by Angela Foxxe
Aidan had made the mistake of pouring out his soul to William, how he found life so mundane and dull, without the escapades they did, mentioning how fun night-time was compared the daytime.
I only sleep during the daytime, to wait for our adventures at night, Aidan shared. A week after his twenty-fifth birthday, William dug his nails into Aidan’s neck, bit him and turned him.
Aidan, now Gabriel, never forgot the pain of turning. It had racked his body with chills and unspeakable pain, almost like molten silver ran through his veins. He had gone home at the early hours of dawn, his neck still bleeding, and his eyes wild and wide open.
He stumbled about in their manor, glad that no one was up yet to work. A few servants had seen him crawl for his room, thinking their master was drunk once more and didn’t bother to help him.
Gabriel slept for two days straight, and while his mother and sister were worried, their father had told them to leave him alone, and ‘let the boy learn his lesson’. The day he awoke, it was past five in the afternoon, and he saw a pitcher of day old water on his nightstand.
He reached for it, with a thirst that seemed insatiable, as he drank directly from the ceramic pitcher and still wanted more. He stood up from bed, and slowly walked for the window. The moment his skin touched the floor with sunlight streaming through, he immediately recoiled, feeling the searing heat on his skin.
His heart pounded, unable to believe he had felt that. It was only sunlight. What in the devil’s blazes was wrong with him? Was he still suffering from a hangover? He reached out his hand, gingerly trying to reach for those last rays of light. His hand began to feel like it was burning, like he had touched water that was too hot to drink from yet. He could smell the hairs on his arm burning.
No, no, he had thought, astonished and horrified. This couldn’t be. Did he take too much of those illegal substances to render this kind of skin sensitivity? This was a horrible hangover. He wondered if William was faring better than he was. The man never did seem to get drunk. William always saw to it he was brought home safe and sound. He couldn’t remember what had happened. Was that even last night? Panicking, he closed the curtains.
He had rung for a maidservant to bring him food, and he had been served some roast beef with gravy, which he promptly ate, only to throw it up moments later. He couldn’t keep food in, it was a bad sign. Maybe someone had slipped poison into his drink. Was William alright, though? He had asked for a message to be delivered to William’s home address, but it was returned unopened. No one was home, the messenger relayed. In fact, no one had lived in that manor for years.
Aidan had begun to wonder if he was becoming crazy. He hadn’t seen his own family in days, as he kept himself confined to his room, wondering why he had suddenly become sensitive to sunlight. After five days of isolation, he couldn’t take it anymore. Despite his weak status, he found himself quietly leaving his home at midnight to look for William, riding a public carriage instead of his own.
He went to William’s supposed address and found it was an abandoned manor. No wonder the messenger thought he looked crazy (aside from being malnourished). Then he began to despair. He was about to leave the manor, when he saw a figure, crouched on a broken down wall.
“William?” he whispered.
William stood up on the ledge and calmly jumped down from it. His eyes were surprisingly reddish at night.
“I see you’ve finally ventured out of the safety of your home. You feeling alright there, old chap?”
“No,” Aidan said. “As a matter of fact, I haven’t been feeling well. What happened a few days ago? You didn’t even bother to visit me. I sent a message and they told me no one lived here. Do you even live here?”
William shook his head. “Once, many years ago. When I was a strapping young lad, about your age,” he said with a laugh.
Aidan looked confused. “You aren’t making much sense, Will.”
“How are you feeling now? Thirsty?” William asked.
Aidan found himself nodding.
“Good, so am I.”
“I’m not in the position to drink tonight,” Aidan replied, beginning to get annoyed.
“It looks like you need it. Your eyes are as red as mine.”
“How do you--”
“What else has transpired in the days we haven’t seen each other?” William asked him. “Pray do tell, Lord Blackwell.”
“I- I couldn’t stand the sun. No matter how much I tried. My arm felt like it was about to burn off completely.”
“I felt that once, too. Except I burned a bit of my face. Took a long time to heal.”
“What is going on?” Aidan whispered.
William enjoyed seeing the young man look fearful. It was always like this, no matter how tough or how carefree one seemed as a human, fear always took over. There was always a fear of the unknown, even as a nightwalker.
“You’ll be fine, Aidan. You’ll make a great student, and a great sire someday.”
“Sire? What? William, I don’t understand.”
“Would you like to go on a hunt, Aidan? For something you can eat? For something you can digest easier? I assume you threw up your first human meal.”
“I did,” Aidan said in a quiet voice. How did he know? Did William spy on him? “Did you poison me?”
“Poison you?” William gave a hollow laugh. “I liberated you from the life you no longer enjoyed. In a few days, you will know what it is like to have this kind of power, this kind of strength, this kind of immortality.”
Hours later, William showed him how to kill his first unsuspecting drunk human in a dark and dank alleyway.
*
Gabriel, as he preferred to be called, shook himself out of his reverie. It was a night he barely replayed. There was no marvel in being turned into someone who was half-dead and half-alive. There was no joy in killing off humans to survive. He had taken blood with hesitation, despite his obvious need. He succumbed to the calling, in a breath, though.
