The Dawning: Bloodlust 2

by Melodee Aaron

Darrel stood watching as Elisa talked to Captain Hughes. He couldn't hear what they said, but he saw them both tensing. He wondered if he would have to break up a fight between the two of them instead of fighting Hughes himself.

  Despite focusing on the pair, he couldn't help but think he'd been right. When Elisa stood and walked away from him, the view of her on the way to the picnic table had been amazing. Her hips moved like a pair of tomcats fighting in a gunnysack.

  As he watched, the pair seemed to relax a little and settle into a more civilized conversation. Hughes looked a little resigned, like he'd been through all this before. That gave Darrel pause.

  What was it Hughes had asked her? "Is it Elisa now?"

  What did that mean? Obviously, these two knew each other somehow. Did she lie to him about who she was? Maybe she was hiding from something. Or someone. Maybe even Hughes.

  He didn't know Hughes other than by reputation. He was some kind of assistant flunky in supply. Rumor had it he was a rich-kid college boy, but no one really knew much about the man. He had shown up in the Pacific Fleet a few months ago and had parked himself in an office deep in the bowels of supply. People then more or less forgot about him.

  The short-lived confrontation also made him wonder. Darrel was at least four inches taller and forty pounds heavier than Hughes, but the man didn't even blink when Darrel got in his face. He either had balls the size of coconuts, no sense whatsoever, or Hughes knew something Darrel didn't. Elisa seemed very worried about the imminent fight, too. Why else would she have stepped between them and agreed to talk to the man?

  She sat at the table watching Hughes's back as he walked away. Darrel decided to go talk to her, and walked to where she sat. When she looked up at him, her remarkable blue eyes were red and puffy, and a few tears still ran slowly down her cheeks.

  She managed a weak smile. “Sorry about that."

  "No, it's OK."

  She nodded as she wiped at her face. “I guess you have some questions. I can either answer them or leave. Your choice."

  He sat down beside her and leaned his back against the edge of the table. “I think I'd like to hear the answers."

  "All right."

  "Who is he? I mean who is he to you?"

  "I guess the most correct answer is that he's an old flame."

  "He can't be that old of a flame. What, are you about twenty-five or so?"

  "Or so...” She smiled as if she hid some secret. “Old enough then. Before you ask, there's nothing between us now and hasn't been for a long time."

  "I believe you, but why do I get the feeling he thinks otherwise?"

  "Because he does...” Elisa shrugged. “But I don't return his feelings."

  "OK, then. Why was he here?"

  "The short version is he wanted me to leave with him."

  "And you decided to stay here."

  "Yes, I did. I actually decided that a long time ago, too."

  Darrel turned around to face the table and rested his elbows on the hard cement. He glanced down and saw a place on the tabletop that looked like some impossibly large and strong eagle had dug its talons into the concrete like any other bird would do to an unfortunate rabbit. The hard stone had shattered and crumbled like chalk in a strong man's fist.

  He poked at the dust a little. “I wonder what happened here?"

  She looked out at the gentle waves. “It doesn't matter.” She shivered a little and wrapped her arms around her body.

  "Are you cold?"

  "Maybe a little, yes."

  He pulled his shirt off and draped it over her shoulders. “We should get off the beach before dark. You'll freeze to death out here."

  She giggled. “Yes, I guess we should."

  * * * *

  The open-air car Darrel had checked out from the motor pool to come to the beach wasn't much warmer than it had been on the beach. She huddled in on herself and smiled at the thought of her freezing to death.

  While not strictly true that she, or any other vampire, couldn't die, she couldn't freeze to death. That didn't mean it wasn't uncomfortable, though. Contrary to the legends of vampires that came down through the history of the mortals, vampires did feel the pain of injuries and wounds. They just healed from the wounds, no matter how horrendous. New limbs would grow to replace lost ones, and holes would close. It hurt like hell, but it would heal.

