Old Sins, Long Shadow

by PG Forte

  Heather nodded again. “Hurry.”

  “I will,” he promised as he released her. “Oh, and no fangs, either. You keep those babies sheathed until I say otherwise.”

  Heather’s eyes widened. She quickly clamped her lips together, struggling to comply with Marc’s request. He turned away quickly, hoping to hide his surprise. Well, I’ll be damned. It looks like maybe Jules was right about me after all.

  Growing up, his sister had frequently accused him of being bossy, domineering, a know-it-all—charges he’d largely dismissed as false. Until tonight, that is, when he found himself standing in an alley, barking orders at a stranger, scolding her, offering advice, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

  The fact that Heather had listened to him, that she’d actually seemed inclined to obey his orders, at least some of them, anyway, was what really made tonight the eye-opener it was.

  What was it Drew said about them—ferals listen to no one? Sure wish he could see this.

  Up until this evening, Marc had been low man on the totem pole his whole freaking life; with no one to pull rank on—other than the humans, of course, and they didn’t count. The truth was, no matter how much or how often or how loudly Julie had complained, Marc hadn’t believed her. It had been damn near impossible for him to think of himself as bossy when there was never anybody around for him to boss. He supposed he owed Heather for the insight, a debt he intended to start re-paying right now by ensuring she received a good meal and as thorough a grounding in proper hunting techniques as he could give her.

  Marc ghosted down the alley, pausing just before he reached the dumpster to take a few bills out of his wallet. He tossed the money on the pavement and cleared his throat.

  “Excuse me, sir,” he said, addressing what he could see of the man rooting around in the dumpster. “I think you must have dropped this money.”

  The man turned, his eyes lighting up when he spied the bills Marc had scattered. He dove after them, quickly grabbing up as many as he could. His movements put him practically at Marc’s feet. When he started to straighten up again, Marc had him. A quick bite and a double jolt of venom insured the man would remember nothing of this encounter.

  “You can come out now,” Marc called to Heather as he propped his somnambulant victim against the wall. Holding him there one-handed, he quickly swiped his tongue over the man’s neck, getting him ready for Heather’s teeth. Given her previous performance, he suspected it was a step she didn’t even know to take. Something else they’d have to work on.

  “What are you doing?” Heather murmured impatiently, justifying Marc’s suspicions. She sounded out of breath and her voice was trembling. “Quit licking at him and hand him over. You said you’d let me have him.”

  “And I meant it, but I want you to go slow. There’s no need to hurt him, all right? He’s not going anywhere. So just sink your fangs in nice and gently. Because, I promise you, if I think you’re being too rough I’m going to make you stop. You hear me?”

  Heather nodded tightly. She stiffened as Marc speared his free hand into the hair at the back of her head. He could feel the tremors running through her. From fear or hunger? The blood she’d taken from him should have at least slaked the worst of her thirst, but who, or what, had left her so skittish about a relatively casual touch?

  “Go ahead,” he said, using the pressure of his hand to direct her speed and guide her to the proper spot. “Let’s see how you do.”

  Her bite was precise, restrained. Nothing at all like her attack on his hand. Nothing likely to incite panic in anyone. Marc was pleased with the effort she was making to follow his directions. He was, in fact, more than pleased. Much more. There was an odd and unfamiliar emotion welling up inside him as he watched her feed, part pride, part accomplishment, part control. It was completely unexpected, but wholly satisfying. “Yes,” he murmured, bending his head to nuzzle her neck and nip teasingly at her skin. “Just like that. You keep this up, and you’ll be dining in the clubs in no time. When you’re ready, I’ll bring you around to them all myself just to make sure everyone knows to leave you alone.”

  Just to ensure there was no more talk of ending her either. That had never been an acceptable option as far as he was concerned. Now, however, he would take it as a personal affront if anyone tried. He knew an insane desire to take her back inside, right now, just to show her off—as bad an idea as he’d ever had. This situation called for timing, patience, finesse. There was nothing to be gained by rushing the process. There was still so much she needed to learn.

  When she was ready, he would handpick her first few necks for her; people who owed him favors, people who could be counted on to recommend her to others. When she was ready. She sure wasn’t ready now. He could tell that from her prey’s faltering heart rate, from her obvious failure to recognize that she’d taken enough from the man. Drew was right. She probably has killed before.

  “Okay, stop now. That’s enough.” Marc tugged at Heather’s hair. “Let him go, Heather, you’re going to hurt him if you take any more.”

  She pulled away from her meal reluctantly. “I’m still hungry,” she complained.

  “I know. We’ll find you someone else. But you have to learn your limits and you can’t get greedy. You can only take so much from any one neck. Now, lick the wounds closed.”

  “You want me to lick him?” She frowned, looking mystified. “Why?”

  Marc sighed. She was even more clueless than he’d thought. “Do it,” he urged, nodding towards the oozing blood. “It will seal up the wounds and stop the bleeding. It will also keep people from knowing you’ve fed here.” Humans, anyway. Vampires could still pick up the scent, of course, but that was as it should be. That’s what kept prey from being picked over too often. Or, at least, it would, if everyone acted responsibly. Marc hadn’t been in the city for more than a couple of days before he realized how seldom that was the case—even within Conrad’s own household.

  “That’s so cool,” Heather murmured, staring in surprise at the neck where she’d so recently been feeding. No evidence remained of her “visit” now, save for a slight redness. “I didn’t know I could do that.”

