by Trisha Telep
A rustling sound a few feet away snapped her attention from the Brazilian. Startled, she stopped and raised the pepper spray, scanned the bushes and trees, and listened. Her heart pounded against her ribs, adrenaline shot through her system. That’s what she got for being cavalier about mountain lions. She should know better. Simply because she’d never come across one of the beasts, didn’t mean they weren’t there. Her hands trembled so badly she almost lost her grip on the canister, and her knees threatened to fold. She’d heard that the deadly cats stalked their prey. Was one watching her now? Her mind spun as she tried to remember what the article in the newspaper said about the lions: try to look big and never run. Run? Even though that was what her brain demanded, she didn’t think her legs could manage, since they seemed to be made of rubber.
She waited in the thick silence with her finger poised over the canister, her stomach tight. The seconds passed like hours. She finally let out a shuddering breath, relieved that her imagination had probably exaggerated the sound of a deer or a raccoon. She’d just relaxed her shoulders and taken a couple of shaky steps up the path, when something large burst out of the bushes.
Pivoting towards the movement, she screamed and pressed the spray button, sending a shower of the caustic substance into the eyes of a husky man who’d lunged at her, hands clutching, mouth gaping to reveal long, bloody fangs. He shrieked as the irritant coated his eyes and face, but still managed to tackle her ferociously, slamming her body down onto the asphalt path. Her canister bounced against the ground and rolled away.
The man - or whatever he was - had outrageous strength. He pressed against her like a concrete slab, easily holding her down, while madly swiping at his eyes with one of his hands. The treacherous, long, razor teeth she’d glimpsed as he’d leaped at her were poised over her neck, dripping saliva and blood. She could feel the slimy, wet substance oozing down her shirt as she choked on the hideous stench of his breath.
His long, dark hair hung filthy and stringy, his skin deathly pale, his clothing torn and foul.
She kicked and flailed, pushing against his powerful shoulder, trying to dislodge the unnatural, unbelievable beast. Her arms ached from the useless pounding, her throat went raw from screaming. His body weighed so heavy against her chest, she feared her ribs would snap any second. Her heart thundered in her ears as if about to explode from the terror.
He’d kept up a growling rumble, punctuated by yelps and groans, as he frantically worked to clear his eyes and wipe his face.
Struggling for air, she made gasping noises, all the fight gone out of her limbs.
The tips of his pointed fangs broke through the skin of her neck, sending a wave of pain radiating down her body. This is it! As she braced for the expected horror, suddenly the monster was gone. His weight no longer pressed on her chest so she could breathe. Shocked, she blinked her eyes, realizing she must have closed them in her panic.
For a moment she felt certain she’d died - that the thing had torn out her throat or crushed her heart. She hadn’t seen a white light or a tunnel. There were no idyllic scenes, no relatives coming to guide her to greener pastures. And it was strange that her body still hurt, but she had to be dead - there was simply no other possible explanation.
She’d looked up and seen the perfect face of an angel.
And then nothing.
“Shit!” Ethan yelled. He grabbed the back of the undead troublemaker’s filthy shirt, jerked him off the woman and dangled him in the air. “Nelson! Come and take this disgusting specimen, would you?”
He turned his gaze to the frightened eyes of the beautiful woman sprawled on the path, gave her the command to “sleep”, and watched her eyelids close.
Of all the rotten luck. He’d lost sight of the brainless newbie for one minute and look what happened? Of course there had to be a mortal walking around. Why didn’t these humans stay in their houses at night, like they were supposed to?
Nelson crashed through the trees and retrieved the snarling bloodsucker from Ethan’s grip. He locked eyes with the flailing fiend, gave him a suggestion to be still, then tossed the now quiet perpetrator across his shoulder. “Sneaky bastard almost got away, didn’t he? I think we both need a vacation from this job.”
Ethan snorted. “Yeah. That’ll happen. Since Mordecai came to town and started turning out these mindless fools at an alarming rate, we’re in greater demand than ever. There seems to be no end to the number of these bloodsucking idiots we have to track down and capture. Why does he only turn humans who can’t find their asses with a flashlight? Is stupidity the only requirement for his recruits? If Alexander hadn’t pissed off Mordecai, and caused him to bring his grudge match to our quiet little mountain town, we’d be dozing in our coffins and watching reality TV right now.”
