by Peter Dawes
“Open your eyes, Love.”
Her lids flew open, as though that had been the final push she needed. As her emerald-colored irises found me, her expression contorted, fear and confusion taking over where there had once been serenity. She glanced away and around, and even without using my psychic gifts, I saw her mind race with a thousand unanswered questions. Backing away enough to give Monica the chance to examine her new world, I kept hold of her hand and allowed her to clutch onto me, even when the grip turned painful.
“Where am I?” she asked. “What’s happening to me?”
“We are in Toronto,” I said. “A lot has happened. I will explain it to you, but first you I need you calm.”
“Toronto?” The question bore an air of redundancy. Slowly, she sat upright, though when her gaze found Ophelia and Robin, she released her hold on me with such swiftness, I did not have the chance to capture it again. Both of her hands grabbed fistfuls of the pillows where her head had just rested, her body scooting toward the headboard while her wild eyes jumped from one person to the other. “Who are you people?” she asked. “What am I doing here?”
I turned my head to examine the other two vampires. While Ophelia maintained a placid smile, Robin furrowed his brow before seeming to realize he had done so. I pointed toward the former, attempting to keep myself calm for Monica’s sake. “That is Ophelia Romani. She owns the estate where we are right now.” Sliding closer to Monica, I stopped when it looked like she might crawl away from me. My hand shifted, instead, gesturing at Robin to continue the introduction. “And this is Michael O’Shane, though I call him Robin. He is my immortal brother.”
Her brow creased much deeper than Robin’s had, the fear subsiding while confusion mounted. She studied me for a moment as if trying to answer her own inquiry before posing it to me.
“And who are you?” she asked.
The question took me aback. She frowned at whatever visible reaction she had prompted and I had to persuade myself back toward sobriety before responding. “You do not remember who I am?” I countered, hoping she failed to hear the amount of concern I had suddenly begun to harbor.
Monica shook her head, the action slow. Her eyes shifted briefly to Robin before returning to me. “Why does everything feel so strange?”
The amount of vulnerability in her voice channeled my concern into something more concrete. This time, when I shifted toward her, she did not recoil. She allowed my hand to take hold of one of hers again, relaxing as I sobered. “You have become a vampire,” I said. “When you fell asleep, you were human. I do not know if you remember what happened, but I am the one who turned you immortal.”
“No, I don’t.” Her frown deepened. “Is that a bad thing?”
“Not an uncommon thing. I did not remember much when I first woke.” I perked an eyebrow. “What do you remember?”
She shook her head. When I added, “Your name? Anything about your human life?” she responded with a no. I saw the fear begin its return in her gaze and gathered her against me in an attempt to abate it. “Then I have a lot of things to tell you,” I said. “And everything in their proper time. For now, know that I am here to take care of you.”
I did not need to convince her. The way she sank against me indicated she had accepted this truth and allowed herself to have faith in it. Her hand slid under my arm to press against my back, her head resting on the crook of my shoulder. As I held her, I wondered which of us was providing who with the most comfort.
And yet, before I could answer the question, something shifted. The way she burrowed against me bore an air to it that felt oddly erotic, her face sliding closer to my neck with her cool breath hitting my skin and making it prickle. For as much as I had been warned of this – She will be hungry, they had cautioned. We will help her to take the edge from that hunger, but you will have to teach her how to hunt. – I had not prepared myself for how visceral my response to her need would be. I drew a sharp breath inward, tilting my head on instinct in some effort to allow her access, ignorant of anything around me but the feel of her lips. ‘Your teeth,’ I found myself thinking, the concept drifting lazily from my mind.
‘My teeth?’ she asked.
‘Yes, you feel an urge to bite me, am I correct?’
‘Yes.’ While one palm remained pressed against my back, her other hand lifted and slid across my chest. ‘Why do I want to bite you? How are you talking in my head?’
‘It is one of my gifts, Dearest. One of yours, too.’ My fingers feathered her waist, wanting to hold onto her while not certain either what she needed or what I wanted to demand. Her effect on me had me pushed past the point of inhibition enough to encourage, though not enough to provoke. ‘You want to bite me because you are hungry. You are a newborn vampire who needs to feed.’
‘And I use my teeth for that?’
‘Yes, you do. We will give you something to eat, and after that perhaps I can take you out –’
I did not have the chance to finish the thought before she struck. While I had been fixated on attempting to instruct, she seemed to have been lost in the thought of using her teeth and as they drove into my neck, I tensed and gripped onto her tight. The pain which blossomed from the puncture wounds rolled over me in a form of exquisite agony. For all of the finesse it lacked, the moment Monica became enraptured by feeding, the effect it had swept over me from head to foot. Time lost all meaning. It was not until I heard my voice – disconnected from the rest of my body – mutter to her that she needed to stop that I waded back into the moment enough to gently coax her away with my hands.
At the same time, I needed a moment to regroup. My head spun dizzy and the decadent thoughts which twisted through my mind made me wonder if they found their origin from Flynn or me. Or if we both entertained the notion of tearing off her clothing and damning the fact that we would be doing so in front of Ophelia and Robin. The part of me that was Flynn balked with possessiveness at sharing the sight of her with undeserving eyes. The maker in me, however, repeated the same mantra which had carried with me throughout the duration of the night.
