by C. N. Owens
I robotically nod, still denying that I just agreed. My heart flutters from an inseparable combination of fear laced with excitement, and my mind fills with passing fantasies of him inside me, anticipating what’s to come. I take his hands and move them up my sides and lean forward again until we’re face-to-face, and I reach for my black thong. I move it out of the way, and he slides into me without any assistance. I close my eyes and take another pointless breath, denying the old memories, locking them away somewhere deep inside my mind.
“Just a taste?” I ask, feeling the poke of a fang as I bite my lip. Not waiting for an answer, I descend on him, kissing the bite wounds I made before, and then biting there again. His silky blood pumps forth, and I begin to rise and fall on him with trembling thighs. I release from his neck and let out a long sigh, overwhelmed with the feeling of my core tightening and pulsing every time he fills me up.
“Roll me over,” I beg, enraptured. He complies, feeding on my excitement, taking me by the wrists and flipping me over onto my back. I splash onto the bed and giggle, loving how playful he is, forcing myself to accept that right now, I’m acting like a simpering, submissive girl. He manipulates and molds me; I give him free rein. I slide my panties off, displaying myself to him, trembling uncontrollably, damp with the fluids I’ve created for him and him alone. He crawls toward me, a predator coming in to feed, arriving between my knees and kissing my thighs on the way down. I let out an irrepressible cry at the feel of his tongue gliding across my slippery tumescent sex before traveling the gulf of my stomach and through the valley of my breasts until he reaches my lips.
“Are you okay?” he asks. I nod, gasping when he slides back into me. He wraps me up in his big warm arms and lets out a grunt of gratification as our hips collide.
I jerk him toward me, reminding him that I’m still only allowing him to be dominant, and lick the rivulets of blood from the fresh wounds I created, suckling again. His muscles relax and contract around me, and I feel trapped, surrounded by a natural being, animated and given life by the chemical reactions taking place inside his body, containing his soul. It has been centuries since I have felt so alive… so defenseless.
Almost psychically giving me what I so deeply desire, he stands up, taking my hands and leading me under the covers. He rolls me onto my side and then enters me from behind, pulling me close so I can feel his warmth from head to toe. He hugs me lovingly and drives deeper with increasing speed, becoming more aggressive, but still somehow tender and nurturing. His free hand dances on my skin, raising goosebumps everywhere, until all at once, my back arches, my muscles clench as his hand travels down between my legs. His fingers slip across the wet, tender flesh, blindly knowing where I‘m most sensitive. His other arm wraps around my trunk, holding me in place when I begin to tremble and quake. My eyes roll back; I let out a weak cry as my muscles contract in wave after wave, starting in my core and radiating outward. My insides grow warm, and I feel a pulsing from within as he buries his face in my hair and fights to suppress a moan.
I lie still and quiet, somewhat ashamed, but so happy in this embrace that I never want it to end.
“Please stay with me this time,” I whisper, shuddering at the feel of his finger tracing the raised line of one of my scars.
“How long do you want me?”
“As long as you’ll have me. Anything you want, I would do it for you and Andrea.” Another useless breath, afraid of his answer.
“You have great pillow talk.”
“I’m serious,” I hiss, irritated that he thinks I’m joking.
“The sun’s about to come up. You tell me if that’s what you want tomorrow when you rise again.”
“You had better be here when I wake up.”
He chuckles. “No promises.”
Chapter 8
Cassie
The day, for me, passes without memory. Sunrise leads into dusk, instantaneously, with no dreams, no recollection of the hours that passed, like they never happened.
The room reeks of sweat and sex, and so does my skin. My thighs stick together as I shift under the cold sheets, rolling onto my back from where I was lying on my side. I kick off the covers and sit up, completely naked. Between my legs is a bloody stain that travels down to about midthigh on my right leg. It trails off onto the mattress where it left another faint red pool drying on my six-hundred-thread-count sheets. There’s no pain, and even though irritated, I’m not surprised because it’s not from an injury. One of the best things about being a woman and a vampire is not having a period. Any bodily fluid that a vampire has consists of more blood than the fluid of mortals—tears, saliva, a male vampire’s sterile semen—all come out with a tinge of red from blood.
To my left, a violet rose sits on the pillow. I swat it away, collect my clothes, and run to the bathroom for a shower, hurrying to cleanse myself of the mortal excrement left on me and in me. I feel disgusted and violated, and no matter how hard I scour myself, it won’t go away.
After bathing for what might have been an hour, I dry off and pull on a pair of soft airy pants and a long T-shirt before walking downstairs.
The bottom floor hangs heavy with the putrid stench of food cooking, and the sounds of idle chatter between Trent and Andrea echo from the kitchen. I walk toward the sounds to see them laughing and talking while sharing a bottle of wine.
Trent is at my stove, stirring a pan filled with shellfish in a clear yellowish sauce full of herbs. Andrea leans on the counter next to him. A long-stemmed wineglass is pinched between her fingers in her right hand, sweaty and full of white wine.
“Hey there,” Andrea says first.