“Yeah,” Nelson laughed. “Fine way to talk about your lord and master. Alexander’s OK. He’s just got a little bit of an anger-control problem. And Mordecai knows exactly how to push his buttons. But you know how it is with us vampires: one drama after another. Angst is our middle name. If we weren’t focused on Mordecai’s mindless minions, it would be something equally ridiculous. How else would we fill eternity? Speaking of dramas - what are you going to do with the delicious morsel our impolite friend intruded upon? You probably shouldn’t leave her here. We aren’t the only predators prowling the area.”
Ethan sighed and studied the woman. He had to admit she was quite delectable. In the forty years he’d been undead, he’d rarely paid more than passing attention to a mortal female. It was simply too dangerous to be around most humans. The bloodlust burned powerfully strong, and their fragile bodies were no match for his hunger. He didn’t have the age or ability to ignore the urge to suck them dry. Every time he’d been around humans he’d almost lost control of himself. Since he was still sensitive enough to be bothered by useless slaughter, he avoided temptation all together.
Of course, he had no problem drinking from the low-life drug dealers, criminals and paedophiles who unknowingly volunteered to become his nightly entrees. Their blood tasted just as sweet as any other, and he considered their executions to be acts of public service. He’d even become remarkably talented at disposing of the drained corpses, so he never broke the cardinal rule of vampirism: remain hidden at all costs. In his world, it was a true death sentence to betray the existence of the undead.
A slow smile spread his lips as he explored her body with his gaze. This one was lovely. When she’d stared up at him with her dark eyes, he’d had the odd notion that she was much older than she appeared. But, strange ideas aside, Nelson was right. He couldn’t just leave her as bait for the normal part of the animal kingdom.
“I’ll carry her up to her house, wipe her memory of having crossed paths with our repulsive friend, and give her the suggestion that she’d merely arrived home and gone to bed. Go ahead and take your package back to Alexander’s and dispose of him. I’ll join you shortly.”
Nelson smirked. “Why do you always get the good jobs?”
“Because I’m me and it sucks to be you,” Ethan laughed. Sucks to be all of us.
Ethan heard Nelson tromp off through the bushes with his passenger, and he squatted down next to the woman. The scent of her blood enticed him - the pulsing vein in her exposed neck caused his fangs to descend. As his usual feeding trance threatened to enthral him, he argued with himself about whether or not to act on his immediate needs or take her home. His primal brain insisted he could simply drain her and dispose of the body -nobody would be the wiser. He was so hungry. But something about her gave him pause. An intriguing element he didn’t want to destroy. In fact, the more he stared at her, the greater his curiosity about the pretty human. A faint voice in his head, a remnant of what he used to be, piped in to insist he wasn’t an animal. He made the decision, willing himself to lock the bloodlust away.
He scooped her into his arms, scanned the area to make sure there weren’t any other humans lurking about, and - satisfied they were alon
e - strode up the narrow path to the group of houses tucked away on the side of the mountain. It was pure luck, he thought, that nobody had heard the woman’s screams. But he moved quickly, just in case rescuers were on their way.
Her scent loomed strong around her house. He decided she must walk the path often in order for the aroma to be so pervasive. The house smelled of herbs, coffee, flowers — and her.
She lived in a two-storey Victorian, the sleeping area upstairs. He carried her up to her bedroom, used one hand to pull the covers back on the bed, and settled her onto the soft mattress. Then he straightened, surveyed the area with his preternatural vision, and smiled.
Her room was colourful and feminine. He strolled around the perimeter, studying the artwork, noting the musical instruments and appreciating the soft smells hovering around the unlit scented candles. On a table in the corner, covered with a vibrantly coloured cloth, lay a deck of tarot cards. He selected a card and laughed: the devil. How appropriate. The walls were adorned with photographs of the woman playing instruments in various settings, along with diplomas from well-known universities. He read one of the diplomas. Grace Blackburn. Her name is Grace. He paused in front of a framed newspaper article about the opening of her sound studio on the Pearl Street Mall a few years earlier. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out she must be a musician.
