by Jeff Schanz
She shook her head and clenched her jaw. She understands, she’s just disagreeing.
“Tough shit, princess. You are going to bite me and take as much blood as you can handle.”
She gritted her teeth and tried to say the word, “No.”
“You don’t get a say in this. You can hate me all you want later, but you will be alive to do that. I’m not giving you a choice. So –.” Brandt smiled at her. “So, those fangs better start coming out, soldier.”
Brandt braced himself for her bite as he leaned forward and placed the meat of his shoulder against her lips. He held it there, but nothing happened except that she coughed again and try to pull away. He hadn’t counted on her being resistant even with a succulent (albeit sweaty) meal perfectly presented. That meant he was going to have to resort to something even more drastic than the drastic crazy thing he was doing already. Starting with guilt.
“Lia. Your father will have no one to care for him. You are going to die out here. You have to. You have to do this. Do it for your father.”
She gargled as she inhaled and looked into his eyes. Even broken, bloody, and dying, her eyes were electric. He stared back intensely, not allowing himself to give in to those eyes. Her head finally moved in something that could’ve been a nod.
He leaned forward again. His shoulder was firmly against her mouth. She pressed her lips against him. Nothing happened. Her lips lifted from his shoulder. Was she too hurt to do it? Was her pain too distracting? Was greater stimulus needed?
As if guilting her wasn’t bad enough, his next idea for stimulus was something he’d definitely hate himself for under normal circumstances. It was for a good cause and he could despise himself later. If the fangs wouldn’t come out by necessity, he’d have to coax them out by deception. The only other way he recalled that they might come out was when she was aroused. He doubted she could be aroused laying there broken and dying, but he was desperate.
This isn’t going to work, but – here goes. “Lia, sweetheart, I want you to drink from me. I want my blood inside you. I want it so much.” He bent and nuzzled his lips against her neck. Then he kissed her lips. He tried a long deep kiss, but it was a clumsy effort. Plus, she didn’t kiss back. Her lips tasted coppery, though he had cleaned the blood from them, and they didn’t look cut. “I want to see your beautiful fangs, baby. Bite me and drink from me. Take my blood inside you. Come on. Please.”
God, what a load of corny vampire clichés. He was hoping she would be too groggy to remember any of this stuff later, but that would mean she was still alive to remember. Again, he could accept any consequences as long as it began with her staying alive. As things stood, however, she wasn't reacting to his mushy pleas or the guilt trip. No fangs came out. Once again he placed his shoulder against her lips, and this time she did try to suck, but still, no fangs, and no blood was drawn. He needed a new idea.
She’s trying. Maybe there’s another kind of “arousal”?
He reached around her for his belt and eventually yanked his knife free. Flipping it around backward, the tip was placed against his shoulder and he flicked the razor-sharp blade to open an inch-long cut along the top of his shoulder. Because the blade was sharp, it didn't hurt too much. If she couldn't bite him, maybe she had enough strength to suck the blood through his cut. And just maybe the taste of blood would give her enough feeding urge that the teeth would come out, too.
He leaned forward and put his bloody shoulder into her mouth once again, then pushed against her mouth. She took a deep breath. And sucked.
Then she bit.
At first, it felt exactly like what it was: two needles thrusting into his body. But almost immediately it changed. The enzyme from her lips, or whatever it was, took over, and like an anesthetic, it washed over his shoulder until he felt nothing. Almost nothing. There was a little tingle of pleasure he hadn’t counted on. He remembered the goat waggling its tail when Lia drank from it earlier, and he now understood. She rhythmically moved her mouth against his shoulder like she was making love to it. The tingle increased and shot through him. If he wasn’t trying to keep her broken body alive, it would be enjoyable. He had no idea how much blood she had taken yet, but she wasn’t stopping. The worry was that she may not be able to stop once she got started. But he had prepared as best he could by drinking and eating everything he had because he assumed she was going to weaken him by the blood drain.
“That’s it, sweetie. Take everything you need.”
