Nocturne

by Syrie James

  “Hi, Pockets,” she said quietly, fighting back her fear as she approached. “Michael sent me. He needs your help. Let’s go for a little ride.”

  The horse stared at Nicole with both curiosity and fear, seeming to realize that there was a problem. Pockets’ nostrils flared as if she was smelling the air. Then she thrust her head out and snuggled her nose against Nicole’s blood-stained gloves and coat. Did the horse know it was Michael’s blood?

  Pockets let out a low whinny and dropped her head, putting her nose into the bridle as Nicole slipped it over her head. “There’s a good girl,” Nicole said softly. She quickly removed Pockets’ blanket and glanced about the stall, wondering how, without stirrups, she was going to climb on. Spying a bale of straw stacked by the stall’s back wall, Nicole took the reins in her hands and tried to lead the horse to it. Pockets resisted, pulling in the opposite direction, straining to head out of the stall.

  “I can’t fly onto your back like your master,” Nicole insisted, annoyed, as she tugged at the reins. “I need a boost. Come here.”

  Reluctantly, the horse moved in the requested direction. Nicole stepped up onto the bale of straw, but the horse was anxious to go, shuffling her feet restlessly back and forth. It was like trying to climb onto the back of a moving target.

  “Stay still,” Nicole commanded. Suddenly she remembered what Michael had told her about ground tying—it was like telling a dog to stay. Nicole dropped the reins to the ground. Instantly, Pockets stopped and stood calmly, as if anchored to the spot. Nice. Nicole slipped her leg over the horse’s back and climbed aboard, picking up the reins again.

  “Walk,” Nicole said aloud, gently nudging the horse with her legs the way Michael had taught her—but Pockets already knew what she was supposed to do. Immediately, the horse ambled out of the stall and through the open barn door, then instinctively turned in the direction she’d no doubt taken thousands of times before, following the path through the snow that Nicole and Michael had made.

  Nicole’s heart hammered with anxiety as she fought to stay upright on the horse, holding on with her thighs. It only took three or four minutes to cover the ground back to where Michael was lying immobile against the boulder in the blood-drenched snow, the dead mountain lions a few feet away. As they approached, the horse tensed in fear, her head shooting up and her nostrils flaring. Nicole remembered Michael had said the mountain lion was the horse’s most deadly enemy other than man.

  “It’s okay, girl.” Nicole soothingly stroked the side of her head. “Those beasts are dead. They can’t hurt you.”

  The horse’s gaze turned toward her master, and her fear seemed to dissipate. She quickened her pace and trotted up to him, lowering her head to nudge him gently with her nose. Nicole slipped off the horse’s back and dropped to the ground, letting the reins fall from her hand so that Pockets wouldn’t move.

  Nicole crouched down at Michael’s side. At the horse’s gentle prodding, Michael came to and opened his eyes. “I brought Pockets,” Nicole said rather unnecessarily, since Michael was already lifting one hand and stroking the horse’s face.

  “Good . . . girl,” he said. Nicole wasn’t sure if he meant her or the horse, but it didn’t matter; at least he was coherent. He looked into the horse’s eyes and they seemed to be silently, briefly communicating. Pockets remained calm as Nicole helped Michael up. Using the boulder for support, they both climbed onto the horse’s back. Michael slumped forward over Pockets’ neck, Nicole steadying him with one hand as they rode back.

  When they reached the barn, Nicole half-carried, half-dragged Michael onto a pile of hay bales, spreading out clean towels beneath him that she found in a trunk. He lay conscious but unmoving. The horse stood by quietly while Nicole covered Michael with a horse blanket to keep him warm. Removing her gloves, she methodically grabbed bottles of Betadine and rubbing alcohol from the medical supply cabinet in the tack room, along with sterile dressings, cotton wool, a roll of adhesive bandaging material, scissors, antibiotic spray, a book of matches, and a large, curved sewing needle.

  Returning to Michael’s side with the supplies in a bucket, she said, “I can’t find any surgical thread.”