  The only thing that could kill a vampire would probably amuse most mortals familiar with the legends of monsters of the night. She never understood where the human legends of were-creatures came from. The best explanation she could see was that the ability of her kind to change into the appearance of animals somehow split off on its own to create a new legend. She could change into a wolf, or what looked like a wolf, any time she liked. Maybe someone, at some point in the past, saw a vampire do just that and the werewolf legend had been created.

  Some way or another, word spread that silver would kill a werewolf. In today's versions of the legends, it was a silver bullet. The fact was that a silver bullet, or any other way of getting silver inside a vampire, could kill him or her.

  There was no guarantee of death, though. There were a lot of variables she didn't understand, but some of her kind said this was because of the curse actually being an infection, and silver could kill the organism causing the sickness. The side effect was killing the vampire.

  The car bounced to a stop in front of her apartment. Darrel shut off the car and came to the passenger side to help her out. “I'll walk you to the door."

  He held her hand as they climbed the steps, and she felt warmer just from his touch. When they reached the door, she turned to face him in the dim light of the sliver of the waxing moon. Her eyes let her see his face clearly, but she doubted he could see her anywhere near as well. He smiled, but it looked a bit shy, much shyer than she would have expected from a sailor.

  "I think I'm supposed to try and kiss you now."

  "That's the next logical step."

  "Yeah, it is.” His face softened as he strained to see her in the darkness, and Darrel leaned forward to press his lips to hers. Trembles fired through her as the warmth of his embrace drove away the chill of the night. As her hands drifted over his back, the rippled muscles there flexed and bunched when his arms moved.

  The predator senses of her body filled with him. The taste of his lips made her mouth water, and she pulled his head tighter to her, darting her tongue into his mouth as the flavor pushed her into overdrive. His smell was different from any man of the last four thousand years. Perhaps from his years at sea, she could scent the odor of the open ocean on his skin, fresh and clean with a salty, acrid hint to the mix.

  The heat from his body threatened to burn her skin where they touched, but she didn't want the sensation to stop. Elisa reveled in the warm sensation, wanting more.

  He suddenly pulled away from the embrace and stepped backward. Had she not grabbed his shirt, he would have fallen backward down the steps.

  Darrel blinked rapidly a few times, then seemed to find one of his endless smiles. “I'd better go."

  Despite that many mortals didn't survive the experience, she decided in an instant. “You don't have to leave."

  He stared at her for a long time, his mouth moving silently. “Elisa, you deserve better than a one-night stand from a sailor."

  "Maybe I do, and maybe I don't. Isn't that my decision, though?"

  "I guess so."

  She turned and opened the door. As she stepped inside, she knew he would follow her.

  * * * *

  Honolulu, Present Day

  A huge aerial photo of Pearl Harbor dominated the wall of the banquet room. When Valerie asked one of the men on the local arts and film board about the picture, he said it had been taken late in October of 1941, about six weeks before the attack. Even without a recent picture for comparison, she knew the scene would look very different today. Valerie stood at the wall, looking at the picture, while Roland and the others chatted with the locals on detail
s of shooting on location.

  With her eyes, she traced the line of big ships anchored along Battleship Row. She had no idea what ships were in this picture, but she wondered if one of them was the Arizona. Other ships, all smaller than the battleships, dotted the edges of the harbor. Valerie had no idea of even what kind of ships they were, though. Even if she could have seen them clearly in the greatly enlarged photo, she didn't know the shapes of the ships well enough to identify them.

  She'd read many articles and historical accounts of the attack, and as she stared at the photo, she tried to imagine the Japanese sorties swinging in from four directions to pounce on the waiting ships. She could see the Kates, Japanese torpedo bombers, coming in low over the water and dropping the fish strapped to their belly, only to climb out again as the motor of the torpedo propelled it through the water towards the sleeping target. Was that the California burning?

  The dive bombers, called Vals, came in fast and hard from out of the rising sun, screaming with acceleration and loosing the huge bombs they carried, each nearly a ton of explosives.