She drank and drank. Her head pumped against him harder and faster. She closed her eyes and reached up for him with her arms.
Good girl. That’s it.
He was starting to feel light-headed, but he was expecting that. Hopefully, that’s all that happened to him. He still needed enough energy to pick her up when it was all done.
As she continued to drink, there was a little nauseous feeling that went through him. It was substantial blood loss. He had felt it once before.
She pressed hard against him for a moment and then suddenly pulled back. Her arms still clutched his torso, but she was breathing more relaxed, and within a few breaths, she opened her eyes again.
Brandt felt woozy, but he didn’t care. He could find a way to overcome that, especially if he had a minute or two before he needed to get up. It would be preferable to have way more than a couple of minutes rest, there just wasn’t time.
“There’s my Lia,” he said.
She nodded weakly, yet clearly. She swallowed something, maybe his blood, and tried to speak. “I will – body will – shut down to – heal,” she said haltingly. “I cannot…” Her eyes blinked and her lids drooped.
“It’s all right. You rest. I’ll carry you. Just gimme another minute to recover and we’ll get moving. I’m blocking the sun for you now.”
She gulped air twice and nodded slowly, slipping back into unconsciousness. Brandt was hoping it only signified the healing process she had mentioned. Maybe this stunt will work. I’m going to Hell for the stuff I did and said… but if it works, I don’t care.
Imagining defibrillator paddles pressed against his brain, he willed new energy into his body. He nearly lost his balance trying to stand. I am not going to fall. He demanded his body obey. Lia had taken more blood than he could afford to lose, and he was most definitely not in any shape for a hike, there was simply no choice. As he lifted her from the ground, his strength was even less than it was a few minutes ago when he was exhausted. At least she wasn’t struggling. Her breathing was consistent and she was still unconscious. Hopefully, that was a good thing. He hoisted her across his shoulders again and began to descend the mountain.
Brandt tried to angle Lia away from the sun, a fruitless effort since he knew Lia was going to be burned somewhere every time he climbed a boulder or slid down one of the hardened sediment slopes. It was a miracle he was still on his feet and not flat on his face. Every step up and down made his vision swim so badly he had to count the seconds before the same image came around again so he could direct himself. They were about a quarter-mile away from the house when he fell hard. He somehow managed to not hurt Lia on the landing. His vision was trash and little eyeball lightning-bugs were flitting around, snapping their lights on and off. There was also a buzzing in his ears. He had been at this point before, too, but he had no one to save then except himself.
The charred flesh smell was still there, not as bad as before. Maybe she was healing? He glanced at her cut leg. Though the blood had soaked through the pants, no new blood seemed to be flowing. He had actually done the right thing, so far. There was still a ways to go and he had no more energy to get there. He was losing consciousness, too. Lia lost a lot of blood and her body knew how much to replace, and had taken it from Brandt. He didn’t think he would die from it, however he couldn’t currently function, and that concerned him more.
Come on, come on! He shook his head to strong-arm his brain to stay conscious. He knelt down near a boulder and a large
shrub, which at the right angle offered some shade. It might be enough to get two more minutes of rest and try to invent some more energy. The house in the distance looked so close, yet so far. He blinked from the sweat in his eyes.
No, wait… What he thought was a glob of sweat darkening his vision was something else. A dark form against the bright sky. What the…?
The thing had massive wings and was flying fast toward him. It was smoking as it flew, pressing hard for speed with the smoke curled off its back like contrails.
“Viktor!” called Brandt. “She’s dying! I can’t get her back in time!”
Viktor had heard. He had heard and was risking his own disintegration to come and get his daughter. He swooped down toward Brandt. Brandt used the last of his strength to lift Lia above his head like she was an offering to the gods. Viktor put on the breaks, hovered for a moment, and wrapped his talons gingerly around Lia's limp body. He rose back into the sky, turned and sped back to the house, the smoke from his back was thick and grey, pouring forth like an engine on fire. The winged form disappeared behind the house.
Brandt heaved himself down onto his elbows and tried to get a comfortable position to rest.
