The Night Within Us: Dark Vampire Romance

by Sylvie Grohne

  Only when we are standing in front of the closed folding doors to my rooms and I open them do I take him by the hand and draw him inside with me. My pulse races and my heart beats wild and untamed in my chest. So violently I have trouble breathing. It's as if the words I couldn't speak before are expanding within me and trying to force their way out. For a moment, in the dim light of the room, I see the confused look on his face because I'm practically attacking him; I've lost all control, pressing him up against the wall and kissing him so passionately and demandingly it makes me dizzy. I put all the words in me into this kiss, as if it were a bridge which could carry them from me over to him. His hands seek out mine and our fingers intertwine, so now he can press me up against the neighboring wall. Arms up high, he kisses me just as insistently, until his hands grasp my waist, he lifts me up and rests me on his hips, and I automatically wrap my legs around him. He carries me into the bedroom, kissing me all the way, and now I'm absolutely sure he got my message loud and clear.

  23

  Ramon

  As if in a daze, I lived a life which wasn't mine. Violette tugged me around like a puppet on a string, and I moved according to her will.

  Étienne's distrustful eyes followed me wherever I went. I found out from Tyron, one of the lower ranking vampires, that before my arrival he had long been in Violette's favor and had regularly shared her den too. This prime position he had enjoyed with her till then was lost only a short time later to me.

  There wasn't a single day I didn't feel his hatred toward me. Thanks to Tyron's considerable tendency to gossip, I also found out why the most powerful vampire on board was usually only called Skin. He flayed his victims. Often, he would skin them alive, dressing himself and the walls of his quarters with them.

  “Don't worry. Skin won't dare attack you. Violette would punish him severely, maybe even turn him into a V-DOG, and there's nothing worse than that.” The V stood for Violette. With her magical powers, she had created this new, abominable type of creature, of which a half dozen were on the ship. It was one of the worst punishments she used on the vampires who didn't obey her will.

  Indeed, she was constantly harassing and belittling the V-DOGS, and kicked them with her boots. Even among the other crew members the V-DOGS didn't have much to smile about, and not a day went by when they didn't make fun of and pick on them. In spite of their size and strength, they were weak, servile creatures with treacherous dispositions.

  “Where does she get the power to change them like that, and why doesn't the sun burn Violette?” I asked Tyron one night as I stared, deep in thought, at the luminescent waves alongside the ship.

  “Even as a witch in the 13th century she was very powerful. But when she made a pact with one of the strongest vampires of the old lineage and he turned her, she attained powers never thought possible. The power of day-walking, among other things. That's why no-one will ever dare revolt against her. And those who did dare, ended up like Dymar or worse.” He gestured to Dymar, who was cowering in a pile of rope and gnawing on some bones which he held with his claw-like hands.

  “Skin won't risk it. But he was already furious days before you arrived, when she announced she'd chosen a new crew member. He probably guessed what was coming.”

  His words made me look up in surprise. “How could she have known days in advance? We didn't meet by chance?”

  Tyron waved it off and shook his head. “As if Violette would ever leave anything up to chance.”

  Underneath the apathy in me, something started to stir. She had planned it, and our encounter on the beach in Almería had been no coincidence.

  “Violette wants you.” Darius had turned up beside us and stretched his brawny body. His thick, red beard had congealed blood stuck in it. I suppressed my new knowledge and the questions it brought up. Probably I wasn't strong enough then to face them. Or maybe it was simply due to the fact that my feelings had been lost to me and I couldn't access them anymore. But even in that same night, when she was on top of me, her groans breaking through the silence, a feeling also broke through in me. And before I could even name it, I grabbed her roughly off me, pulled her onto me from behind and thrust all my rage into her. Again and again. And the louder her cries of passion became, the more violently my fury raged within me. A fury whose cause I couldn't name, and which only slowly ebbed away when I slumped, spent, on top of her.

  In the following years this fury became my constant companion. Not only when I shared a bed with Violette. The subconscious rage made me rip my victims to pieces brutally, bringing me the respect of the other vampires. Étienne too was less and less inclined to be open about his loathing of me, and even the V-DOGS gave me a wide berth, because no-one kicked them harder and abused them more severely than I did.

  As my cruelty grew, so too did Violette's affection for me. As harsh and merciless as she usually was, she often showed an astonishing gentleness when she was with me.

  “You were foretold to me, you know,” she confessed one night and nestled into me. “I don't know what happiness feels like, but now I have an idea.”

  I was silent and she kissed me with her full lips.

  “And you? What about you and your feelings?” She turned away from me a little and looked at me expectantly. Her long dark hair gleamed, her ivory skin was flawless, her body as beautiful as a statue.

  The vulnerability in her eyes made a sudden rage rise within me and provoked a desire to kill her on the spot. But even before I could grab her by the neck, she gripped my wrist tightly and gave me a superior smile. She was so much stronger than I was. I didn't stand the slightest chance of even crinkling a hair on her head.

  “Yes, show me what you're feeling,” she breathed in my ear, as if it were a dare. I growled ferociously and did as she asked.

