by Trisha Telep
We were squeezed in pretty tightly, but he managed to pull me closer. “Does this place have a dance floor?”
I laughed, happier than I’d ever imagined I could be. “It will when we’re done with it, If that’s what you want,” I promised.
“I think dancing – being – with you is all I ever wanted.”
“Me too.” I couldn’t stop the girlish giggle from escaping. “I guess this is a real –”
“Hollywood ending,” he finished, not having to be psychic to know what I was thinking.
Play Dead
Dina James
Even out here, he could hear the music.
Slowing his stroll to nearly a stop, Nikolai’s crystal-blue eyes rose to the sign above the door.
THE GARLIC AND STAKE.
A wry smile twitched at the corner of his lips. It grew to a complete, bemused grim upon seeing the small, hand-lettered sign outside the pub, near the sidewalk, where it couldn’t really be seen unless one was looking specifically for it.
VAMPIRE LAIR LOCATED DOWNSTAIRS.
Oh? Really, now.
Nikolai’s eyebrows rose, and his eyes once again flicked to the sign above the entryway that displayed the vampire-themed name of the pub.
He debated about going ‘downstairs’ just for the sheer horror of it: humans masquerading as vampires were always a good source of a night’s amusement, not to mention a quick . . . bite.
If they truly knew what it was to be what they wished they were. A consciousness in a mortal form. A body without a soul. A voracious parasite, forced to live upon the blood of those they traded their soul to outlive.
There was a reason vampires were called ‘damned’.
In no real mood for amusement, ignoring the vague promise of an evening’s entertainment, Nikolai was nearly past the pub entrance when something else caught his attention.
A scent.
Soho, London was full of scents. All kinds. Some intoxicating, others repulsive.
But this . . .
He closed his eyes and breathed it in.
The scent washed over him, enveloping him as the water of a hot bath used to when he was still human.
His eyes opened just in time to catch those of a woman as she walked past him towards the glass door that led into the vampire pub.
A mortal woman.
Accompanied inside by a mortal man.
She looked away quickly, as though she didn’t want to be looked at. Or maybe it was just that she didn’t want to be seen entering this ridiculous ‘vampire lair’.
Nikolai almost laughed at the thought.
But nearly as quickly as she’d looked away, she looked back again and, when their eyes connected, Nikolai felt it as a physical blow.
Stunning. That was the word for it.
Not that she was beautiful or in any way physically attractive to him.
She simply stunned him.
How strange that was. Her eyes were almost a challenge in themselves, let alone the look she’d given him. Dark-brown eyes that both demanded he leave her alone and entreated him.
Save me, please.
He heard it as clearly as if she had spoken to him.
She held his eyes until she could no longer do so, and then descended downstairs into the vampire lair.
What?
A woman like that? Going into . . . such a place . . . with . .?
“A woman like what?” he asked himself. “She’s just a mortal. With an equally mortal companion. Going into an equally mortal bar to play dead.”
He could hear from where he stood that the music inside was too loud. He could smell that the bar didn’t observe England’s uniform smoking ban. Hell, he could nearly see from here the unswept floor, the unwiped tables and the low light designed to hide both facts while making a pathetic attempt at a vampiric ‘atmosphere’.
Humans would never understand that, while his kind shunned daylight, they found artificial light – especially the soft glow of candles – particularly appealing. They did indeed have sensitive eyes that afforded them very keen vision, but they didn’t shrink from all kinds of light as they were purported to.
He didn’t have any interest in this place. But she was in there.
She was now in that laughable vampire lair, with a weak, male human who would do little to nothing to sate Nikolai’s appetite if Nikolai wanted his blood. Of course, judging from the look the woman had given Nikolai, this human man did little to nothing to sate her appetite either.
It would be entirely too easy to take her from him. The thought amused him, and he smiled again.
Yes.
Why not? He wanted her. For some reason he wanted her more than anyone he had in, well, he couldn’t remember the last time he had actually wanted, and he wasn’t sure it was just because he could have her. It seemed he was in the mood for amusement, after all.
However, that meant he had to follow her.
He found himself reaching for the door handle and opening the door.
Out on the street, the smell of garlic had been merely annoying. Now it was overwhelming. They must pump it in from somewhere. More or their insipid ‘atmosphere’, he supposed. Not that the stories of garlic repelling vampires had any truth to them. Far from it.
It was repellent, period.
But that didn’t matter now. He had a purpose.
Nikolai strode past the drinkers to the entrance to the vampire lair downstairs. It was a steep staircase that turned 90 degrees halfway down.
He rolled his blue eyes and debated.
He was wearing a white suit. Another hand-lettered sign at the top of the stairwell said clearly: ‘NO SUITS!’
Suits. He hesitated a moment.
It wasn’t the sign that gave him pause. It was the idea that he might get something foul and disgusting on his white jacket or trousers.
Contrary to Hollywood myth, he did not live in a manor house with servants who did his laundry and this suit was ‘dry-clean only’. And if he said so himself – not that he could see for himself (the story about vampires not having reflections was as true as the garlic myth wasn’t) – judging by the longing looks he had earned today, from men and women alike, he looked damn good in this suit. It was a suit that was far too expensive to even consider dirtying in a dank little mortal ‘hangout’.
