“I—I’ve been meaning to talk to you…” Antoine reached for a wrinkled shirt over the dresser and quickly slipped it on.
“Have you?” Phillip pulled a chair close to the window and sat. “Do you hope to learn something from me?” steepling his fingers.
Dammit, Phillip. Stop being so freakin’ intimidating… Just how old was he?
“The year of my awakening was 1928,” he said after reading his thoughts once more. “I was twenty-eight years old.”
Antoine’s eyes widened. “But that was more than eighty years ago…” He didn’t look a year over twenty-eight, in fact, he looked younger.
He got a candid smile from Phillip, at last. He was warming up to him, wasn’t he?
“I can see how this may surprise you.” Phillip pursed his lips. “Bear in mind that as vampires, not only are we blessed with immortality, but the Blood grants us the perfect guise to pursue our needs with the appealing mask of youth.”
Pursue our needs, how quaint. What he actually meant was: Beauty is our one bait, we need it to kill.
“Bait… That works as well.”
Phillip, you fiend! If you insist on reading my mind, at least try to conceal it from me!
Phillip hinted a smile. He’d heard that too.
“I could go on telling you my life’s story, and share with you its many pitfalls and moments of bliss... But this isn’t what you want to know.” He paused. “I dare not pry into your mind’s devises any longer, but I believe something troubles you, Antoine.”
Phillip didn’t need to read his mind, he saw through him well enough.
Antoine sat at the foot of the bed. “Something’s been on my mind… ever since my awakening,” he mused.
“And, what’s that?”
“That killing is easy.” The memory came in vivid flashes, how quickly Ivan had finished off Ethan, Frank, and Isabella. Antoine closed his eyes and shook his head, burying those images deep in his mind. “I guess what I’m trying to say is… are the no boundaries to our Kin?”
“I see…” Phillip took his time to answer as if pondering each of his following words. “As vampire’s, we’ve been granted a precious gift. Our condition of unnatural predators detaches us completely from any mortal being—and above all, from humans. We prowl and feed amongst them without them ever suspecting our existence.”
“That’s a monstrous advantage, wouldn’t you say?”
“Monstrous… such a befitting term.” He paused. “I can surely agree with you. Sometimes it horrifies me how easily we carry on with our lives as silent serial killers… But we cannot afford to feel remorse. We do what we must in order to survive, as Ivan so often says.”
“What we must…” Antoine mused. “Then there are no limits to our power. We can do whatever we want and get away with it… I don’t know that my conscience can adjust to this so quickly.”
“Your conscience?” Phillip knitted his brow. “Ah, you must mean your moral compass… readjusting it takes time.”
“I have plenty of that, by the looks of it.” Antoine shrugged.
“It’s so refreshing to speak plainly and not having to play the old games…” he mused. “I’m beginning to like you,” he added in silence.
“All I’ve ever known is that there are consequences to every action. Somehow it seems wrong to me to get away with murder…” Antoine mused. For years, he had begged Ivan to make him part of his vampire club, part of his family. He thought he could handle it, but now that he’d experienced it at close hand, doubts stirred in his heart. What if he was not cut out for being an immortal blood drinker?
“I understand your confusion.” Phillip leaned closer, with such intimacy that it seemed he was about to reveal an astonishing secret. “I too was a Child in Darkness.”
Antoine found Phillip’s words reassuring—even comforting.
“I trust this is a lesson Ivan has yet to teach you.” Phillip relaxed in the chair and sighed. “But he probably wouldn’t speak of the Dark Veil, for he seldom abides by its rules.” He rose from the chair and walked about the room, stopping to acknowledge the personal details Antoine had impressed in it during his brief stay.
“The Dark Veil?”
“There are rules for our Brethren, Antoine—boundaries as you would say. Make no mistake believing otherwise.” He stopped before an oval-shaped mirror and studied his reflection for a minute or so. “You will not find them in writing, certainly. But the Old World’s Kindred Societies gathered in council centuries ago and agreed upon their establishment.”