Trent looks over and smiles a big warm smile. Proud of how he defiled me last night, I’m sure. He walks over to me, wearing a black T-shirt and black cargo pants, and wraps his arms around my shoulders. The rank smell of butter and fish clings to his clothes. He holds me for what feels like an age, and my anger flares when he tries to kiss me. I push him away, using more force than I should have, making him stumble backward a few steps.
“We need to talk,” I say. Those were the only words I could muster.
Trent pulls the pan off the burner and wipes his hands.
“I told you,” Andrea mumbles as they follow me into the living room.
“What’s wrong?” The look in his sad brown eyes only makes me angrier.
“Last night.”
“Was amazing, besides this hangover.”
“It was a mistake. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
He sighs. “You are kidding me, right?”
“No, I’m not. Actually, I don’t even want to look at you right now, so will you kindly leave?”
“Cassie, I did everything you asked. What did I do wrong?”
“What did you do wrong? You have a penis; that’s what you did wrong. You fuck me, and then you leave me soaking in your fluids for the day. Now I have this ugly bruise!” I say with my fists clenched, eyes blurry with angry tears.
He looks at me for a moment as if contemplating whether I’m serious or not. “Cassie, please don’t do this. I didn’t mean to offend you. I would have bathed you while you slept if I’d known that’s what you wanted. I would have done anything. That would creep a mortal girl the hell out if I tried something like that on her!”
“Trent, leave now or I’m going to hurt you.”
“Cassie, just come in here and sit with us for a while. You’ll feel better,” Andrea says, still sipping her wine, unfazed by my reaction.
“You stay out of this!” I yell, letting my voice grow unnaturally loud.
“Please forgive me.” He reaches for my hand, but I snatch it away, my anger boiling over.
“Okay then, where should I go? I have no car.”
“Call a cab,” I say before turning and walking off upstairs.
“You are a fucking flake, Cassie!” I hear him yell from downstairs.
***
Trent
<
br /> Such a good day gone bad so quickly. Out on the porch, bags packed, I shuffle through Google looking for a cab company, when across the driveway, the barn door slides open on its own. Andrea strolls out, wineglass still in hand, unmoved by Cassie’s tantrum.
“I’m sorry, Trent. She’s not the most emotionally stable.”
“Understatement,” I mumble with my eyes still fixed on my phone.
“Go ahead and take a car. She’ll be mad at me, but she will get over it.”
“No, thanks. I won’t cause any more trouble than I already have,” I say while scrolling through my list of contacts, landing on Nathan.
“Give her some time to cool down. She’ll come around.”
“Thanks, Andrea, you really are a sweetheart, I mean that, but I think I’ve had enough of her bullshit.” I hit dial.
Chapter 9
Nate
It was early evening when he called, around seven, Trent asking for a ride to get a rental car. As I pull into the driveway of the old mansion, I remember seeing it when my parents took me for rides in the country. The place was dilapidated back then, but now it’s completely redone, everything, the driveway, the land… it’s like stepping back in time. I find Trent sitting on the steps, his bags packed and sitting next to him.
“Hey, man, is everything okay?”
“Yeah, just drama,” Trent says as he tosses his bags into the back and climbs in, the smell of alcohol on his breath.
“So I guess your friend is no longer interested in talking.”
“I don’t think she’s my friend anymore.”
“Sorry to hear that.” I pause for a moment, but there’s no response. “So how much longer are you in town?” I ask as I pilot my Nissan Armada out onto Route 17.
“Not much longer, I hope,” Trent says, rubbing his temples with his fingers.
“I think I know why you’ve been avoiding me.” I’ve been waiting for this opportunity. I grab a folder from the back and drop it into Trent’s lap. Inside are some of the pictures I printed, mostly to convince myself that my friend wouldn’t do anything this stupid. “That’s from security footage, around 3:45 a.m., at Norfolk Central Hospital.”
“Looks like a guy in a white shirt.”
“Do you know what I’m about to ask?”
“Tell me and I’ll let you know.”
“It that you? Did you kill Judge Schuler?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. By the time stamp, this was last night. At that time, I was where you picked me up, having submissive sex with a vampire who has serious emotional issues.”
“And she can vouch for you?”
“Is a vampire’s testimony admissible in court?”
“I’m not sure… emotional issues?”
“Don’t ask.”
“Trent, I’m having a hard time wrapping my head around this. The man in these pictures spent thirty minutes or so in Leila’s room, then he goes to the front desk, and then to the judge’s room. They find the judge a while later with an air embolism.”
“An air what?”
“Never mind.”
Trent puts the pictures in the back seat and then bends in half, his head between his knees.
“I worry about you.”
“I’m just hungover.” He groans and pulls his long hair tight behind his head.
“You seem to be wearing yourself thin. What can I do to help?”
“Nothing. I just need to get home and recharge is all.” He sits back, his skin clammy, fresh bite wounds dotting his neck.
“Forensics came back on the motel room.”
“And?” Trent perks up.
“Well, I guess Leila was servicing a customer that night. Her DNA was everywhere.” It was almost as though I prepared for this. I grab another folder and drop it into Trent’s lap while trying to watch the road.