He could still remember the screams of the drunken man who had realized it was going to be the last of his rum-laden nights. The kills after that had become easier. He never attacked women. He always attacked solitary or abusive men. He chose carefully, like William did.
“We keep with the ways of the nightwalkers,” William would tell him, “and we only take what we need.”
It wasn’t easy for the others though; some were just born into the shadows as the most blood-thirsty nightwalkers to exist. William had taught him well, and he didn’t end up like the others, who were crazed for blood even if they had had their fill. He had kept his family’s reputation intact, despite his penchant for walking around during the evening or during heavy rainstorms.
People had assumed he had gone mildly crazy after his whole family had died. In truth, he had tried to turn them into someone like him, only they couldn’t live through the transformation. He was the only one in his family who did not submit to the claws of death. He had been wracked with guilt, and had escaped to far flung countries, enjoying his wealth with William. It was only when he had held onto the gemstone that William became distant from him.
His humanity had returned the moment he had met Lily. She was his strength at first, and then ultimately, his weakness. Gabriel suddenly felt that Isla would be the same for him.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Isla shivered as she walked down the street at a quarter past nine. It had been one of those times that she was immersed in something rather important at work. The day had been stressful, and the pressure to announce something significant from the excavation was mounting. The world that enjoyed archaeology was waiting.
She had missed the last bus for home, and decided to walk, something she regretted fifteen minutes later on. She only had a thin sweater and a scarf. She kept her hands in her pockets, so they wouldn’t freeze.
“Bad idea,” she muttered to herself. Initially she had thought that a good walk would help with the stress. The cold did keep her mind off o
f it. She passed by a small garden, the lights flickered, and her pace quickened.
She heard the sound of footsteps behind her. Very faint footsteps, as if someone was aiming to be as quiet as possible, following her. She didn’t like the feeling. She walked faster this time, a sense of foreboding stealing through her. Isla aimed for a café across the street, and just as she was about to take another step, a hand clamped over her mouth, stifling her scream.
She struggled, wildly, flailing her arms about to no avail. Her eyes widened in horror and she continued to cry, a muted cry that no one could hear. She was dragged into the park, her height and weight was no match for whoever this was.
Suddenly, the captor let go of her, sending her reeling to the ground. Snot dribbled from her nose, and she tried to stop herself from sobbing. Her eyes were defiant and they looked at the person who was standing over her. He stepped underneath the flickering light, a gangly man, with light colored hair.
He kneeled down and held her by the hair, painfully. Then he gasped and recoiled, stepping away.
“Wh- what do you want?” Isla whispered. “I don’t have money.”
He shook his head, still staring at her. “It can’t be… Lily?”
For a moment he remembered her, that lovely young woman he had so wanted to meet. Only Aidan had gotten to her first, as always. He was in love with Lily, fatally in love with Lily. Aidan never truly loved her, he only loved the way she looked…
“What?” the woman before him said again.
“Who are you?” he demanded.
Isla shook on the ground. She could make a run for it, but with his size, he would eventually catch up to her, or grab a hold of her. If she attempted to escape, he would probably hurt her more. If she screamed there was nothing to hold him back, he could actually snap her neck clean. What did he want with her? Maybe she could use some psychology on him…
She didn’t answer his question.
“Who are you?” he asked, louder this time.
Isla hoped a random person would walk by the park, and alert the police. It was probably her best shot – if people walked the park this late, and in the cold. He knelt down and picked her up using one arm, holding her by the collar.
She struggled again, realizing her feet were dangling a few inches above the ground. She held onto his arm, trying to break free. His arm wouldn’t budge, no matter how much she tried to pry away from him.
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“Let go of me,” she gurgled.
He shook his head. Here was Lily reincarnated, right in front of him. Lily was alive and kicking, literally. He had wanted to see who this woman was, the woman that Aidan had been interested in. Aidan had kept this from him on purpose.
“You know you look like someone,” he said, his nails digging deeper into her throat.
She saw his irises change color, a deep brown, almost red. Isla was now very afraid. To be afraid of something one didn’t know was a natural occurrence. To be afraid of someone whose face had begun to contort into something hideous was a different thing. His face grew thin, his jawline became heavily contoured. She felt a piercing pain on her neck. Something was going on with his hand…
“Let go,” she choked, struggling in futility.
In a split second, the man and Isla were knocked down by an unseen force. Isla lay dazed on the cold stone pathway, and she went momentarily deaf from the impact. She tried to get up, and she felt someone’s support from behind her.
“Are you alright?” he asked.
Isla looked up to face her savior Gabriel? She blinked, knowing full well she hadn’t regained her senses yet.
“What’s going on?” she murmured.
“We have to leave, now.” Gabriel quickly hoisted her up with minimal effort.
Isla tried to combat the feeling of collapsing, but she lost consciousness anyway.
He looked over at the man on the ground, writhing in pain. That should keep him for a while. As soon as he slipped Isla into the passenger’s seat, he reached for his phone.