  The nimble Zeroes swarmed overhead like angry hornets, strafing and taking targets of opportunity. She glanced to her left and saw smoke billowing from Hickam Field. The Japanese fighters would have little to do in engaging American aircraft.

  She saw other Kates, configured as level bombers, cruise into view. While not precision heavy bombers, their accuracy was much better than anything the Japanese had used so far in the attack. Falling from stable, level platforms, the bombs did their work with terrible efficiency.

  Through the explosions slamming in her mind, Valerie could catch occasional words, not from the table behind her, but from the picture in front of her. She heard a man, his voice far calmer than it should have been, calling out, “Air raid Pearl Harbor. This is not a drill.” She made out repeated calls, not nearly so calm, of “General quarters!” and “Battle stations!” Mostly, she heard screams.

  As she watched a Kate drop a bomb on a line of B-17s at Hickam, it occurred to her; how could she tell a B5N from a Flying Fortress? For that matter, she barely knew the difference between a 767 and a Piper Cub. She glanced at the picture again, and her eyes came to rest on Ewa Beach. Where the hell did she learn that?

  A hand touched her arm, and she jumped like one of the Zeroes might have targeted her. “Are you all right, my dear?” She turned to find the images of war replaced by Stanley's steel gray eyes only a foot from hers. She could only stare at him. “Valerie? Are you all right? Come, sit down here.” He led her, stumbling, to a nearby chair, and she flopped down like a dishrag.

  From somewhere, Roland appeared and knelt beside her. “Baby? What's wrong?"

  She blinked and looked from person to person as more surrounded her.

  "She was just staring at the picture.” Stanley ran his fingers through his mouse-colored hair, leaving it messier than when he started. “She looked about to fall."

  "Valerie? Come on, baby, talk to me.” Roland glanced up at Jim. “Call an ambulance.” Jim nodded and left the gathering crowd.

  She blinked again, and things seemed to return to normal, at least a little normal. “I think I'm all right now."

  Roland smiled, but she knew him well enough to tell when he faked it. “I know you are, but let me enjoy my paranoia, OK?"

  "Don't I always?” In an instant, she felt fine. Whatever hold the picture had placed on her was gone now. “Really, I'm fine now."

  Jim walked back to the group. “They'll be here in five minutes.” He smiled at her. “Back with us?"

  "I think so, yes.” She patted Roland's hand. “I just need to get some rest. It's been a busy day."

  Roland laughed. “Oh, no. I have to pay for the ambulance now no matter what, so we're going to use them. You know me."

  Jim chuckled. “Yeah. You're so tight you squeak when you walk."

  * * * *

  Elektra had no choice but to sit calmly on the examination table while the doctor poked, prodded, and peeked all over the body she shared with this woman. She used the time to admonish herself. She'd let her own memories spill over into the woman's consciousness so much that it overwhelmed Valerie.

  When she saw the big picture of Pearl Harbor, she'd lost control, flashing back to that day so many decades ago, and the memories had poured in like water through a broken dam.

  Only a few years after that day in December, she had found the man who taught her to leave behind her physical body. Since then, she hadn't, as herself, been with a man, mortal or vampire, and so Darrel held a special meaning for her, and a special place in her heart. She had lived, vicariously through this young woman for the last ten years, and things were going well. She was successful, respected, and had a good man as her husband.

  Elektra knew that too many mistakes like today could jeopardize all of that, though. At best, people would think her mad, or at worst, possessed.

  Roland sat beside her, and Elektra studied him casually as he chatted with her other self. Extremist conservatism marked the history of human civilization. Most mortals today knew a little about Victorian times, but most had forgotten about the Inquisition, Middle Ages, and other times before. Elektra knew that living through those times had colored her perspective, but she tried to keep an open mind about liberalism.

  But try as she might, that this Roland made movies that exploited sex between two people bothered her. Sex was a private thing between two people, not something to be splashed twenty times larger than life on a screen in order to make money.

  And yet, he was a good man. He cared for Valerie and took care of her. He didn't mistreat her or abuse her in any way.