I used to love music — a long time ago. In fact, I once hoped . . .
He immediately stomped on the useless thought, mentally crushing it like a nasty bug. Nothing would be gained by dwelling on the past. His existence had changed in the blink of an eye and he had to face reality. Anything else was too painful.
After exploring the human female’s room, he found himself strangely reluctant to leave. He tugged a wicker rocking chair from the corner to the side of her bed and sat, watching her sleep.
If she knew what was in her room, she’d run screaming.
Something about this mortal woman made him feel oddly peaceful. It was as if a relaxing energy emanated from her person - like her actual physical body gave off a pleasant hum. He imagined his skin warming from an invisible heat source. He leaned in closer. Here he was, sitting beside a sleeping human without drinking from her. What was wrong with him? Why didn’t he leave?
The expression on her face was sweet and innocent, like a child’s. He gazed down her curvy body and was reminded that she definitely qualified as a grown-up woman. Her beautiful blonde hair fanned out on the pillow, giving her an ethereal, other-worldly appearance. Ivory skin shone translucent and perfect. Full, soft-looking lips aroused his body. He wondered how they’d taste.
That realization jolted him back to sanity and he leaped quickly from the chair, then bent over the slumbering human. “You will sleep through the night, experiencing only pleasant dreams, and will wake in the morning remembering an uneventful walk to your home the previous evening. You will feel relaxed and happy about your life.”
Without thinking, he inhaled her aroma and pressed his lips to her forehead. “Goodnight, Grace.”
What the hell, Ethan? You are so screwed up.
He bolted down the stairs, closed and locked her front door and ran with vampire speed back to the lair where his undead companions waited.
Grace woke to the sound of the telephone ringing.
She blinked her eyelids, which seemed overly heavy, and rolled towards the annoying noise coming from the bedside table.
“Hello?” she croaked.
“Grace? Is that you? What’s wrong with your voice?”
“Uh-huh, it’s me, Roz.” She cleared her throat. “There’s nothing wrong with my voice. I’m just groggy from sleeping.”
“You’re still sleeping? Are you sick?” her friend asked, anxiety elevating the pitch of her voice. “The only time I’ve ever known you sleep until noon is if you’re too exhausted to get out of bed. Or you’ve sung yourself into a trance. Should I skip my yoga class and come over?”
Grace forced herself to sit up, which wasn’t as easy as she would have expected. Maybe she was coming down with something. “Don’t be silly, pal. I’m an adult woman who can take care of herself.” She glanced at the clock, surprised. “You’re right though. I don’t usually sleep this late.” She shook her head to clear away the strange mental cobwebs. “I had the most bizarre dream.”
“Ah, a dream. Excellent. Right up my alley. What did you dream? Have you finally begun to explore your gift of prophecy? Roz sees all and knows all.”
Grace chuckled. “I don’t think so. Unless my future is filled with angels and vampires.”
“Oh, yum! Angels and vampires. Maybe the dream represents the basic struggle between good and evil. You’ve always taken the high road, maybe you’re ready to join me on the naughty side. Are you considering doing something wicked, my repressed friend?” She laughed.
“Not that I know of.” Yeah, as if the opportunity to make a wicked decision ever enters my life. “Maybe I’m yearning for something unusual.”
“Something unusual? Hmm. There’s hope for you yet. What do you remember about the dream?”
“The strongest memory is the face of the angel who saved me from a fiend with fangs. My rescuer had long, dark hair, beautiful emerald eyes and pale skin. Hey! I just realized I dreamed in colour. That’s weird for me. Even though the dream scene took place at night, I could still see the red blood dripping from the vampire’s mouth and the green of the angel’s eyes.” She hooted out a laugh.
“What?”
“The angel wore a Rolling Stones T-shirt. The one with the big tongue. Not anyone’s idea of standard celestial garb, I’d say.”