  “Horsehair,” Michael said.

  “What?”

  “Pull a few hairs out of her tail. Old school. Still effective.”

  It was a method she’d never heard of. Nicole secured the horsehairs and set to work, unwrapping and cleaning off the gaping wound on his arm and shoulder, then examining it. The snow had done the trick: the bleeding had stopped. “This wound is deep. It really should be stitched by a surgeon.”

  “No need.” His eyes met hers and gently twinkled, despite his obvious pain. “I have a nurse.”

  He had more confidence in her than she had, Nicole thought. “I don’t suppose you have any anesthetic?” she asked quietly.

  “No. Just . . . do it.”

  Nicole sterilized the wound and needle, then sat close beside him and began to stitch.

  He inhaled sharply and briefly closed his eyes. With great effort, in between quick breaths, he said, “Horsehair won’t bear any . . . great amount of tension . . . but you can place the sutures closer together than . . . other suture material . . . without danger of strangulation of the . . . skin margins. This . . . assures quite satisfactory results and . . . only a reef or granny knot is required . . . being smaller than an . . . ordinary surgical tie.”

  “Thank you, doctor,” Nicole said with a little smile, aware that he was talking to help block out the pain—but her smile fled when she saw how weak he was becoming.

  As Nicole stitched diligently, she felt Michael’s eyes on her, assessing her progress with apparent satisfaction.

  “If I’m ever injured again, nurse, remind me to . . . ask for you.”

  “You might change your mind when you get my bill,” she retorted, hoping her worry didn’t sound in her voice.

  As Nicole finished tying the last knot and was about to reach for a bandage, he said, “Wait. Let me . . .” He struggled to sit up. She understood his intention. With one hand on his back, she helped him lean forward so he could apply his tongue to the skin around the injury. Now that the gaping wound had been sutured, his saliva could help heal the surface gap. What he touched slowly mended, but he could only reach a small part of it.

  Nicole offered to let him lick her fingers so she could spread his saliva across the rest of the sutured wound, but Michael shook his head and lay back again, saying, “It has to come straight from my tongue, and it can only penetrate so far. The deeper tissue will take longer to heal.”

  Nicole bandaged his shoulder, then cleaned and treated his smaller wounds. He lay shivering beneath the blanket now, exhausted. His face looked gray and he was breathing in quick, shallow gasps.

  Nicole took his pulse. It was still rapid and weak. His skin was clammy and even colder than usual. The symptoms were unmistakable, she thought with alarm. She’d stopped the bleeding, but it wasn’t enough. He’d lost too much blood. She’d never imagined that a vampire could go into circulatory shock, and yet he was.

  “Michael, you need a transfusion. You have all that blood at your house. I could get it and—”

  “It’s not my type. That blood is just to consume.”

  “You’re in shock. Vampire or no, you could die from this. If I was at a hospital, I’d have other resources. There must be something I can do to help you.”

  “The only thing—” He broke off, shaking his head.

  “What? What can I do?”

  “Nothing. Forget it.”

  “What?”

  Finally, reluctantly, he said, “The blood I just took from you has probably gotten me this far. If I drink more fresh blood, it will help me to . . . to regain my strength and speed my healing.”

  “Drink more fresh blood?” she repeated, grasping his meaning. The blood in his refrigerator was far from fresh; it had to be many days or weeks old. To heal, she realized, he would have to drink her blood
again.

  The very idea, which had once become appealing, was now frightening. He’d just drunk her blood like a wild animal in heat. Was it safe to give more? Could she trust him to stop? She knew, if she did this, she might die—but she didn’t care. Pulling back the cuff of her jacket, she offered her bared wrist up to his mouth.

  “Take it. Take my blood.”

  “No,” he said emphatically. “I’d rather die than hurt you again.”

  “You won’t hurt me.”

  “I took so much before,” he insisted. “I can’t—”

  “You didn’t take that much. I’m fine. My body is replacing it as we speak.”

  “No,” he said again, turning his head away.