  So I lived for years with creatures whose existence I would never have thought possible. I myself had mutated into one of them. Led by Violette, we seized ships, massacred and sucked the crews dry. We gave the remains of our victims to the V-DOGS. During this time, I too killed many people. Countless people. I had become one of the worst blood-suckers in the vampire clan. We didn't only seize ships, we stole people out of the villages too, brought them on board and locked them in the pantry. We often played with them, as a cat does a mouse, before finally killing them and tossing their remains to the V-DOGS to eat.

  After seven years of bloodlust, all across the oceans and through countless foreign lands, one day we neared Almería again. The scent of my native soil, the meadows and forests tore me suddenly out of my daze and brought the memories back. Memories of my human life. Forgotten feelings rose inside me and ached in my chest. Within seconds I was plunged into an awareness which threw me back seven years and made me look at my time with Violette in horror and disgust. Awoken from my twilight state, suddenly so clear and alert, I was repulsed by myself.

  Tyron's earlier words came back to me and all at once I understood that Violette was responsible for the deaths of my wife Rebekka and our son Alejandro. A part of me had known it all those years. Now too, I understood the rage that constantly smoldered within me, erupting time and again. It was as if I had spent years in a foggy, light sleep and had suddenly awoken now.

  “Hey, Ramon. Are you coming?”

  Darius and Aryzeth waved me over to them. I pulled myself together instantly, so they didn't notice what was going on inside me. They wouldn't hesitate for a moment to use my change of heart to their advantage. I was just lucky we vampires could only invade the thoughts of humans.

  “Getting supplies?” I asked succinctly and indifferently when I joined them, and they nodded.

  “Okay, I'm coming. I'm damn hungry anyway.”

  “Well, it sounds like lots of the villagers will be losing their lives tonight then.”

  Skin had turned up behind us and slapped me on the shoulder as if we were chums. I only cast him a disparaging glance.

  “You bet they will, Étienne.”

  His expression darkene
d. I knew he hated it when anyone other than Violette called him that. But he'd have to put up with my mocking one last time. If he was lucky, I'd succeed in escaping ashore, and he might be allowed to crawl back into Violette's bed again, getting back the privileges he'd missed for so long. The thought of having to spend even one single night more with the witch in her den made me sick to my stomach.

  “What are you waiting for?” I asked and climbed over the railing.

  24

  Amkaya

  “So the paintings are being picked up today?” I ask as I watch Wilson messing around with glasses in the kitchen and wonder why he isn't responding. “Wilson?”

  “Yes, miss?” He really seems to have been so deep in thought that he has only just heard me now.

  “Is everything okay Wilson?”

  “Yes, yes, I was just thinking about something. My apologies. What were you saying?”

  I repeat my question, still quite surprised at his absent-mindedness. It's not at all like him; if there's anyone who always knows what's going on and seems to constantly have everything under control, then it's Wilson.

  “Yes, someone should be here any moment now to pick them up. Both crates are ready and waiting.”

  “Perfect. You're a doll,” I tell him sincerely, because that's truly what I think. As usual, he tilts his head slightly to one side and gives me an embarrassed smile. But something in his eyes worries me today. Something isn't right. There's something in them that troubles me and he seems to notice. This is another one of those moments I wish I could read his thoughts. But that never worked on him.

  “Can I get anything for you and Mr. Sandman while I'm at it? Are you hungry?”

  “No, thanks. Noah is out and we might order in a pizza later or something like that. Feel free to call it a day once the courier has been. Are you really okay?”

  Even before he can answer and I can keep trying to get to the bottom of this, bells ring out to the tune of the Big Ben chimes, signaling that someone is at the door.

  “That will be the courier,” says Wilson, glancing quickly down to check he is presentable and then hurrying out of the kitchen. I open the fridge door, lost in thought. As I take out a can of Canada Dry, I suddenly hear Wilson's voice. He's calling me. Curious, I follow him through the entryway to the front door and I'm almost shocked to see a face I recognize next to the two I don't.

  “Mr. Daniels?”

  “You can call me Jack, Kaya. Nice to run into you. I insisted on coming to pick the paintings up personally. After all, I am responsible for their safety.” There is that strangely familiar smile again and that indefinable feeling I got in his presence once already at Farallon.

  Without his pin-striped suit I almost wouldn't have recognized him. He's wearing designer jeans and a modern, black shirt, both of which suit him extremely well, as does the slight five o'clock shadow which makes his face appear a bit less androgynous.

  “I appreciate the gesture. But please, come in. Can I offer you or your men something to drink?” I'm overly friendly, trying to hide my unease.

  “No, thanks, that isn't necessary. But there is one favor you could do for me.”

  “And that would be?”

  “I'd love to take a peek in your studio and see for myself where your artwork takes form.”

  “I. . . I don't know,” I stammer, completely unprepared for this. I desperately search my head for an excuse, because taking Jack Daniels on a tour of my private rooms was definitely not something I'd been planning.

  “I'd truly be honored, and a tiny, little glimpse would suffice,” he adds with an expectant look, which really makes it hard for me to say no.

  “Well, okay, if it means so much to you, then I'll let you take a peek. But it's pretty unspectacular. This way please.”