This was too much to absorb all at once. The Dark Veil, Kindred Societies…? Should he be taking notes?
Phillip returned to the chair. “Perhaps there are too many rules to discuss, but three are most important.” He paused. “I’m sure you’re aware of the First Rule, which concerns our appearance. As beauty is our one bait, it’s completely frowned upon to disregard our image…”
Antoine couldn’t help but feeling alluded by his words. Biting his lower lip, he looked at his clothes. Old blue jeans, wrinkled shirt; he hadn’t even found his shoes or combed his hair… Quelle horreur!
“You shouldn’t be concerned… Aren’t you aware of your own sex-appeal? I’m sure victims often offer themselves to you… and vampires too.” He smirked.
Antoine’s face flared, his cheeks grew warmer by the second. Was Phillip devoted to the art of torturing him? “Please, go on.” A bashful smile.
“The Second Rule,” Phillip sat up on the chair, “commands the complete detachment from the mundane—the mortal world. Of course, we hunt and drink amidst them, but emotional bonds with humans are forbidden. They are considered to threaten our existence, and thus, mortal companionship is not allowed.”
The flash of an image appeared in Antoine’s mind: A couple in love. A woman and a vampire danced in a darkened room. The blood drinker was Phillip, forced to shun Frances from his life after his awakening. Years went by, longing to see her. But he found solace with the cinema’s arrival, for he could now see her without compromising his new condition…
Phillip’s eyes shimmered. A tear rolled down his cheek after he blinked. “I lost her in 1933. She died in an earthquake,” he said with a vacant stare. “Forgive me, where were we?”
“You were about to tell me of the Third Rule…”
“Ah, yes. The Third Rule might be the most important of them all: Never raise your immortal hand against your family. It’s an unforgivable offense, with the most undesirable consequences.” Phillip inhaled sharply. “As for your mortal resentment… I will say you’re much too young, Antoine. Death’s casualties are perilously close to your heart because of the recent loss of your own mortality.”
“And how much time will it take for me to get rid of this mortal resentment?” Antoine asked, fearing Phillip’s answer.
“Only you can answer that,” he said. “To some, it comes naturally at the very beginning of their immortal path. Others find it a difficult task, for it is the final thread that links us to humanity.”
Antoine guessed Phillip lived by the latter, haunted as he was by the ghosts of his past. Ivan struck him as the kind of vampire who’d cut off early all moral and emotional ties. Only time would tell what Antoine’s approach to immortality would be.
“Thank you for this,” he said, smoothing his hands over his jeans.
Phillip rose from the chair. “I’ll leave you to your thoughts then…” he said, and then vanished into thin air.
“My mortal resentment,” Antoine mused. “But what about my mortal love? Should I shun Cassie from my new life?”
“Pssst!”
The sound came from the doorway.
“Wanna have some fun?” she said with a hint of mischief.
Antoine smiled. “I’ll have to change first. But, hell yeah. I need it.”
Antoine & Marianne
They arrived at The Devil’s Coven, a private dance club where members of the Undead gathered for brief encounters and the occas
ional feast.
Antoine had heard of the place years before his awakening. Back then, he had thought it was a myth. But becoming a vampire had opened his mind to a world unknown to him before. Magic was real, vampires were real… This nightclub was real.
The gift of Darkness granted him every right to enjoy himself dancing, singing and even hunting amidst them. Phillip had mentioned no rule against that.
Antoine’s sharp preternatural senses alerted him. They were being watched. A pair of vampires had followed them ever since they’d left the villa. Lurking in the shadows, both blood drinkers had fixed their gleaming eyes on them for a while now.
“Friends of yours?” Antoine whispered in Marianne’s ear, pointing a discrete look at them.
“Hardly.” She gave him a mirthless laugh. “They’ve stalked me for years…”
“Vampire stalkers? Should I say something to them?”
“Nah... Pay no attention to them. They’ll get bored, eventually.” She pursed her lips. “Hey, let’s have some fun.” Marianne held his hand and led him through the main hall, a vast room with high ceilings and a grand crystal chandelier.