  In a word, Roland loved her other self.

  Elektra wondered what he would do if he knew what lurked inside his precious Valerie.

  * * * *

  Honolulu, December 6, 1941

  As Elisa dropped her bag in the armchair, she heard Darrel close the door behind him. She turned and saw him standing there in the entryway, looking just a little lost.

  Stifling a giggle, she waved at the sofa. “Have a seat. Would you like something to drink?"

  He sat down and, after a moment, nodded his head. “Just some water, thanks."

  She filled a glass with water and added a few ice cubes. After she'd sat next to him, she chuckled a little. “You look nervous, but I suspect you still have questions for me."

  "That's one way to put it, yeah.” He gulped the water. “The biggest one is just what the hell am I doing here."

  "Just to go with the short version. I like you, and I want to spend time with you. I think you feel the same way."

  "Well, sure, but what's the long version?"

  "Frankly, it's longer than we have time for. Let's just say that I don't do this for every man I meet. In fact, I haven't done this for many years."

  Darrel sipped at his water as he stared intently into her eyes. “You keep talking about many years, but you haven't even lived many years, let alone dated."

  "It's all a matter of perspective."

  "OK, I can see I'm not going to get a straight answer on that one, or maybe I never really asked a straight question. Let me try another one.” He sipped at his water again. “Why do I feel like I know you from someplace?"

  She shrugged, buying some time to think. This man could see more than many mortals, but Elisa didn't know what it meant yet. “Maybe we've met before."

  "No, I don't think so.” He smiled, and his glance flickered down to her chest for a split second. “I'd remember meeting you."

  Heat flushed in Elisa's cheeks. “I'll take that as a compliment."

  "That's the way I mean it.” He paused a moment, then seemed to make up his mind to press on. “You probably have no idea how pretty you are."

  She laughed at his only moderate change of direction. “What brought that on?"

  "I'm just a swab. I'll probably never command, I'll definitely never be rich, and I clearly won't ever be famous. What's a girl like yo
u doing with a sailor like me?"

  "Does that matter? One thing I've learned in my life is that you have to take things as they come. If you get all wrapped up around the axel worrying about why or how, you'll be frozen with fear and all the wonderful things life has to give you will just roll right by."

  He frowned. “How old are you?"

  "It doesn't matter."

  "If you say so.” He sat quietly for a long time, just staring into space. “You're not a Nazi or Jap spy, are you?"

  "No, why?"

  "Because they teach us all about how both use beautiful women to seduce unwary men into spilling their guts."

  "I'm not a spy for anyone, especially not the Nazis or Japanese.” She smiled at him. “I can't promise I won't seduce you, though."

  Darrel blinked a few times. “Oh."

  * * * *

  "Thank you, Chief.” Wellington waited until the Chief Petty Officer left his office before he opened the communiqué from Fleet. Rear Admiral Kimmel had personally denied his leave request.

  Elisa would have been proud of the fact that he held his temper for nearly a full minute before ripping the top from the heavy metal desk and throwing it through the concrete wall of the office. The explosive sound of the failing wall of course attracted attention from outside his office. The CPO, accompanied by a petty officer shore patrol, rushed in, side arms at the ready.

  "Captain! Are you..."

  The change had come on Wellington fully now, and he turned to face the two men as a real vampire. Not the charming creatures from the movies played by the greats like Lugosi, but the real McCoy with two-inch fangs glittering in the dim light cast by the desk lamp from where it landed in the corner.

  The men stood staring, their service revolvers forgotten in their hands and their mouths agape as they saw Wellington's eyes. He knew what faced them—the glistening black of his eyes surrounded by round, red irises speared by eerie, green-glowing pupils set in a mottled, leather-looking skin—was beyond their understanding.

  The SP recovered first, at least a little. “What the fuck is that, Chief?"

  The CPO only shook his head.

  Wellington smiled, the leathery skin pulling taught across the fangs. “Bad timing, boys."