The Night Within Us: Dark Vampire Romance

by Sylvie Grohne

  “Are you a vision?” I asked her.

  Violette smiled. Her lips were uncommonly full and an attractive red.

  “Maybe I was sent to you?” She moved closer to me and looked insistently into my eyes.

  “Like an angel?” Aside from sounding distinctly uncertain, my voice now also had a slightly sarcastic undertone. I thought of all the pictures of angels in the Church of Almería, where some of my commissioned carvings were also displayed. The pictures of the chubby-cheeked little beings certainly had no resemblance at all to this beautiful woman, sitting next to me in the sand.

  Violette laughed her melodic laugh once more. She leaned over to me and breathed in my ear, “If you need an angel, Álvarez, then I'm your angel. If you're weary of human existence and aspire to something greater, then I will grant you power and strength, and a life which will be incredibly fulfilling for you.”

  “You've come to get me?” Confused, I stared at her shape, and I didn't even find it strange anymore that I was trying to make out whether she had wings, as one would imagine an angel having.

  “Yes, I've come to get you. I'm your reward,” she whispered in my ear, her voice full of promise. “Do you want to come with me?”

  Something felt strange and wrong, but I couldn't put my finger on it. My suspicions were lost in the dark gray of my thoughts. What did I have to lose, anyway? The thought of Rebekka and my stillborn son caused me physical pain. Maybe I'd see them again there? Maybe God hadn't meant to separate us, rather he would reunite us in this way? How could I have doubted him, when I'd lived my whole life as a decent, God-fearing man?

  And even as I spoke my agreement, Violette shot forth, buried her head in the crook of my neck and sucked the life out of me.

  4

  Amkaya

  Still lying on Cassie's bed, I pay attention to what is going on inside me. The animal within me breathes. Ever so still and quiet, it lurks in the dark confines of my soul and waits. Waits for its time. Even though my sister didn't have the beast in her, her love for Airas and me wasn't diminished when she found out what is in us and what we struggle against. Not a single time was I able to see fear or disgust in Cassie's eyes. And I looked very carefully for it too, because I was searching her eyes for confirmation of what I felt and how I saw myself.

  When, on a foggy night in November 1906, she found me on Amrum beach covered in blood next to a dead man, she lay her cardigan solicitously around my shoulders and brought me back home through the dunes.

  After Airas took care of the body, he returned to us and tried to explain to our sister what we are. As he nervously searched for words, which he only got out in fits and starts, she barely stirred. Wordless and pale, she washed the blood from my face with a damp cloth and stroked my head gently as I sat, apathetic, at the table.

  “I'll make us some tea,” she said in a soft voice and disappeared into the kitchen. In that moment I realized she must have already known in a way, and felt how much it tormented us, how much I loathed myself for it.

  Oh Cassie, I miss you so.

  “Are you ready?”

  Airas comes into the room and looks at me questioningly. I nod and his gaze wanders around the room.

  “Do you remember?”

  He gestures to the painting over Cassie's dresser.

  “The Poor Poet.” I have to grin. “How could I ever forget? That night in Charlottenburg Palace.”

  “Cassie shouldn't have raved about this painting so much,” he excuses our theft all those years ago. He doesn't look even a little guilty, a smile playing around his lips at the memory.

  “Are you crazy?” Cassie told us off when we turned up at her place in September 1989 with two paintings by her favorite artist Spitzweg. “You're both completely insane.” But her eyes sparkled with joy.

  The joy in Airas's eyes extinguishes as quickly as it ignited.

  “We have to hurry if we want to get to the ferry on time,” he reminds me and goes on ahead. I follow him.

  He stows our luggage meticulously in his new favorite car, a limited edition Bullitt Mustang in dark green. Cars and all things with motors are Airas's greatest weakness. In San Francisco the same model in black is sitting in our driveway. The one in Germany doesn't get out of its garage much though, in comparison to the other. We simply spend most of our time in California.

  Airas races far too quickly along the island streets to the harbor, causing us to almost collide with a cyclist by the pub “Blaue Maus”. He topples, together with his bicycle, onto the curb.

  “Oops,” is all Airas says and he winks at me.

