The First Vampire

by Alicia Ryan

  Ash crossed the room to his desk. James remained standing, uncertain how far he wanted to follow.

  Ash pushed a button on the underside of his desk top, and two of the panels directly behind him slid open to reveal a small metal door. Ash pulled the door open, and only then did James realize he was looking at a mini-refrigerator. From it, Ash removed a vacuum-sealed silver bag. He handed it to James, along with a straw.

  “Juice box?” James queried, both eyebrows raised.

  Ash laughed. “I guess you could call it that, yes, but it’s not juice. It’s synthetic blood.”

  “Synthetic blood?” James repeated. “I didn’t think there was such a thing. If you really have it, you shouldn’t keep it to yourself,” he said. “Lots of people could benefit from a synthetic blood supply.”

  Ash studied him for a moment, and James was briefly glad to have surprised him.

  “One of my investments is in a small bio-tech company called Hemogen,” Ash explained, “whose goal is to make synthetic blood for human use. They haven’t perfected it yet, but they succeeded several years ago in making a highly oxygenated synthetic blood that met my requirements. Now, I keep funding them, and I have the formula and a constant supply.” Ash nodded toward the bag. “Now drink.”

  “Uh… I’m not thirsty?” James suggested.

  “No, but you soon will be,” Ash said, “and I’ll be honest with you, synthetic is not quite as good as the real thing. It helps stave off the worst cravings, though, and that’s what I’d like to try with you for a while. I’d like to see if you can develop some control before you start feeding on humans.”

  “Dear God.” James walked to the back of the room and sank down into the dark, supple leather of the sofa. The cold sweat had returned to his forehead, and he mopped at it with the back of his hand.

  “The sweating only lasts a few days,” Ash replied, as if it should be a comfort. “It’s just a leftover reflex.”

  “Am I really going to want to eat people?” James asked.

  “No, not eat. We’re not cannibals.” Ash pulled a short leather chair from in front of his desk, spun it around and took a seat facing James. “But human blood is what we crave. We can live on other things—synthetic blood, animal blood—but nothing is quite as satisfying as drinking from a live human.” Ash went on, ignoring James’ grimace. “You can drink without killing as soon as you develop a little control. It is in their infancy that vampires—at least those who don’t choose to be killers—are the most dangerous, both to humans and themselves.” Ash gestured again toward the bag in James’ hand. “That’s why I want you to start slow.”

  James couldn’t believe he was listening to this. Nevertheless, he put his lips to the tiny plastic straw and took a sip.

  A cool, metallic liquid coursed over his tongue, and blinding pain shot from his jaw. James dropped the bag and slapped both hands over his mouth. He gave a muffled yell and looked wide-eyed at Ash.

  “It always hurts a bit the first time your fangs come in.”

  James resisted the urge to say “Fangs?” He was starting to feel like an echo. Instead, he ran his tongue along the back of his teeth. Shock forced his eyes wide as he felt first one new tooth and then another. They jutted down from his palate behind his real teeth, very thin, but wickedly sharp. As he ran his tongue over them, he found himself wanting to bite down on the warm flesh.

  He clenched his jaw shut instead and looked down at the silver bag in his lap. Almost against his will, he raised the bag once more. For a moment he simply stared at its shimmering surface, contemplating the liquid inside. He opened his mouth and bit down hard, sending his fangs right through the plastic.

  He wanted it to be warm, but even the cool rush was like a red-hot poker to his brain. He closed his eyes, pressed the malleable plastic tighter against his mouth and sucked greedily. A tiny sliver of his brain recoiled in horror, but its cry was almost inaudible compared to the sweet sound of rushing blood. James ignored the voice of caution and drank on.

  When the bag was empty and some sanity had returned, James slid back on the couch and put his head in his hands. It wasn’t dignified, he knew, but at least it stopped them from shaking.

  “There’s no need to be ashamed, James,” Ash said. “Just as before, you are what you choose to be. You can choose to be a wild beast or to manage your cravings. Both roads are open to you.”