Stay in control.
Slowly, I opened my eyes, realizing I had shut them while my gaze settled on Robin. He raised an eyebrow, a smirk crossing his lips as he recognized the fight I had endured. “I’ll fetch her something to drink,” he said, turning to walk away directly after saying that.
I sighed, relieved when Monica detached from me if only to prevent a more visible reaction in front of my brother and Ophelia. The coven mistress chuckled when I looked at her and I flashed a wan smile before focusing my attention on my wife. The bed creaked as she settled onto her backside, her expression a sinful form of demur as she wiped away the blood from her mouth. I felt the corner of my mouth curl upward, some wicked part of me enchanted by the way the crimson stained her pale skin.
“Sorry,” she said, even while mirroring my smile. “I couldn’t help myself.”
“You never need to apologize for that,” I responded before I could stop myself.
She laughed as though sensing the gaff. For a brief moment, we felt like young lovers dancing around each other, blushing furiously after exchanging our first kiss. Robin returned with fresh blood for her to drink and while he spoke to her, I allowed myself to consider the neophyte immortal she had become. Memory might be a fickle thing, and mine had been riddled with holes when I had first woken, but problems like these, I told myself, could be remedied. I had sorted out how I would lead her to hunt with Robin days beforehand. While I introduced her to this new world, I would simply have to tell her about our life together, until she could remember it for herself.
Robin looked at me and drew a deep breath inward. While Monica still held the glass she had depleted, she looked far more composed than I had expected her to be. “If your master wants to take you out to hunt, then I see no reason why he can’t,” he said. With his next words, he switched to addressing me more directly. “If not tonight, though, then I suggest making sure she drinks first before
you leave. If you want her to maintain some semblance of control.”
We exchanged a look which brought back that part of our discussion where we had addressed the finer details. Even though Robin had always persuaded me toward hunting – and doing so knowing the occasional human would perish – he had also weathered the bi-polar way I had approached doing so. Guiding a ward reluctant to kill, Robin did not act surprised when I expressed my misgivings with allowing her to transform into a bloodthirsty neophyte. Between the two of us, we came to a compromise. I would not balk at Monica taking a victim or two during her early days, and in return, I could guide her gently toward not taking human life at all.
Nodding, I directed my attention to her again and perked an eyebrow, deciding it best to seize the moment. “Would you like to go out for a walk?” I asked. “It is late enough for the temptations to be much fewer and further between.”
Monica nodded. Her hand reached for mine again and this time, when she grasped hold of it, her fingers touched my wedding ring. Sparing it a quick glance, she looked up at me, her eyes filled with curiosity and wonder, something I could not help but to relish.
“Come along with me,” I said, “And I will show you the night.”
After drinking down a pint of blood offered to me by Robin, Monica freshened up before I led her out. The way her eyes twinkled with wonder as she beheld the obsidian sky above us brought a smile to my face. She gathered the coat she had been given by Ophelia shut, following some subconscious directive to bundle up without realizing how unaffected we were by the cold. She still took breaths and for the first time, I saw before me how human we still were fresh from the transition.
“It’s breathtaking,” she said, drifting toward me with her face still pointed heavenward. As she neared where I stood, her hand reached for my arm, clutching onto it in a way which pleased both Flynn and me alike. I felt the subconscious delight from my other personality and gently coaxed her closer.
“I had never stopped to notice how much so before,” I replied. When she peered at me, I laughed and glanced upward. “Well, I should not say never,” I amended. My grin sobered in recognition of the sublime. “I had forgotten how much I delighted over my first nights as a vampire. Things became complicated for me after those first two weeks.”
When I started walking forward, Monica followed along, matching the rhythm of my steps. “How long ago was that?”
“Since I was turned? Fifteen years. Which makes me young for a maker.” I looked toward her again. “Do you not remember anything about us at all?”
The way her expression slowly sank forced my steps to pause. I bent to look her better in the eyes. “It is alright if you do not,” I said. “I simply wanted to know.”
She flashed a wan smile and continued walking again. “It feels like I should have a better answer for you than no.” Monica paused and in the space between comments, I saw her glance toward my hand. “Are we married?”
“You at least remember what the ring symbolizes.” I chuckled. “Yes, we are. We have been for the last ten years.” When her hand released its hold on me, in favor of slipping onto my back, I wrapped my arm around her. “We can get to all of that, but I think we should start with you. If you still do not recall who you are.”
“No, I don’t even remember that.”
“Then allow me to introduce you to yourself. Your name is Monica Elizabeth Dawes, and you are a remarkable woman.”
Her smile brightened as I spoke. Regaling her with the story of how we met, I used it as a segue to discuss her supernatural gifts, spinning a tale about the gifted sorceress who had once looked a vampire assassin in the eyes without blinking. I told her about her parents and recounted as much as I could recall about her home life, careful not to mention her tumultuous relationship with her father. “You still spoke with your mother until about three years ago. Kaylee has always struck me as a woman with your sort of conviction, even if she acquiesces to Malcolm more often than she should. I know she misses you and the children.”