Ok. She’s safe. Viktor will get her to her room. He’ll make sure she gets there if it kills him. She’ll be safe.
Brandt lay on the ground, his bare skin bitten by the rocks and twigs. But he didn't care. He'd allow himself ten minutes and then he'd get his ass down this mountain. Lia's hat was still on his head and he pulled it over his face and relaxed. Ten minutes.
He hadn’t counted ten minutes before his breathing eased and he felt some energy flowing through his body. Where the hell is that coming from? He wasn’t about to question it. All that mattered was his energy was returning.
Ok, either God or Satan, if you really want to take me, this is your last chance. Otherwise, screw you both. I’m getting off this mountain.
He got up and scrambled over the next boulder.
Brandt’s legs were rubbery as he climbed the stairs, otherwise, he felt better than he expected. He pushed open the door to Lia’s room.
Viktor had placed her face up in bed, her blood-soaked clothing still on. The blood was staining her pretty white comforter and lacy pillow. She was breathing comfortably and was asleep. Viktor lay next to her, his bat form traded in for his human form, with his clothes charred and torn. It looked like he had just enough energy to drop her onto her bed and then fall onto it himself. Since Viktor didn’t normally breath, Brandt wasn’t sure Viktor was still alive. He could worry about that later. There was nothing Brandt could do for an Undead vampyre, but there were still things he could do for Lia. As he moved toward her, he saw Viktor’s face twitch and his head shiver. Both of them were still alive – or the equivalent in Viktor’s case. One less thing to worry about, at least.
Lia's face had been badly burned, red with raised lesions, but not beyond repair if her book was correct. Her shoulders had been exposed, and they were burned too, assumedly not irreparable. The deeply cut leg had the same red lesions since the pants Brandt covered her with had ripped and left her skin unprotected there. He was going to have to strip her down and give her a full-body salve coating.
Lord help him, she was going to hate him even more, and his ride to Hell would now be an express flight.
He went into Lia’s lab and found the canister of skin slave. When he brought it back to her bedroom, he noticed Viktor’s slumped form floating down the stairs. It wasn’t even in the top ten on his freaky-o-meter anymore. He had just made a girl bite him and suck his blood to keep her alive, her father had flown in the form of a bat-dragon into the hot sun and flown off with her in his talons as smoke curled off his back. The sight of the guy just floating down the stairs was “meh” now. Brandt placed the canister down and leaned over Lia.
“Listen, Lia. I want to apologize for what happened on the mountain. I did what I did, and said what I said, to keep you alive. And I’d do the same things under the same situation again. You may hate me for it, but you’re alive and that’s what matters most to me. So hate me all you want. And if you’re not already pissed at me, you might be in another minute. I’m about to strip you down and get this salve on you. I’m sorry, but it’s necessary.” He bent down and brushed a strand of sweaty hair from her forehead. In her deep sleep, there was no reaction at all, and he didn’t expect one.
He got to work. Once he took the pants off, both her legs were open to the air, since her skirt was shredded all the way up to her underwear, and covered virtually nothing. The cut on her leg had scabbed, but it was deep and dirty. He'd get to that in a minute. He pulled off the remnants of her sweater and skirt, then pulled off his t-shirt from her shoulders and put it back on himself. Except for a bra and panties, she had no clothing. He got some water and a rag from downstairs and gently cleansed all her wounds. They had all scabbed and were also encrusted with dirt. He hoped the cuts wouldn't reopen too much as he wiped, and he was rewarded with very little new blood. As a matter of fact, the cuts seemed to be visibly closing before his eyes. He wasn't sure how fast vampyre healing really was, but as he watched, it moved at a speed visible to the human eye. Holy cow. Maybe his blood was helping. If so, he could accept that proudly.
The cuts properly cleaned, he worked his hands carefully over her body. It would be inappropriate in any other circumstance, but all he was doing was checking for breaks, and he did it clinically. He went over her twice, slower the second time, finding nothing broken. Whether she had broken bones and they already healed, or she was just lucky, he was thankful for it. Another dry rag was used to wipe off the wetness he just created with his wound cleansing, and she was clean and dry.