  “Choose?” James asked. “Manage?” He raised a tear-streaked face, but his tone was strident. “Those are nice words, Ash. But I can never go back, can I?”

  Ash’s face softened for a moment, but then his mask of nonchalance returned. “No,” he said dryly, “you can never go back to your old life. It will be many years before you can be in prolonged close contact with humans with any certainty of your control over your hunger.”

  “How long?” James persisted. “Can you do it?”

  Ash nodded. “Yes, but I’m not sure how long it took. It was probably a hundred years before I even tried. Now though,” he said, sounding to James as if he was trying to look on the bright side, “I work with humans every day, and I interact with them just as I am with you now.”

  James had stopped listening. “A hundred years?” The echo was back. “Ariana won’t even be alive. No one will.” James looked down at his hands and, without thinking, licked off an errant drop of blood. His body shuddered at the taste, and James wasn’t sure if it was from horror or pleasure. “Not that she’d want me like this,” he whispered.

  “Tell me about your wife,” Ash said, his voice sounding odd and far away.

  “Ariana?” James asked, looking up at his strange captor. “She’s brilliant. She…” his voice trailed off as some instinct told him to be cautious. He didn’t want to say anything that would intrigue this creature. If he couldn’t protect Ariana from himself, he certainly couldn’t protect her from Ash Samson. “We were getting divorced,” he said flatly.

  Ash looked surprised. “But you love her.”

  It was James’ turn to look surprised.

  “You called out for her in the park,” Ash explained, “just before—”

  James wondered at that for a moment, but then nodded. He did love her, it was true. Things had just gotten off track for them. She wasn’t supposed to work 70-hour weeks. She wasn’t supposed to miscarry their first child and not be able to have any others. The gulf between them, having grown slowly ever since they moved to New York, had become insurmountable after that.

  “You will get used to your new life,” Ash said, misinterpreting his expression, “but no, it will not be your old life. It will, at times, be difficult and lonely. Very lonely.”

  Ash rose and walked over to his expansive desk, leaning his tall frame on its fine finish as he turned back to James. “If it’s too terrible for you, you can walk out the front door into the sunlight, and it will all be over. Or you can stay here and let me teach you to be a proper vampire.”

  So much for an ordinary life, James thought, dropping his head back into his hands and trying not to feel everything he’d ever known slipping through his fingers.

  CHAPTER 6

  Ash couldn’t believe he had let James talk him into going to his apartment. It was risky and went against his better judgment, but he should have realized before now that James wouldn’t be able to wear any of his clothes. They were simply too different in size. The things he had ordered from downtown would be delivered in a day or two, but he had ultimately agreed to this because he thought it would be better if James had a few of his own things.

  Plus Ash felt sorry for the guy. First a divorce, and then getting turned into a vampire. It wasn’t exactly James’ week.

  The squat brick building where James had lived was in a good location, but it sat sandwiched between two newer hi-rises, making it appear an ugly duckling by comparison. There was no doorman, so Ash went straight up to James’ apartment.

  He turned the brass key in a lock that was far sturdier than the door itself and let
the plywood barrier swing inward. The tiny living room was pitch dark.

  Two steps forward and a slight veer to the left, and Ash was standing in James’ old bedroom. Light from the street filtered into this room because its plastic blinds were too short for the windows.

  Ash opened the closet and raised a brow at the eight identical pairs of khaki pants hanging there. Neatly pressed, they made for easy pickings. Even as Ash stuffed a pair into the laptop bag he carried over his right shoulder, he began to wonder what had made him turn this particular man into a vampire.

  He sighed as he selected a blue oxford shirt and stuffed it into the bag beside the khakis. It didn’t really matter why. Like so many things, it was done and could not now be undone.

  He turned from the closet and moved over to the dresser. James’ wallet was there, as James had said it would be. Ash didn’t take the wallet, but he did take the license from inside its front fold. Even vampires occasionally needed ID.