  At the ferry, we park in the second row right up front in the bow. When Phil calls, I take the opportunity to get out of the car. I really don't want endure their murmured endearments right now.

  The sky is covered with gray clouds and the sun shows no sign of coming out. How I hate trips over the sea. I much prefer having dry land under my feet. Leaning against the railing, my gaze skims over the sea. This way at least I can let my thoughts flow undisturbed. And there are heaps of thoughts and memories going through my mind. Since my conversation with Airas yesterday, I can't help ruminating, yet again, about Morton and that summer in the year 1897.

  The travelling circus we joined after our mother's death was visiting Scandinavia then.

  The circus director put up with us, because to start with we only demanded board and lodging, so we constituted cheap labor. Our exceptional strength and abilities quickly became important elements of the artistic acts of the circus, in many and varied ways.

  Even back then animals had a remarkable connection to my little sister. Cassandra was able, without great difficulty, to teach the circus animals tricks that amazed the audience. She was particularly fond of the horses and elephants. Airas and I became one of the main attractions of the show thanks to our trapeze and knife-throwing acts. Years before that we'd already found out that knives and other weapons weren't dangerous for us, and that had led us to daredevil experiments.

  In that summer I turned fifteen and fell head over heels in love with the son of the big cat trainer.

  Morton. Back then my heart would beat like crazy whenever he was near and I dreamed of him almost every night. The way he looked at me and sought me out again and again made hundreds of butterflies dance in my stomach.

  Airas noticed the tender bond between me and Morton too, and he made it very clear to me how little he liked it. But every time I asked him the reason, he was silent and stared off into space.

  I didn't care whether it suited my brother or not. My feelings for Morton were stronger than brotherly authority.

  “Hey, Kaya.”

  On one of those warm August days Morton stood next to the tiger cage, which was parked a bit away from the other wagons, and called me over to him with a welcoming gesture.

  How good he looked with his blond hair, the white, short-sleeved shirt and the brown pants held up by suspenders.

  The big cats became noticeably restless when I approached.

  “Quiet, Suri,” Morton ordered, glancing at me as he laughed. “What on earth do they have against you?” He grinned as Suri wagged her tail and hissed in agitation.

  “I don't think she likes me.”

  “But I like you.” A light blush crept over his face now and I think I fell in love with him in that moment even more than I already had.

  “I found a little lake nearby. Shall I show you? There's plenty of time before the preparations for the evening show.”

  For a moment, I thought about what Airas would say, but then I threw caution to the wind and nodded. Morton took my hand and we walked away from the circus grounds toward the forest.

  We had to walk quite a while through the trees. The shady coolness of the forest was so much more pleasant than the open field. Finally, an idyllic little lake lay before us. He let go of my hand and I missed his touch immediately.

  “Did I exaggerate?” he asked, and smiled confidently.

  I shook my
head.

  “Well, then, what are we waiting for?” He pushed off his suspenders and started taking off his pants.

  “Morton,” I cried, giggling, and held my hands in front of my face, not without peeking curiously through my fingers and continuing to watch him. Stark naked, he jumped into the lake and urged me to follow.

  After thinking about it for a few minutes, while he performed funny acrobatics in the water and made me laugh again and again, I unlaced my dress.

  “Turn around,” I told him and he did as I asked. I quickly slipped out of my things and jumped into the water too.

  We mucked around happily in the water for a while, splashing each other and exchanging glance after glance which nearly made my heart brim over with joy.

  “Close your eyes,” he said suddenly.

  “Why?”

  “Just close your eyes.” He gave me a winning smile.

  I did as he asked and my heart pounded like mad. I felt his lips ever so gently on mine and a sweet feeling ran through my entire body. Floodgates opened inside me and soaked me in a previously unknown longing.

  I felt giddy as he deepened the kiss and pulled me closer to him. Suddenly something tensed up inside me and my blood whooshed loudly in my ears. Something wasn't right. I pushed him from me. With quick strokes I swam to shore, grabbed my clothing and hastily dressed behind the cover of a tree.

  As I was tying up the laces on the side of my dress, he cautiously approached.