  When we arrive in the bedroom, I'm quite glad Nita cleaned a few hours earlier and changed the sheets, because in this situation a rumpled love nest would have made me red with shame. Since the incident with the broken mirror, Nita only comes into my room when Wilson tells her to, after he has cleared it with me. That turned out to be a good call too, now that I'm temporarily dead fairly frequently. I'm also relieved Noah isn't back from his search for food yet. He might misinterpret how uneasy I am in Jack Daniels' presence. Why create problems where there are none?

  “After you,” I tell him when we reach the spiral staircase, because with my short skirt I'm certainly not going to go up in front of him.

  Although he only smirks for a split second and then immediately turns away from me to climb the stairs, I still notice.

  “What an incredible view,” he says on arriving upstairs and gestures to the Golden Gate Bridge. “It doesn't get any better than this. The view of the Eiffel Tower and over the city from my apartment in Paris has some serious competition.” He looks around the room, clearly in a good mood.

  “Ahhh, here are even more of your paintings. Can I take a wee peek?” I suspected the tour wouldn't turn out to be as short as I'd hoped, and I give a little nod.

  “Do you know when the exhibition might be yet?”

  “I'm in negotiation with two of the most prestigious galleries in Paris, and given their interest I'm sure it will be next spring at the latest. The galleries are often booked out well in advance. Whatever the case, I'll let you know in plenty of time so you can make your travel plans to fly over for the opening.

  I'd like to take the opportunity to show you a few of the sights in Paris too, things I guarantee you've never seen before. If you have nothing against it, that is.”

  Travel plans? Somehow I never considered the fact that my presence would of course be expected at the opening of an exhibition of my paintings, and that now I'd be seeing Paris again sooner than I'd thought a few days ago. But why not? Spending a few romantic days with Noah in Paris wouldn't be the worst thing in the world. Only, if the last sentence my art dealer just spoke was meant to be an attempt at flirtation I should probably let him know there is already someone in my life, and that someone would certainly be accompanying me to Paris.

  “Listen, Mr. Daniels. . .”

  “Jack. Just Jack. Didn't we agree not to be so formal?” he interrupts me as he continues to look at more of my paintings, nodding appreciatively.

  “Okay, Jack. . .” I begin again and suddenly feel the ground shaking beneath me. This is it – the earthquake I sensed ages ago, which of course had to come to a head now of all times. A violent jolt makes it difficult for me to keep my balance and another causes me to fall – right into the arms of Jack Daniels, who grabs me, pulls me to the floor and crosses his arms protectively over me. The strong tremor ebbs as quickly as it arose, but I'm incapable of moving. Not the earthquake, but the sudden and unexpected closeness to Jack has me frozen in shock.

  “Are you okay?” The touch of his hand on my shoulder as he tries to help me up goes right through me. Not because it's unpleasant. Quite the opposite, and that's exactly what disturbs me now, even more than it did at our fleeting touch at Farallon.

  “Yes, yes, I'm fine,” I sputter with the first breath I can find and hastily try to put some distance between us without making it too obvious. It isn't because I'm concerned the animal in me will appear, since in spite of the earthquake and the physical closeness it doesn't seem to stir. No, I need distance because the magnetism he exudes scares me deeply.

  “The paintings seem to be fine. No harm done,” I quickly divert my attention away from him and straighten up canvases here and there. “Let's go down and check the others weren't damaged either.”

  “Of course. After you, Kaya.” For a moment he watches me with a funny expression, then follows me down the spiral staircase. We haven't reached the bottom yet when a vicious aftershock catches us and throws me against the banister. Once more I feel his arms which embrace me tightly this time, holding me close in to his body. I forget to breathe from sheer fright and only take another breath when the ground has settled and he slowly releases me from his grip. I want to mov
e, but for a moment it's like I'm paralyzed, because his face is so close to mine and I feel helpless beneath his surprisingly intrusive gaze. And suddenly, in this single, short moment, what I would have thought impossible before seems possible. The prospect of a kiss which hangs palpably between us. I don't only read it in his brown eyes, but feel it deep inside me too.

  It's Noah's scent in the room which brings me back to my senses and causes me to flush.

  “Thank you,” I tell Jack quickly, and almost jump down the last steps, straightening up my clothing nervously and casting him a forced smile. The smile he returns seems thoughtful this time. He tucks his black shirt neatly back into his jeans and we make our way to the ground floor.

  I can't stop thinking about whether Noah was in the room, or it was only his lingering scent I suddenly picked up. The thought that Noah might have seen what happened between me and Jack Daniels in that short moment is deeply distressing. How could I explain to him something I can't explain to myself?

  Wilson comes to meet us in the entryway and I don't fail to notice how attentively he's watching us. Quickly and almost imperceptibly he looks us over, but I know him too well not to realize he has missed nothing.

  “The paintings made it into the truck safely in spite of the turbulence,” he only says discreetly and holds a few papers out toward Jack. “I hope you enjoyed your viewing of the studio? You still need to sign off on receiving the works, and a few other forms need your autograph too. Miss Álvarez has already signed.” He nods in my direction.