  A pair of jeans grabbed from a drawer filled the remaining space in the bag, and Ash turned to go. When he did, he noticed a picture on the nightstand, illuminated slightly by the beam of light peeking in from the street.

  A beautiful, smiling woman stared back at him from in front of some snowy backdrop. She was waving to the person taking the picture, her mane of dark-blonde hair shimmering in the sun, her sweater and jeans clinging to a stunning figure. Ash knew she must be James’ wife, but he felt the vice grip of the past tighten around his chest as her dark eyes bored into him.

  It can’t be her. Not after all this time.

  Instantly he was back with her again, her hair reflecting golden lamp light as her luscious body arched atop his own; warm night air caressing their bodies as they lay entwined in her bed. Every muscle of his body worshipping her perfumed skin, loving her fierce intellect, losing his soul in the bottomless depths of her eyes before he knew just how low those depths could go.

  Delilah.

  He snatched the photo off the small table and inspected it more closely. She didn’t look exactly the same, but the soft, fierce glow radiating from her eyes was unmistakable. He’d know that black soul anywhere. He’d searched for it for 3,000 years—first at her home in Sorek, then, once he’d learned that he could see human souls, in the face of every woman he’d met down through the ages. And now he had found her here, by accident, married to another man. He slipped the photo into his bag and took the ragged breath habit told him he needed.

  Blood and memories raced inside him, but he calmly re-traced his steps back outside. After two blocks, he turned down a deserted side street and, making sure no one was about, broke into a full run and leapt into the sky, shooting straight up past windows and rooftops, until the air turned noticeably cooler and he could see the first rays of dawn glowing on the horizon. He took a deep breath, allowing the thin air to cool his exhilarated insides.

  Feeling somewhat calmed, he turned and fell headlong, racing back toward the earth at full speed, stopping his nose only an inch from the pavement and righting himself with a slow flip. A satisfied smile lit his face. He normally didn’t show off, not anymore, but his elation at finding Delilah made him burn with the desire to do many things he hadn’t done in a long time. Which would he do to her first, he wondered?

  With some surprise, he reminded himself that it didn’t matter. Now that he’d found her, he had all the time in the world to see that the last chapter of their sordid saga was finally written.

  CHAPTER 7

  Ash suddenly wasn’t in the mood to go home, so he walked down to the East Village where music boomed from the open door of the chic club he sometimes frequented when he was in the city.

  Despite the early hour, the club was already packed with young, rich people of every variety. From hidden speakers in the rafters, loud Middle Eastern music, interspersed with odd bits of rap and pop, rained down on the crowd. The familiar, wailing notes made Ash feel at home.

  He thought again of Delilah and felt rage and wonderment start to warm his cold insides. Scanning the crowd, he began threading his large frame through the crush of young bodies. He kept his eyes on the painted Moroccan tiles running the circumference of the room near the ceiling.

  Each time a body in the crowd rubbed against him a pang traveled from his brain down to his jaw and then dispersed in tiny electric waves through the rest of his body. He was relieved to feel it. Time had dulled his hunger, but tonight he was starving.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Ash saw a young woman moving toward the bar. She had warm olive skin and auburn hair that floated around her face in a flattering modern cut. She met his gaze for a moment, and Ash reached out to her mind, grateful to finally have found a suitable distraction.

  As expected, the woman quickly looked away. Ash could tell she was flushed. Women were often ashamed of their reaction to him.

  This young woman reached the bar and was waiting for her drink when Ash walked up behind her and put his hand on the small of her back. She turned to him, eyes alight and smiling slightly.

  Ash returned her smile and bent as if to whisper something to her over the din of the crowd. He put his lips lightly against her ear and mouthed the words, but spoke the invitation with his mind.