  “Is everything okay?” Meanwhile, he had put on his pants and held the rest of his clothes in his hands.

  “Yes. I don't know what was wrong just now,” I excused my behavior and felt incredibly dumb.

  “Your first kiss?” he asked tentatively and I nodded.

  “And you? Have you ever. . .” I asked him back.

  “Nothing of importance,” he brushed it off and sat down next to me.

  We were silent for a while and simply leaned back against the tree. There was hardly a sound to be heard. You could only make out the calls of the forest birds every so often.

  I laid my hand gingerly on his. As if he had only been waiting for this signal, he turned to me and kissed me again, gently pulling me close into him.

  The skin of his naked torso attracted my hands like magnets, and a sweet longing ran through me again. This time I returned his kiss, passionately and without inhibition, pressing my body against his too and I could barely believe the intensity of my feelings.

  “You smell so good,” whispered Morton in my ear, speaking out loud what I was thinking too in that moment. Never before had anyone smelled so good. The scent his skin exuded was so incredible that I felt a little light-headed. When he pressed himself to me, the floodgates opened again. Suddenly an almost unbearable craving took hold of me and I couldn't keep a grip on my own thoughts any longer. Like snow beneath a horse's hooves, they scattered in all directions and disappeared, making me dizzy with exertion trying to hold on to them. When Morton groaned loudly, the bewitching scent his skin gave off was like an infinitely strong undertow that swept everything away with it and separated me from my consciousness.

  Blood. There was blood everywhere when I came to again. I stared at Morton in disbelief, as he lay lifeless and with wide open eyes beside me.

  “Mo, please. . . Morton,” I stammered in confusion, wanting to wake up from this nightmare. But I wasn't sleeping. Morton was dead. No life returned to his beautiful eyes. The gaping wound on his neck looked as if an animal had bitten a chunk of flesh out of it. In that instant I noticed the intense, strange taste on my tongue and wiped the back of my hand over the moisture I felt in the corners of my mouth. Blood. I felt sick to my stomach and began to retch, but I couldn't vomit. The horror was closing off my throat.

  Panic-stricken, almost as if I'd lost my mind, I ran back toward the circus grounds. But I didn't get very far, because after only a few minutes I ran into Airas.

  “Where is he?” was all he asked, after he'd looked me over quickly.

  “I don't know how—” I tried to explain, but he interrupted me.

  “Later. Show me where he is.”

  I pointed. “By the lake.”

  “Come on,” he ordered and pulled me along by the arm.

  When we arrived and he saw Morton, he was silent. Only the muscle in his cheek twitched. Say something. Please say something. Eyes closed, I mentally begged him, as if that could somehow block out reality.

  “So you have it too,” he stated soberly.

  I opened my eyes.

  “It?”

  “The other hunger.”

  “What do you mean, I have it too?” Although the answer was written all over his face, I had to hear him say it.

  “What do you mean, I have it too?” I repeated the question more insistently.

  “Because I've killed too.”

  My legs gave out and I sank to my knees. Pictures and memories blasted into my awareness like missiles.

  I must have been about four years old when I surprised my father one night, holding a sheep from the barn in his hands and wiping blood from his lips. The sheep's eyes were fixed and lifeless, and suddenly my father seemed like a stranger to me. His dark curls were disheveled and the expression on his face made him look wild and dangerous. My love for my father had always been particularly strong, but seeing him like this frightened me.

  “Don't be afraid, Amkaya,” he tried to reassure me when he saw my horrified expression. His distorted features relaxed and became smooth again. He lowered the dead sheep to the ground and beckoned me over to him. I did as I was told. He sat down on a piece of wood and lifted me onto his lap.

  “You know I'm different, don't you?” he asked me then, and I nodded.

  “The sun burns you. That's why you sleep in the daytime, in the room under the house. You can only come out and play with us at night.”

  “You're a clever girl,” my father said and stroked my hair. “But something else about me is different too. Just as you eat meat from animals, I can only drink their blood. Do you understand?”

  I nodded and looked at him. The expression in his dark eyes was sad, which made me want to find words to comfort him.

  “But it's nice at night too. Especially when the moon is shining. It's not only dark. The night has colors too.”