Trent studies the pictures, showing no interest in the little white socks, bloody rags, or clumps of white hair, but stops at a picture of the barbless hooks that were found. Heavy-gauge steel, big enough to cover the palm of your hand. Dried blood clings to the polished metal like an oil stain.
Trent shakes his head. “I’ve seen enough.” He plops the pictures down on the center console.
“Doesn’t the agency teach you to be objective?”
“Yeah, I failed that section in the academy. Nate, I need you to give me a lift to Dante’s Tragedy. You’ve heard of that place, right?”
“Sure, caters to the undead persuasion and the ones that like to pretend. What are you thinking?”
“I’m going to go stir things up.”
“I’ll take you anywhere you want, even back you up, but you need to be straight with me first. I need to know if that was you in the hospital.”
“Fine. Let’s say that piece of shit is arrested for molestation, rape, anything like that. What is the most jail time he would see?”
“That’s irrelevant.”
“To you, maybe, but he would have been out in a couple years easily and then back living the high life on his yacht so he can fuck underage prostitutes.”
“So, you are saying you killed him?”
“Damn right, I did! I assassinated him. No less than he deserved,” Trent says, his teeth clenched. “Want to arrest me now?”
“I’m supposed to.”
“What’s stopping you?”
“The fact that the judge deserved it.”
“Now you are starting to talk a little sense.” Trent slaps the dashboard with his hand.
“I can’t protect you, I can’t destroy evidence, but maybe I can buy you a little time.”
“They won’t find anything in that room. All they have is a ghost on camera and a drunk at the door who saw my badge.”
“Don’t get cocky.”
“I covered my tracks, but I’m not done.”
“Trent.”
“A guy named Vlad. He and I need to talk.”
“What did he do?”
“He tortured her, took off her finger.”
“How do you know that?”
“Two independent people have identified him for me.”
“And just like that, you want to kill him?”
“Perhaps.”
“Why were you at the hospital anyway?”
“I’ve got my reasons, and well, I was a little drunk. Did you know she’s from Russia?”
“Yeah, I interviewed her earlier today. She denied you ever being there, however, so I played dumb.”
Trent laughs. “Good girl.”
“What is it with this girl and you?”
“I have no idea who she is, but every time I close my eyes, I see her all mangled like she was when I found her. She’s already a victim, and I won’t let our fucked-up laws victimize her even more.”
I have no response, switching cop mode off for a second. I know what I should say, but I find myself unable.
“I thought about Brittney when I saw her, and I asked myself what I would do if that girl was my daughter or sister or whatever. I guess I shouldn’t have.”
“Exactly. Brit needs you. How can you be there if you’re dead or in prison?”
“She doesn’t need me. Soon, she’ll have another dad anyway. If you don’t want any part of this, I don’t blame you. Just stay out of my way for a little while. Let me be able to say I did one good thing for someone.”
I nod, feeling nuts for reasoning with my friend who just admitted to murder. “Let’s try to do this the right way first. Let’s track Vlad down, bring his ass in, and question him. Do that for me.” I share watching the road with watching Trent’s reaction, hoping he will make the right decision.
“Whatever, man. Let’s do it.” Trent sits back in the seat, resting his head in his hand.
Chapter 10
Trent
Nate owns a townhouse in historic Ghent, an upper-class section of Norfolk. Down to the whimsical gaslights l
ining Yarmouth Avenue, it is preserved to look the way it did centuries ago.
Terry opens the door as we approach, looking much the same as she did years ago: brown hair and eyes, long and lanky, with a square chin, but still attractive in a masculine, bodybuilder kind of way.
“I didn’t think we would see you again before you went back home. Come on in!” she says, opening the door wider for us to enter.
“Yeah, sorry for that.” I laugh sardonically.
“Oh, don’t be silly.” She adjusts three-year-old Katie on her hip.
“Where’s the big guy at?” I ask, referring to Katie’s four-year-old brother, feeling punchy and out of place.
“He’s in bed already; I think he might be coming down with a cold or something.”
“Poor guy.”
“Let me show you to your room,” Nate says as he pulls my bag off my shoulder and leads me upstairs.
“Do you still train?” Nate asks in the bedroom, turning to face me.
“Every chance I get.”
“So, you still have your sword?”
I open a flap on the bag in Nate’s hand and pull out my sword—a weapon that I rarely go anywhere without—and give it to him.
“Who is your teacher nowadays?” Nate asks while grasping the sword with his free hand and studying the blade. It is covered in scratches and nicks from years of abuse.
“Since I left Virginia I haven’t found a good replacement, so I’ve just been trying to stay in shape.”
“Is it true that you can cut through a human body with this thing?”
“Probably several. My trainer, Cassie, had it hand forged by a master swordsmith.”
“A vampire?”
I nod. “One that has been working at his craft for centuries.”
“Wow”—Nate’s eyes widen—“have you taught anyone how to use this?”
“I could show you a few techniques. Since when are you interested in waving one of these things around?” I ask with a smile as he hands the sword back to me.
“Paranoia, I guess. Things seem to be getting worse with all this undead bullshit going around.”