As if a real vampire would be caught dead in such a place. No pun intended.
But that was an overused cliché anyways. Vampires were not technically ‘undead’. They were very much alive, thank you. Nikolai really had to hand it to the movies and folklore. Mortals would never understand that one’s body could be separated from one’s soul and still be alive.
Modern humans didn’t believe in anything. They called themselves ‘advanced’, though Nikolai had yet to see any proof of advancement in humans save for their technology and hygiene. They just wouldn’t believe it if you told them that they all had an immortal soul. They had no clue about the war being waged over these souls or any idea about their powers. Asking them to believe that there were creatures interested in gaining possession of their souls was ludicrous indeed.
Nikolai considered the stairwell for another long moment. She was down there. Her heartbeat was less than 50 metres away. Even here, he could hear it. Feel it. Its rhythm was synchronized with his own. Did she not feel it? How could she not?
He wanted her, and he would have her, if only to satisfy his curiosity over this unorthodox desire.
The moment’s hesitation gone, Nikolai descended the stairs.
Confidence bordering on arrogance.
That’s all Katrina could call the look on the man’s face as he entered the bar. Oh, she’d seen him outside. A white suit? The man seemed to be stuck in the 1980s, sans mullet (which was a mercy), though she could tell his hair was longer than most men wore it. Maybe he was just far too much of a Miami Vice fan, though he wasn’t wearing sunglasses (thank God). Still, all criticism aside, he did wear that suit well, even if he did look a li
ttle strange in here, where everyone else was wearing black. If anyone looked out of place, it was her, with her dark-pink top and a black skirt.
Of course, Dan had assured her she looked fine, though she was sure Dan would have said anything to get her to come down here. He had wanted to come here for months, ever since he read about it online on one of his vampire forums.
It was right up Dan’s loud, wannabe-vampire alley.
She, on the other hand, was bored out of her mind.
One drink. She’s promised, just one drink.
Her hopes that it would be a quick drink were dashed though. The bartender was still on his cell phone. How that guy could hear anything over the loud death-metal music was beyond her anyway.
Her eyes caught those of the guy in the white suit. He made her feel inexplicably better about her clothes. Now they both looked out of place. The way he was eyeing her made her uncomfortable though.
He looked at her hungrily. Desirously.
She looked away, both pleased and embarrassed.
She didn’t . . . look like that. Feel like that. She wasn’t anyone.
Certainly not anyone that – well let’s face it – deserved a guy that hot looking at her like that.
Come on, Dan! Hurry up! Come on, bartender! Get off the phone!
Dan was oblivious to her, as usual. He was studying the old horror-movie vampire behind glass at the end of the bar while he waited for the bartender to get off the phone.
The guy in the white suit suddenly gestured dismissively in the direction of the bartender and Dan. With a wave of his hand, he seemed to dismiss all of it. And his gesture seemed to be for her benefit alone.
Then he held the same hand out to her.
Katrina looked around nervously. No one noticed him. How could they not? He didn’t look like he belonged here. Why weren’t they noticing him?
But no one was looking at him.
And no one was looking at her.
Her eyes went to his again. Shy, now.
Nikolai tried not to let his impatience show.
Why wouldn’t she come to him?
Wait. Wait. This was the New Millennium. Mortal women didn’t respond as well to a commanding male as they used to. Well, not outwardly.
It was Nikolai’s experience that they all yearned secretly for such a man, but their modern pride would not let them admit it. Modern mortal females had fought long and hard for equality and independence and respect. To confess that they truly just wanted a strong man to care for them was tantamount to treason; ill regard for the rights their foremothers had fought to give them.
Still. Semantics aside . . .
Slowly he turned the hand he held out to her palm down, as though he wished for her to take it.
Wished.
He was giving her the choice. That was what these women wanted these days, wasn’t it?
To be given a choice?
Even though he didn’t believe there was truly one for her to make?
This was destiny, after all.
Why wasn’t Dan looking around to check on her? God, he was always so oblivious to her! To anything outside his own interests. If he ever managed to order their drinks, he would probably just start talking to the bartender and wouldn’t even notice she had gone.
He didn’t even notice that someone was noticing her.
Wanting her.
Asking her to come with him.
She found herself doing something completely insane. She left the sticky, rickety chair she’d been sitting in, moved hesitantly away from the safety of the unbalanced table and reached to take the hand of . . .
“Nikolai.”
He said his name, answering her unspoken question just as her hand touched his. He then brought her hand to his lips and brushed her knuckles with (what could only be described as) a reverential kiss.
Why couldn’t she seem to hear anything in the room other than his voice?
Why couldn’t she look at anything but his eyes?
Without another word he cradled her left hand in his and effortlessly moved around behind her, his right arm encircling her waist as he guided them both out of the dark bar and up the stairs out of the vampire lair.
“Do you hunger?” he asked once they were on the street. A soft, low sound in her ear.
Oh, God, his voice! It was all Katrina could do not to melt right there.
That was one damn sexy accent.