“At least he had good taste. I’m encouraged that you’re dreaming about a man. Remember what I told you . . .”
Grace snorted. “You mean your margarita-fuelled ramblings about my destiny? The man I’m supposed to meet? The one who’ll rock my world?”
“Hey!” Roz pretended to be offended before assuming an obviously fake gypsy-fortune-teller accent. “You’re trifling with an ancient prediction. Ignoring a prognostication passed down through the women of my family - the outcome of a revelation long awaited. Disregard at your own peril . . .”
“Chill, Madam Roz,” Grace laughed. “Put away the crystal ball. I believe, I believe.”
“OK then,” Roz said, cheerfully speaking in her normal voice again. “Maybe your dream has deeper implications. I’ll have to meditate on your symbols and see what I can conjure for you.”
“Thanks,” Grace sighed. “But I’m sure I can figure it out. I’ll sing about it. Maybe I just watched too many horror movies as a kid.”
Roz hesitated a few seconds. “You sound very serious this morning, Grace. Not yourself. Are you sure you don’t want me to come over? I could cast a little healing spell - cook something chocolate in my cauldron. It’s not a problem. I worry about you being alone so much.”
Me too.
“You’re sweet, Roz. I’m OK. I’ve got a busy afternoon with lessons and a recording session. Then tonight I have another sound circle. In fact, I’d better get to it. Thanks for calling. I probably would’ve slept all day if you hadn’t.”
“Well, if you’re sure you’re OK. I’m just a phone call away if you change your mind. Love you.”
“You too.”
Grace hung up.
She swung her legs over the side of the bed, still feeling slightly fuzzy. She hadn’t felt so off since the last time she’d gotten carried away with champagne at a friend’s wedding, and she was certain she hadn’t consumed any alcohol in days. Unless she’d overindulged in her dream and had an imaginary hangover. Or maybe being in an angel’s presence was intoxicating. She chuckled at the idea.
She shuffled into the bathroom, turned on the shower and stepped inside, thinking about the strange dream.
There was an air of mystery around the beautiful, phantom man with the green eyes. It was unusual for her to remember his face in such detail, after only a brief glimpse. She imagined h
erself running her fingers through his long silky hair and skimming her lips along the strong bones of his jaw. His features were almost too perfect, his body too buff. She laughed out loud.
Whoa! Get a hold of yourself, Grace! It was just a dream. A great dream, but all in your head.
The hot water felt wonderful against her bruised skin.
Wait a minute. Bruised skin? Why is my skin bruised? When did that happen?
She finished washing her body and hair, slashed the plastic curtain aside and angled over to the full-length mirror. Investigating all the tender spots, she discovered bruises on both elbows, her hips and an especially spectacular extravaganza near her tail bone.
As she pressed on the blue-purple skin of her hip she had a sudden memory flash of hitting the ground, hard.
What? I don’t remember falling down. Did I roll out of bed onto the floor?
The pale face of the dream angel with the Rolling Stones T-shirt floated into her mind and she smiled, then shook her head.
How peculiar. She definitely didn’t feel like herself today.
Ethan’s eyes popped open the second the sun set.
Concentrating, he tried to understand the wispy, uncomfortable feeling he’d never had before. He couldn’t shake the idea that he’d been . . . interrupted. Or something. Who knew what went on in his brain while he was dead during the daylight hours, but he had the craziest sense that he’d been thinking a few seconds ago when his life force (death force?) reanimated his body. His sire, Alexander, adamantly insisted vampires were simply empty shells while the sun ruled the sky, nothing but paralysed cadavers. But if that was true, Ethan must be losing his mind. Maybe he was. First he’d lurked around the human woman without fanging her and then he dreamed, of all damn things.
It was her. The mortal female. Grace. Her scent was all over him. She’d done something. He just knew it.
He sat up in one of the cardboard boxes that passed for coffins in the basement of the vampires’ headquarters, gathered the bottom of his T-shirt under his nose so he could sniff it, and sighed. He flopped back, feeling suddenly as relaxed and limp as a drained meth addict. Even her smell melted his bones.