  “I won’t let you die!” Nicole grabbed the scissors and repressed a wince as she incised a sharp line across her wrist. Her blood streamed out, and she held her dripping wrist to his lips. “Drink,” she ordered, gazing meaningfully into his eyes.

  Michael lost all will to resist. He slowly lapped up the fresh blood she offered. As he slowly gained strength, he grabbed her wrist and pressed it more firmly against his mouth, holding it there while he feasted.

  CHAPTER 20

  THE SCENT OF APPLEinvaded Nicole’s senses. She felt cold and groggy. Opening her eyes, she found herself lying on a bale of straw. The last thing she recalled was Michael drinking her blood.

  Since she was still alive, it meant he’d had the self-control to stop from taking too much. Nicole heaved a relieved and satisfied smile. Michael was sitting beside her, gently stroking her head and holding a slice of apple to her mouth. Love lit her heart at the sight of him.

  “Eat, Sleeping Beauty,” he murmured.

  “No, please, not another apple,” Nicole complained wearily.

  He scooped his arm under her and gently lifted her to a sitting position. “You need to get your blood sugar up. Eat it.”

  With a sigh, Nicole accepted the apple and bit into it. The cut on her wrist, she noticed, was healed.

  “How do you feel? Are you dizzy?” he asked.

  “A little. You look a lot better,” she observed with relief as she chewed. Color had returned to Michael’s face and his energy level seemed to be back to normal. Through the tattered remnants of his clothes, she could see that most of his smaller wounds and scratches had healed.

  “The restorative powers of human blood.” He smiled at her with gratitude. “Thank you for everything you did. That took a lot of guts.”

  She retrieved another apple slice from his hand and ate it. “I was happy to save the life of the man who had just saved mine.”

  He frowned, a haunted look returning to his eyes. “Well. You certainly proved something today.”

  “What did I prove?”

  “That you’re no longer afraid of blood—giving it or working around it. I was bleeding like a stuck pig and you never hesitated. You saw what needed to be done and you did it.”

  Nicole took that in with a silent, surprised nod.

  “I’m proud of you. You should be proud of yourself.”

  “Thank you.” Nicole started to stand, but her knees felt wobbly and she sat down again.

  “We’d better get back. You need to get some liquids in you.”

  Nicole took another long drink from the wash hose, then Michael offered her his arm and they returned to the truck. It was still overcast and the sun hung low in the sky. They drove back to the house in silence as Nicole finished off the rest of the apple, her head beginning to feel less woozy.

  Just as the truck crested the rise of the hill, a sound rent the air: the distant roar of another truck engine.

  Nicole’s breath caught in her throat and her heart lurched in dismay. On the main highway far below, a massive snowplow was slowly cutting its way forward through the deep snow, clearing one side of the road.

  NEITHER OF THEM SPOKE. Michael parked in the garage and they went inside. A heavy stillness filled the air.

  “I’ll go and get changed,” Michael said quietly before darting up the stairs.

  Methodically, Nicole threw her bloody clothes into the washing machine, then went up and put on clean clothes. Wandering into the kitchen, she found a can of soda in the fridge and popped it open. The cool, sweet beverage felt good against her parched tongue, but she barely tasted it. Deep inside she felt only welling sadness.

  She took the can with her to the front windows where she stopped and looked out, drinking in the beauty of the snow-draped landscape, which glistened beneath a hazy late afternoon sky. The highway below was half-cleared of snow now, a stripe of black against a field of white. Soon, it would be open in both directions. Tomorrow, she could go home.

  Tomorrow.

  Michael joined her at the window, dressed in a clean pair of jeans and a black T-shirt. They stood in silence for few minutes, gazing at the view. His expression was unreadable.

  Nicole was the first to speak. “I’ve been thinking about something you said last night.”

  “Oh?”

  “You said I should go back to nursing. You were right. I thought maybe I could get a job up here at the hospital in Steamboat Springs.”

  “Steamboat Springs?” He stared at her. “That’s a ski town. How many pediatric oncology cases do you think they get there?”

