. He raised his hand and twirled it around rapidly. One of the other men nodded and cut the engine of the towboat. The line was hauled in and the sloop floated close enough to be boarded. The two face-painted men hopped across to the sloop and were handed their bags.
They both unzipped their bags and checked the contents. Each held the same items: an AK-47, two semi-automatic pistols, a shotgun, a hunting knife, night vision binoculars, small blocks of C-4, detonators, some instant meal rations, bottled water, a brick of both U.S. and Mexican currency, climbing gear, and extra ammunition and magazines for all the guns. All three of the crew on the sloop did a weapons check, loaded a few of the weapons onto their person, then re-zipped their bags. There was another tan sack in the forward compartment that had casual street clothes for all three men in case they needed to do a quick change and blend in somewhere. None of the clothes had identifiable markings.