Beyond the threshold of burgundy velvet curtains was the dance floor. Blue and purple light beams flashed in the room where people danced and hung out in smaller groups. Most of them were vampires, betrayed in their condition by their pale luminescent skin and graceful movements... Stealthy as cats, predators in the night. The light refracted in their eyes into a dozen subtle colors, which accounted for their unnatural gleam, a quality unparalleled to human eyes.
Antoine spotted a few mortals as well, a fetish feature to the club, maybe. But something about them wasn’t entirely human.
“Those are midbloods,” Marianne whispered in his ear. “Be careful with them. They’ll do anything to get you to turn them.”
Antoine captured a clearer view the further he stepped into the room. A pair caught his eye—she was the vampire, and he was the midblood. She stroked his cheek with great fondness and talked soft words in his ear, later on taking brief drinks off his wrist.
“Isn’t he yummy?” she said with lips tinged in blood, turning to her friends who were vampires as well.
These so-called midbloods lingered around vampires and were treated as pets. It was a peculiar game of which he wanted no part.
Moving through the crowd, vampires and midbloods engulfed him. Their curious eyes swept him head to toe—a single smile would grant him whoever he desired.
“I’m no midblood,” a voice purred in his ear. Her fingers smoothed on his chest as her body drew closer. Shimmering hazel eyes locked in his. The vampire bit her lower lip. Her welcoming smile was too tantalizing to resist.
A hand locked in his wrist. “Dance with me?” It was a mortal woman, a midblood. What was the deal with midbloods?
Turning his back to the vampire, he reached for the woman’s neck and pulled her close. And in this nearness, he whispered in her ear: “I don’t want to dance.”
Holding her hand, he drove her into the depths of the nightclub, far from the coveting eyes of his brethren.
Marianne stepped back, away from the horde surrounding Antoine. He’d already found his prey for the evening—it came so easily to him. Antoine’s natural inclination towards darkness perhaps explained why Ivan had chosen him.
Standing in the middle of the dance floor, detached from the raging crowd, a midblood locked eyes with her. She stood so perfectly still, she could have easily passed as a blood drinker. The woman had light golden brown hair, smooth tawny beige skin, and the most enticing green eyes. She wore a short black dress with a sheer heart-shaped cleavage.
Inevitably drawn to her, Marianne stood before the woman, the warmth of dozens of bodies engulfing them as they moved further in the room. She led her to a private lounge lit by dozens of black candles, the wax dripping over small round tables. A strong scent of sandalwood permeated their surroundings, it made her dizzy… Marianne slipped on the black settee behind her, a smooth intoxication overwhelming her senses.
It came in delicious waves—her exotic perfume—more alluring than any mortal fragrance she’d ever met so far. The midblood’s fingers smoothed on Marianne’s shoulder and glided to her neck. She bit her lower lip hard until it tore open and a few drops of blood emerged.
“Try me,” she whispered in Marianne’s ear.
Trapped by the midblood’s spell, Marianne pressed her lips against hers, and when she licked the woman’s blood a shot of bliss hit her palate and spread to her limbs.
Locked in this kiss, Marianne bit the midblood’s tongue and took one slow drink of her vital liquid. Victims often conveyed her images during the Drink—memories of happier times to drive away the pain—but this midblood gave her nothing. No memories, no thoughts, no information… Her reticence only piked Marianne’s curiosity.
Pulling the midblood’s hair back, Marianne exposed her bare neck. She kissed it once and then plunged her fangs deep into her flesh until she hit the carotid artery. Crimson blood flowed into her mouth, blow after blow of warmth. A taste of Paradise, but no more.
“Give me something other than your blood,” she demanded in silence, parting from her prey.
“My name’s Elizabeth…” the midblood mused with lustful eyes fixed on hers. She leaned towards her and extracted from her clutch bag a small razor blade.
I know where this is going, and I think I’ll allow it.
Elizabeth pressed the razor blade beneath Marianne’s collarbone. She kissed the wound and gathered a few drops of blood with her slithering tongue.