  “There are other nursing specialties—”

  “But that’s your specialty. You have skills that the world needs. You have to work in a city hospital with a pediatric oncology center, and you know it.”

  “But you live here. If I worked up here . . .” She saw him frown and rushed on uncertainly. “I wouldn’t have to live with you. I could get my own place—”

  “Forget it, Nicole. If you were anywhere nearby, I’d want us to live together, to be together—as man and wife. I’ve fantasized that maybe, somehow, we could do it, but now I know that’s impossible.”

  “Why is it impossible? Because I’ll grow older every day, and you won’t age?”

  “Of course not! I’d love you at any age.”

  “Then why? Because of what happened today?”

  “Yes, because of what happened today! I almost killed you!”

  Nicole twisted her hands, glancing away briefly. She was frightened by that part of him; very frightened. She couldn’t deny it. But her love was stronger than her fear. “Michael: you saved my life from those cougars. You had to become a beast to fight them—otherwise we both would have died.”

  “I almost killed you, Nicole!” he repeated. Shame and guilt were etched in his face as he strode to the sofa, where he stood

  “But you did stop. It proves that the man inside you is stronger than the beast. And when I let you drink from me again, you had enough self-control to only take what you needed.”

  “We might not be so lucky the next time. Which is why there can never be a next time. I could never risk that happening again—and neither should you.”

  His despairing tone cut through Nicole’s anguished hope like a blade. “You told me not to spend the rest of my life worrying that I might make a mistake and hurt someone. The same goes for you. I’m willing to take the risk.”

  “Why? Why would you take that risk?”

  “Because I love you! Because I can’t imagine my life without you!”

  “I love you, too.” Michael’s eyes glowed with such deep affection it made her heart ache. “I love you with all my heart. And I’d give anything if we could be together. But we can’t.” He turned away. “The anxiety I’d have to endure every day, worrying about you, about what I might do to you—I couldn’t live with that.”

  Nicole hadn’t considered it from his point of view before, the stress that he must be under. She didn’t want that for him. “Oh,” she said quietly. “All right. I understand.” Did she even dare to speak her next thought aloud? She had barely acknowledged it to herself. Crossing to where he stood, she said, “There is . . . another option.”

  He whirled to face her again, his eyes and tone darkening dangerous
ly. “Don’t. Even. Say it.”

  “I have to say it!” In a choking voice, she went on, “When I let you drink my blood in the barn just now, there was a moment when I thought: so what if I die? He’ll save me. He’ll bring me back. He’ll make me a vampire.”

  “I told you I will never do that.”

  “But if it’s what I want?” she persisted.

  “You don’t know what you’re asking!” he cried angrily.

  “I’m asking for a chance to be with you, to share the life you have here. And if that’s the only way it can happen—”

  “Do you really want to exchange your human life for an existence like mine? To spend a lonely eternity hiding from people and the sun?”

  “We wouldn’t be lonely if we were together.”

  “If I made you a vampire, it wouldn’t guarantee that we’d be together.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because,” he said bitterly, “in all probability, you wouldn’t want me anymore.”

  “Of course I’d want you! I—”

  “Nicole. Have you forgotten what I went through as a newborn vampire? It’s not just a physical change. It’s emotional, psychological, and it’s all-encompassing. In those early years, I cared nothing for the people who’d once been important to me. My parents, my siblings, my fiancée whom I once loved—I didn’t give a damn about anyone but myself. I lived a life of utter decadence, selfishness, and lawlessness. It didn’t matter how many people I murdered or how much I drank, I was never satisfied. And it went on that way for half a century.”

  Nicole’s knees buckled and she sank onto the sofa, dashing away tears. “And you think it would be that way for me?”

  “I know it would. I saw it with all my kind.”

  “But you learned to rise above it, to fix yourself,” she said desperately. “You passed for a human and lived among people for decades.”

  “Yes, but after killing how many hundreds, thousands of others first? Even now, no one is truly safe around me. Do you really want that for yourself?”

  Tears spilled down her cheeks. “No.”