Of course, this was Europe. All the men here had sexy accents of one kind or another. That’s one thing America really didn’t have much of – sexy accents. Texans were kind of cute though, with their Southern drawl, and OK boyfriends if you liked Budweiser, pickup trucks and line dancing.
Nikolai didn’t look Texan. Nor did he sound in any way American. Or English. His question alone: Do you hunger? English obviously wasn’t his first language.
What a question.
Yes, she hungered, but not for anything on a menu anywhere in Soho.
She hungered for something she couldn’t name.
A shake of her head was all she could manage.
Nikolai laughed richly. “You have permission to speak . . .” His words trailed off in a prompt for her name.
Not that he didn’t already know it. Even he, who wasn’t as adept at reading human thought as some of his soulless kindred were, had learned her name almost as easily as he knew his own.
“Katrina,” she supplied without stammering, hardly even remembering that she should be protesting against his condescending offer of ‘permission’.
“Katrina,” he repeated, his tone turning her name into a caressing accusation.
His arm tightened around her waist.
Panic settled over her, but only for a moment. She closed her eyes and breathed as deeply as she could, which wasn’t very deep at all. A series of disturbing thoughts raced through her mind.
What was she doing? What if he was a rapist? A murderer? A psycho serial killer?
A vampire?
“You’re not a vampire, are you?” she found herself asking aloud.
Nikolai released her enough that he could look at her sternly. Then he smiled at her.
Her eyes widened as she took in his fangs.
Then she laughed. The Lair. He must be an actor, playing a role. Miami Vice, remember? A Don Johnson wannabe, though mercifully shaven and with neatly trimmed, if a little Renaissance-ish hair.
“The lady laughs,” Nikolai said, seemingly crushed. He sighed deeply.
Katrina rolled her eyes at him. “There’s no such thing as vampires,” Katrina informed him, smiling back.
“Try telling that to my family. Now, let us escape this vile place and those individuals back in the bar,” Nikolai said as he moved her down the street.
“So, are you going to take me down one of these narrow alleys, drain me of my life’s blood and leave ne to die?” She asked, somewhat teasingly, even as she snuggled further into his arm. It wasn’t cold, exactly, but the summer night’s breeze was brisker than she was used to.
“I prefer hiding in plain sight,” Nikolai answered. “Besides, do you know how hard blood is to get out of white clothing? I am rather fond of this suit.”
“It looks sinful on you,” Katrina said, blurting out what she’d been thinking since she’d first laid eyes on him.
“Well, my soul already dwells in hell, so I have no fear that wearing this will do it further harm,” Nikolai answered, hardly thinking that he’d just voiced a truth he’d never spoken aloud before.
And he’d said it so effortlessly, without even realizing that he was speaking to her as if she weren’t human.
She just laughed.
Nikolai breathed a silent sigh of relief and chastised himself inwardly for his slip. Why? What did he intend to do with her? They were just walking along a street in Soho, like . . . like normal people. Well, like he was a man. They weren’t walking along like predator and prey. Hunter and hunted. They were just walking along like a man and a woman.
And she laughed at him, and told him she didn’t believe in vampires.
Perhaps she didn’t believe in Heaven or Hell either. Most humans didn’t these days. Or if they did, they did so in a completely incorrect, awkward and befuddling manner.
His centuries of anguish and torment, his greatest shame, laughed off like it didn’t happen. Like it wasn’t even possible.
And it didn’t matter to him. Her laughter made it . . . laughable. Bearable. He supposed that when the truth was spoken nakedly it was rather laughable.
He was a lost soul. Literally. Well, that’s what they called it, anyways. His soul, along with those of others of his kind, wasn’t exactly ‘lost’. He knew exactly where it was. It was in hell, with Lucifer.
He was quite literally, damned.
Only in his particular case, his soul had been willingly given in exchange for immortality. Damned by his own hand. That truly was the ironic kick in the groin.
Others – most notably Kail the Betrayer – still thought of themselves as victims even though they had clearly earned (even asked for) the forfeit of their soul. However, Kail was unique. Kail wanted his soul back and had dedicated the whole of his immortal existence to finding a way to get it.
Nikolai wasn’t unique. He was exactly the same as all the others who attempted and succeeded in making a deal with the Devil, not quite understanding what true immortality entailed.
Living off the blood of those you sought to outlive.
But Nikolai was willing to pay the price and willingly joined the most powerful of the vampire clans that wished to call him ‘brother’. Nikolai was one of the Destrati.
And the woman beside him had laughed.
Though she ceased when she saw the look on his face, and studied him a moment as they walked.
“You really think you’re damned?” Katrina asked him softly.
“Because of my actions, my soul dwells in Hell,” Nikolai answered again being honest without thinking about what he was saying. “Is that not what ‘damned’ means?”
“You know. I don’t usually get into the deep philosophical discussions until the second or third date,” Katrina replied with a nervous laugh.
“I do not date,” Nikolai found himself answering calmly. “My personal life is complicated. My family does not allow much time for . . . dating. I simply saw you tonight on the arm of that mortal man who is not even remotely interested in a thing like you and . . .”