  “How right you are.” Lovingly, he kissed me on the top of my head and lifted me up. As he carried me into the house, my gaze fell once more on the dead sheep, and I clung on tight to my father.

  “You have to wash the blood off yourself,” Airas urged me and shook me by the shoulders. But I was still staring at Morton and trying to understand. Morton wasn't an animal. He was human. How on earth could this have happened?

  “Why?” I screamed at my brother. “What is it, that can make me do something like this? What am I?”

  “We're our father's children.”

  He grabbed me by the arm and pulled me up. “We can talk about it later. Now, you have to wash yourself thoroughly. Get in the lake and wait for me.”

  He snatched up Morton's shirt, suspenders and shoes, and struggled to get him fully dressed. Then he threw his corpse over his shoulder, urged me once more to get into the lake, and ran off - something which was only possible because of his supernatural strength and speed. Trembling, I got into the water with my dress still on and did as he'd demanded.

  When he came back he brought clean clothes for me. There were still blood stains on the wet dress. After I got changed, he buried it in the undergrowth.

  We were still a long way from the campgrounds, but I could already hear screams in the distance. I looked over to Airas questioningly, but he walked on with a fixed expression, not looking at me. The circus wagons were already in sight when a shot rang out. Startled, I stopped short.

  “Come on,” my brother spurred me on, “we can't draw attention to ourselves.”

  The screaming and lamenting roared in my ears. We shoved our way through the cluster of people gathered in front
of the tigers' cage.

  They had discovered Morton's body in Suri's cage, or rather what was left of him. Morton's father sat hunched over on the ground next to the cage. Beside him lay a rifle, and he held his face in his hands and cried.

  I wanted to scream, cry and lash out, but everything inside me was dead. All feeling had fled from my body and left me empty. Cassie turned up. She was white as chalk.

  “Kaya.” She hugged me and sobbed. “I don't understand. How could this happen? Why did he go in the cage? Suri loved him. Why did she kill him?”

  How was I supposed to tell my twelve-year-old sister that it wasn't that animal that had killed Morton?

  How to explain about that which she in all probability carried within her too?

  “I'm sure she didn't mean to,” I murmured softly.

  5

  Amkaya

  Raindrops fall on my face and pull me rudely out of my reverie. The sky is overcast and a gray blanket of clouds forms directly over us now. The troubled sea strikes the sides of the ship. We've almost reached the neighboring island of Föhr. Just a short stopover, and we'll have half the journey behind us. The rain grows heavier. I quickly return to the Ford Mustang and plop down into the passenger seat. Airas has his eyes closed, but I can tell from the sound of his breathing he's not asleep. He must have lots of thoughts going through his head too. You're all I have left, I think as I watch him and I'm almost a little shocked, because I only now notice how similar his features are to Cassie's when you look closely. Why did I never notice that before? I close my eyes too, and slide over to him, leaning my head on his shoulder. He smells like the new aftershave Phil gave him recently, but nonetheless reassuringly familiar, like Airas.

  Even if we get on pretty well now, when we were kids our relationship was tense. Airas didn't really try to hide the fact he would have preferred a brother, instead of a sister who was later joined by yet another. Aven was dead. My twin brother. It just had to be his brother who had died the day we were born. Not me. Of course he'd never put his reproach quite that way, but I was good at reading between the lines to recognize the subtle hints he dropped here and there. So early on I already began trying to prove to Airas I was at least as good as a brother. We quickly noticed we were faster and stronger than the other kids, and we tried to hide our superiority from the others, but between ourselves a veritable rivalry flared up. The realization that no injury, no matter how severe, could really harm us and they healed like magic in almost no time, made us curious and cocky. We showed off our strength to one another in secret and challenged each other to feats of courage. Sometimes the healing process was quite painful, especially for broken bones. Nevertheless, our jumps were from greater and greater heights, and our dares grew more and more dangerous. Once we even cut into our own flesh and watched as the gashes closed up and healed within minutes. There was no scar and nothing else to indicate there had ever been a wound either. No wonder we grew ever more reckless, up till the day that heralded the end of this experimental phase.