“The children?” When I nodded, her eyes widened. “We have kids?”
“We have three,” I said with a laugh. “Lydia Marjorie, John Michael, and James Alexander. We call him Jamie. All dark-haired like their mother and kind-hearted. Believe me when I say I have missed them as well during the last few months.”
“Where’ve you been?” she asked.
I took a deep breath and released it slowly before I spoke. “I am a unique creature, too. They call you a sorceress, but you are also something called a watcher. Watchers assist the type of beings I am in hunting vampires who have gotten entangled with dark magic.”
“What are you called?”
“I am a seer. The term probably originates from the ability we have to see both the past and visions of the future at times, though both forms of sight are not without their quirks, I have discovered. The visions of the future are sometimes metaphoric and the glimpses into the past are limited vignettes. Primarily, we are hunters. I am gifted with a sword. This is why my maker made me an assassin.
“But we also have other talents. You and I both can move things with our minds and read other people’s thoughts. I had a special gift that I had not realized I had until recently. I can transform into a human for a time and walk around in the sunlight. It was how I was able to sire children with you.”
Monica nodded. She opened her mouth to speak, but hesitated. I perked an eyebrow at her and she laughed, the sound both self-conscious and nervous. “I’m sorry,” she said, “It’s just that you’ve given me a brief history into us and I don’t even know your name.”
She quirked an eyebrow back and gave me a half-shrug. I grinned, ceasing our steps once more and turning to face her. As her hand fell to side, I reached for it, lowering down onto one knee and lifting the back of her palm to my mouth. “The name is Peter Dawes, my Dearest,” I said. “Delighted to make your acquaintance.”
I let go after kissing her hand. Amusement danced in her eyes as she witnessed the spectacle. “Are you always so dramatic, Peter?” she asked.
“Only when I have cause to. This happens to be one of those moments.”
“Making a mental note of that.” Her lips remained quirked in bemusement while I stood, her head tilting to peer up at me as she took a step closer. Her arms wrapped around my torso and mine circled her, hands coming to rest between her shoulder blades. She opened her mouth to speak, but something seemed to snatch her words, the grin she wore dissolving and her gaze turning distant. I sobered, brow furrowing as I studied her for the source of whatever had grasped her attention.
“Where is that drumming noise coming from?” she asked, her posture tensing.
I watched as her pupils dilated and her head tilted in the direction of a sound I only then became aware of. The way it seemed to draw her into its thrall made all the sense in the world when I recognized its particular cadence. “You hear a pulse,” I murmured. Again, the vampire nature within me woke, responding to how the sound of a human heartbeat afflicted her. The compulsion toward a dance with something wicked and decadent itched up my spine, my attention attuned both to her and the steady thumping which increased in volume. “Are you ready for your first hunt, love?”
She nodded, the motion slow. I saw the tips of her fangs peeking out, not elongated yet, but itching to descend. As she peered down the street, she fixated on the person approaching us. “How do I hunt?”
“Let me lure them in. I will help you this first time.” While I still had my wits, I used them to glance around us, thankful when I saw a space between buildings I swiftly led Monica toward. She allowed herself to be tugged into hiding and remained pressed against one of the walls while I touched her shoulders.
“Stay here,” I said. “And stay hidden. I will bring them to you.”
Monica nodded, her expression laden with desperation. I could only imagine how hypnotic their pulse had become to her, and while she seemed to have been listening, I readied myself for he
r to jump out in case impulse took over. Emerging back onto the sidewalk, I strode toward the man who approached, casually dressed and walking as though he might be on his way back home from a bar. The faint odor of alcohol accompanied him, giving evidence to this assumption.
“Excuse me,” I said, reaching out for him and touching his arm when he paused. “I wondered if you could help me with something.” He met my gaze and this proved to be his undoing. As I fixed my eyes with his, I spoke my next words, heavy with suggestion. “My wife is hungry and in need of something to eat.”
He relaxed immediately, leaning into my grip. When I nodded toward the space where I had left Monica, he followed me toward it, locked completely within my thrall. I held onto him and strode with him into hiding, my gait casual and my demeanor shifting into cold indifference for his fate. As little as I wanted to admit it, Flynn felt to be bleeding through into my actions, our wills united in a common effort.
This much interference, I told myself, would be acceptable for the time being.
Monica drew a sharp breath inward when she spotted the man. Her fangs ran down to full extension, the look in her eyes turning voracious. He stilled and as she approached, I focused my attention on her. “I know you want to tear into his throat without a second thought, but we are going to take this slow. Try to hold back and pay attention to me as much as possible, am I clear?”
She nodded, her eyes obediently settling on me while fighting to look toward her would-be meal. I smiled reassuringly, holding onto the enthralled man with one hand while reaching for her with the other. When her hand settled into mine, I pulled her toward us. “I am going to show you exactly where to bite him and lead you through it as you feed on him. I want you to pay careful attention to me, though, as I am going to tell you when to pull away.” When she nodded again, I shifted my hold on the man up to his chin, tilting his head to expose his neck. As I did, however, I sensed my other personality issuing protest.
‘What is it, Flynn?’ I asked, directing the question inward.