Preparing to put the salve on her, he looked at her bloody comforter. She couldn’t stay on that. He went into his room to get his own blanket, also found his jeans folded up on his bed where he had left them, and brought both of them back. Lia was carefully lifted, the bloody comforter tugged away, and she was placed back on her still clean sheets. He then folded his own comforter at her feet until he was done with the salve. Scooping a substantial amount of the goop with his fingers, he gave her a liberal spread of the stuff anywhere that even had a red tint. He examined his work and was amazed to see the salve fade into her damaged skin at the same rate as water going down a slow drain. A lot had been put on her. The canister had been nearly full when he started and it was half empty now. He had to trust that her vampyre healing metabolism was doing its job.
She lay peacefully on her bed. The bright red lesions on her face were slowly disappearing and turning into smooth pinkish skin, as were the burns on her shoulders and legs. The severe cuts had fused and scabbed, and were already lighter in color. She was going to be all right.
For a moment he caught himself staring at her sleeping form. He had never actually seen her body before today. Her dresses had always covered her and only hinted at the probability that she had an attractive body. And he saw now that she did. She had a slim, taut, athletic shape overall, with toned arms and legs, and an outline of firm abdominal muscles. Slender, but strong. He could appreciate her body if she wasn't lying there helpless and hurting, but as it was, he shook away the thoughts. That wasn't why he was there. And it wasn't what he wanted, or needed, to be thinking about, or looking at. He pulled his blanket over her and tucked it around her shoulders.
She was going to be all right. Brandt had cheated death again. This time it was far better because he had cheated death for someone else. Ironically, he felt the best emotionally he’d been in years, despite his physical exhaustion. Finding a nearby chair to sit, he wiggled into his old jeans and sat for a moment, unsure of what he needed to do next when something suddenly occurred to him. He got up and went downstairs.
Though still sore, his legs were less rubbery than before. All things considered, he felt pretty good physically, too. He shouldn’t, but he did. The bite punctures on his shoulder didn’t hurt at all, and only th
e cut he gave himself had any pain. He went through the kitchen to the heavy wooden door. As he suspected, lying against the door was Viktor. Brandt leaned down close.
“Viktor?” he said.
Viktor stirred, but didn't say anything. Although Viktor's projection was his younger, stronger self, his essence and projected matter had been hit hard by that flight through the midday sun and wasn't strong enough to move the heavy door. Viktor slid an elbow under his body and tried to lift himself up, unsuccessfully.
“Let me help you,” said Brandt.
He hooked an arm around Viktor’s ribs and hoisted the man up. Like Lia, Viktor weighed much less than a normal human, and Brandt felt like Superman lifting the vampyre up. They both rose and Viktor braced himself with a hand against the wall.
“I’ll open it,” said Brandt.
Viktor nodded weakly. Brandt gripped the door latch and opened the door. Propping Viktor against him, he placed Viktor’s arm over his wounded shoulder, then slowly walked them both down the stairs.
There was enough ambient light filtered through the door that Brandt could see where he was going. He could see the coffin. And he could see now that there were two coffins. They reached the bottom and stopped next to Viktor’s coffin. Brandt lifted the lid.
What he saw inside made as much sense as anything else.
There, inside the coffin, was the still body of Viktor Romanovich Zakharyin. It was the same old man's body he had seen at the dinner table with plastic tubes hooked up to him. It didn't move. No pulse, no breath, no twitching. The projected Viktor leaned into the coffin and fell inside. Brandt was expecting some kind of impact, but nothing happened except a dissipation of color, dust, and smoke. It was like the younger Viktor simply no longer existed. Only the old, still body of the corpse-Viktor remained. Brandt wondered where this ranked in his freaky-o-meter. He began to close the lid, and as he did, the previously still corpse opened his eyes. Brandt was momentarily startled. The mostly still body of Viktor closed and opened his eyes again, and gave a subtle nod to Brandt.