  Forgetting about her drink, the woman answered him by taking his hand and leading him through the crowd. Tobacco smoke and svelte, gyrating bodies obscured his view, but after a few moments, they got close enough to the far wall for Ash to see that cushioned platforms were set up in each of the rear corners of the room. He moved ahead of the young woman toward a spot just vacated by a couple heading for the dance floor.

  Ash reclined his long body along the outer edge of the platform and drew the young woman down beside him, keeping her between him and the other occupants of their pillowed dais. The woman turned, half beside, half on top of him, and put one hand inside his coat. Her small fingers ran lightly over the hard muscles of his chest.

  The sensual rhythms snaking from the speakers cast a spell on the crowd. The couple next to them had succumbed. Ash could see their entwined arms through the dim.

  The young woman seemed to feel it, too. She moved closer to him, and Ash waited for the predictable heat of anticipation to course through his body. It had been many months since his last feeding.

  He cupped the girl’s cheek in his hand and drew her ruby red lips to his. They were hot and moist and moved willingly under the pressure of his own. He remembered this. He remembered the way it had made him feel.

  At his silent prompting, the girl withdrew her mouth from his and pushed herself up higher on the cushions to give him access to her exposed neckline. He stared for a moment at her soft red dress, her smooth skin, and her pounding pulse, savoring the beauty of such a singular combination. He tightened his grip on her mind and wound his hand into her hair. Its silkiness reminded him of Delilah. He gritted his teeth in frustration, but then brightened, remembering that he had just been given the opportunity to finally exorcise her from his memories.

  He hesitated for a moment when he realized that the burning hatred he still felt for Delilah might be one of the few emotions he had left. Growling under his breath, he put it out of his mind. He had found her, and he would have his revenge. That was all that mattered.

  He angled the woman’s head slightly to make her neck less visible to others and sank his teeth into her flesh. As he’d hoped, the first gush of blood past his lips quieted his ghosts.

  A second later, she whimpered in his arms, and Ash realized he had been too rough. His hold on her mind was strong though, and he quickly gentled his approach to ensure she felt no pain.

  He drank from her until he knew she could stand no more, but he didn’t intend to kill her. He ran his tongue over the wounds in her neck, covering them with his saliva. The wounds would heal before she even recovered from her swoon.

  Checking his watch, Ash reluctantly repositioned the auburn haired beauty so her body no longer lay across his own. Then he rose and extricated him
self from the crowded bar. He needed to get back to James.

  Outside, a sudden tingling sensation broke through his musings, telling him he wasn’t alone. Resisting the urge to look over his shoulder, he shook the tail of his overcoat back into place and started walking in the general direction of his townhouse. He crossed block after block, but the sensation of being watched remained.

  When he came to the corner of Central Park, he decided to take a detour. Inside its stone walls, gravel crunched beneath his feet, and he could now make out another set of footsteps behind him. Damn, he thought, the Council must have someone trailing him again.

  Ash rounded a curve and ducked behind a large tree. The trunk of the massive oak shielded him completely. Moments later, a very blond man walked by, wearing denim and cowboy boots. Ash waited for someone else to appear, then turned his attention back to the blond cowboy and did a double-take. He could normally pick out a vampire from a hundred yards, but he’d almost missed this one. How strange for the Council to send someone so very young, he thought.

  The young vampire passed out of Ash’s field of view, and he left the shelter of the old tree. Instead of continuing toward his townhouse, he turned in the direction the blond one had gone, curious about his young follower.

  After a few steps the young one paused, causing Ash to wonder if he’d gotten too close. One so young shouldn’t have been able to sense him at all. Ash kept walking until he stood just behind the other vampire’s shoulder.

  “Why are you following me?” they both asked in unison.

  The boy spun around. “You!”

  Ash looked down and gave a little smile. “Surprise,” he said, grabbing the vampire by the collar and pulling him up to his own eye level. Unexpected warmth washed over him—much like the warmth from a human body. Ash dropped his head and sniffed up the side of the boy’s face. “Who are you?” he asked, genuine puzzlement creeping across his harsh features.