“Don’t be shy, Elizabeth…” Marianne whispered. “Do it.”
The midblood smiled. Her soft lips sealed the wound, and then she took one dark drink of Marianne’s vampiric blood.
It was a wild ride to delirium, Marianne thought she would faint, overwhelmed as she was by the sudden thrill of her preternatural senses. Such excitement could only be compared to the unforgettable times she spent in Phillip’s arms. And just when she was about to moan in ecstasy, Elizabeth backed away.
Marianne opened her eyes only to discover the most profound shock in the midblood’s stare.
“Is something wrong?” Marianne said, wanting more.
Elizabeth smirked. “No,” she said. “Quite the contrary.” With a mischievous smile, she leaned towards Marianne once more, going for another drink. And this time, her hunger was vicious as she drew gush after gush of Marianne’s red elixir.
Marianne closed her eyes. This had to stop, no matter how much she hated the idea. Against her every desire, she held Elizabeth by the shoulders and softly pushed her. The midblood, with reddened lips and cheeks, gave her a smile.
“Marianne…” she mused. Just how much information had she gotten off her blood?
Elizabeth licked her lips and slowly got on her feet, stepping back until she disappeared in the crowd.
Marianne didn’t like it one bit—this whole midblood experience. There was something wanting—a dead body at the end, maybe.
“Ugh… High and dry.” Marianne longed for more than a simple taste from this woman, and now, she was gone. But didn’t she have to be somewhere else right now? What time was it?
1:35 AM.
“Shit!” Marianne all but sprung off the settee. “This can’t be happening, not tonight!”
On her way to the door, Marianne ran into Antoine. In the center of the dance floor, vampires and midbloods alike catered to him. She waited until their eyes met.
“I gotta get out of here… See you later, Antoine. Enjoy your fun.”
Marianne rushed out of The Devil’s Coven. She wouldn’t make it, not on time. He’d never forgive her now.
Ivan & Marianne
“Alisa…” Drunk in delirious heartache, I called out her name, but I knew well she was long gone. “What have you done?” The words filtered in the darkened room. The words were not meant for her. I spoke to myself. I needed to hear me say them.
What she ha
d done was an unforgivable act of treason against our Kin that answered to her vicious nature—but not only that. Her fiendish scheme had shaken every fiber in my being that once had trusted her and even loved her.
In my mind, I played foolish games—seeing her walk into the room, explaining her reasons:
“I—I had to do it, Ivan!” she said with a quivering voice. She ran past Dristan’s body and knelt before me. Her trembling hands clasped around mine. And even when my heart desired nothing more than to take her in my arms and comfort her, I sat still. My eyes fixed on Dristan, the shell of a man deprived from its vital liquid—the man who had once been a vampire, and my maker.
Blessed darkness and blessed alleyways. The scent of mold and urine brought him back to the old days in London, to cobblestone streets permeated with the foul stench of horse’s waste and men’s filth. The city’s cacophony did not reach this long-forgotten borough. Not a soul dared to prowl in its core—a world of difference from Belvedere or Pacific Heights. Accustomed to a life of luxury, what would she make of it?
She appeared beneath a flickering pool of mercurial light wearing pointy high heels and a sequined short black dress—hardly the hunting outfit, but who knew what went on inside her head.
“I’m sorry I’m late…” she whispered as she drew near.
He gave her a wry smile in reply, but soon added, “For a minute I thought you weren’t coming.”
“Ugh,” Marianne uttered wrinkling her nose. “Why here?”
“That’s what we agreed upon,” Ivan said. “I’d accept your invitation as long as I chose the venue, remember?”
“I know but—this?” She dusted off her sleeves with a general air of nausea. Good.
“The scum of humanity roams in these alleys,” he replied. “The lowest level of killers, rapists, drug dealers… you name it.”
“That’s hardly alluring…” she mused.
In the distance, a police car’s siren wailed and drifted almost as soon as it came.
Call of Blood: A Novel of The Unnatural Brethren Page 19