“James,” he began, “I need the lights turned on tonight.”
James quickly understood what lights were needed, and as soon as Gabriel sped past his manor’s gates, his loyal butler turned on lights with silver components in them. Every corner of the manor’s walls shone with silver inside it. Gabriel could feel the pain prickling on his skin as he carried Isla into the house. James was waiting for him by the door.
“Will you be requiring medical assistance, sir?” James asked, his eyes narrowing at the sight of an unconscious woman.
“She’s alive, I didn’t bite her,” Gabriel snapped. “All the lights are on?”
James nodded. “Will you be needing some nutrition, sir?”
“Bring a bag,” he said, “and some water for the lady.”
Gabriel brought the unconscious young woman to his study, gently laying her down on a day bed. He closed the curtains, hating the pin lights shining all around his manor. To the untrained eye, he was just another billionaire who excessively used electricity to keep his estate looking pretty. To a nightwalker, this was a cause for more than sore eyes.
He wasn’t paranoid, but he wanted to be prepared. He had these lights for over ten years, never using them, James knocked before entering.
“Place it on the table, please,” he quickly said.
James eyed the pretty, young woman, who was rather pale, on the day bed. She looked alive. His master had probably taken pity on her, maybe it was a rare attack by the younger, more volatile ones. He then excused himself.
Gabriel nervously poured himself a glass of blood, his fifth for the week. That was not a good sign. His nerves were frazzled; he couldn’t lose his cool over something like this. He hadn’t seen that man in years, in more than a hundred years…
He heard Isla stir on the couch and he walked over to a chair across from her, quickly finishing his drink before she could regain consciousness.
She looked around confused, slowly sitting up. “Gabriel?” Her voice was hoarse. “What happened? Where am I?”
“You’re in my house,” he calmly began.
Then her eyes widened, the memory of what had happened earlier flooded into her. Her hands flew to her mouth. “Oh god, oh god. Is someone dead? What did he want from me?” she gasped.
“No one is dead. I just saved you.”
“From what?” she asked in horror, “From whatever that thing was? That person must’ve been high--” She stopped, suddenly shaking. Did drug-addicted people morph into someone else in a matter of seconds? She could still remember his face contorting into something nearly inhuman, there was something in his breath that suddenly changed odor. It stank of blood.
“What did you see?” he asked her quietly.
She shook her head, still shaking at the memory of it.
“Isla, I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to ask what you saw.”
She shivered again and then looked at him. “I saw…his face. It changed, it changed into something I…I didn’t know what it was. It was different. Almost like an animal, a monster… it was different…” she whispered, her words nearly incoherent. “Who was it? What was it?”
He shook his head. “Would you like a drink? Scotch?” he asked, getting up and walking towards a mahogany table with a crystal decanter on it.
She found herself nodding and she quickly drank the scotch, feeling it burn as it went down her throat, all the way to her stomach. She squeezed her eyes shut. She disliked strong liquor, but she was still trembling.
“What were you doing there?” she suddenly asked, her head shot up. “How did you know I was there?”
He poured her another glass of scotch. “You need another.”
She didn’t bother stopping him, she drank it again, feeling her chest burn. Then she noticed something on the table beside his chair.
“What is that?” she asked, pointing to a glass with red liquid inside it.
“Blood.”
It was a calm response, and she frowned. “What? Blood, like real blood?”
“Human blood,” Gabriel told her.
“Damn it, Gabriel. Why are you messing with me? I had a really bad thing that happened barely an hour ago, and now you’re screwing with my head.”
“It’s true. I’m not entirely human, and neither was that person you who attacked you earlier.”
“Don’t mess with me, please, I’m not in the position to accept that bullshit.”
He held up a hand and in his other hand was a porcelain letter opener. He deftly sliced his free palm open and Isla gasped.
“Jesus, what the hell are you doing?” she cried, reaching out to stop him in futility.
He held up his bloody palm. “Showing you that I’m telling the truth. Wait,” he said gruffly. It was still painful, a sting but manageable.
She held her breath, not knowing what to expect. Was he going to turn into something hideous in front of her? She breathed out heavily, still not seeing anything. Blood dripped to the floor. He was a frickin’ masochist, that was what he was. Suddenly, his blood stopped flowing freely. The wound began to heal, and what blood was left on his palm began to dry up. The wound closed entirely in six heartbeats.
She gasped. “Oh god…”
“Now, do you believe me?”
She said nothing more, but her eyes were as wide as saucers. Her mouth was half-open, disbelieving what she saw seconds ago. It couldn’t be… did he have a special effects team on hand? She was on some prank television show, some ugly, terrifying prank show.
He sighed. “You saw it with your own two eyes. Or do I have to slit my throat or something?”
She found herself slowly shaking her head. “Please… don’t. What are you?” she whispered.
He looked at her. “Well, I’m a nightwalker.”
She looked confused.
“I hate being called a vampire. But we do live off blood.”
“You eat people?”