  Marc smiled. “Like that, huh? Well, just stick with me, kid, and you’ll learn all sorts of cool tricks. Now, come on,” he added as he settled the still-groggy man on the pavement and tucked the handful of bills into his coat pocket. “Let’s go see who else we can find.”

  They visited two other alleys and found prey in each. Marc was pleased enough with Heather’s behavior that he was considering letting her take the lead on the third. He left her on the sidewalk while he took a brief foray into the alley to check things out, but when he returned, she was nowhere in sight.

  Something akin to panic took hold as he considered the possibility she’d been abducted—perhaps by one of the very vampires Drew had referenced, someone who wouldn’t scruple to kill her out of hand. His heart was racing as he followed her scent for several blocks, all the while trying feverishly to put things in perspective. There’d been no sounds of a fight, no signs of a struggle, so Marc could only conclude that, wherever she’d gone, she’d gone there voluntarily.

  Why would she leave him like that? Had he frightened her somehow? Or had he simply misjudged her needs? Perhaps she was too hungry or too impatient to follow his directions any longer. Or, maybe, like Danny had said, she was just plain crazy.

  Whatever the reason, she was gone. Marc’s steps slowed when he realized he’d lost her scent. Others had been here. Their scents, crossing and re-crossing, cancelled each other out until nothing was clear.

  He closed his eyes and tried harder to unravel the tangled web of odors, finally isolating one familiar strand, although not the one for which he’d been searching.

  He knew this scent, just as he knew this neighborhood. Opening his eyes again, he scanned the dark buildings. He’d been here before. His memory served up pictures to go with the fragrance he’d identified. Visions of
dark skin, dreadlocked hair and ruby lips stained with his blood filled his head. Elise.

  She was the first vampire he’d ever made love to, the first friend he’d made in the city—if he could call her a friend. She was the woman whose help had allowed him to rescue Conrad; the woman who might very well have been intending to send them both to their deaths, instead.

  There were, in fact, several reasons why he’d been keeping his distance from her these past few months—very good reasons too, or so he’d thought them. Suddenly, however, with his emotions running at fever pitch, with needs he couldn’t even identify blossoming to life within him, none of those reasons seemed quite so important anymore.

  Chapter Seven

  “How many times have you been told to stay away from their kind?” The vampire who called himself Nighthawk glared at Heather as she sat slumped on the floor in the corner of the basement, where his last blow had landed her. She cradled her cheek in her palm. Her face stung as though the imprint of his hand had been branded right into the skin. Even so, she knew if she looked in the mirror she’d see no sign of it.

  That was still one of the most disturbing aspects of her new existence—after the diet and daylight issues, of course. It was even more unsettling than the shock of being hit. Which, come to think of it, had lately become so commonplace it wasn’t even all that shocking anymore.

  In the absence of any lasting, tangible evidence, it was entirely too tempting to fall back on the hope that this whole experience could still turn out to be nothing more than a really long bad dream. Where was the proof it was anything more than that? Fists left no marks. Abuse left no bruises. The scars were all on the inside.

  Most of the scars were, anyway. She shuddered as she remembered the vampire who had done this to her, who’d taken her life. Her sire, Marc had called him. Her rapist, she would have said. He’d been scarred inside and out, with a mind like a broken vase, a face like a car wreck and only one eye. She didn’t know what had become of him, nor did she care. Her only hope was that, whatever hell he’d gone or been sent to, there was no coming back from it.

  “Are you even listening to me?” Nighthawk’s hands tightened into fists and Heather watched as the others scrambled for safety. No surprise there. She’d run too, if she were in their shoes. Nobody wanted to get between the big man and whichever of them he’d taken it in his head to discipline. This time it was her. She blinked back her tears and stayed right where she was. What was the sense of getting up, if he was only going to knock her back down for her trouble?

  She nodded wearily. “Yeah, Nighthawk, I hear you.” Shit, she’d have to be deaf not to.

  Nighthawk—what kind of bullshit name was that, anyhow? He was such a pathetic poser. Why didn’t he just call himself Batman and get it over with? She’d bet anything his real name was something boringly normal—like Phil or Stanley or Howard. And, okay, sure, maybe those would be some dumb names for a vampire, but were they really any worse than Heather?

  Heather the vampire—how stupid sounding was that? Anybody who took the time to string those three words together and say them out loud would have to realize how wrong it was. Wouldn’t they? This wasn’t supposed to have happened to her. She was a good person, or at least she had been, she’d always tried to be. She didn’t deserve this, she really didn’t.

  “Then, if you hear me, tell me why it is that you continually do everything I tell you not to do? You leave the apartment when you’ve been told to stay in. You insist on trying to gain entrance to their clubs, again and again, no matter how many times they threaten you. Tonight I’m told you were even seen out on the street, following one of them around like some kind of lost puppy.”

  “That’s not how it was.”

  First of all, this was not an apartment. It was a disgusting, grungy-assed basement. Apartments didn’t have dirt underfoot and pipes snaking across the ceiling. They had clean dishes stacked neatly in the kitchen, pretty towels hung up in the bathrooms and real curtains covering the windows, instead of squares of carpet that had been cut out and nailed to the walls. Oh, and places to sleep that weren’t just a collection of broke-down couches and stale futons. Why the hell wouldn’t she want to get out of here once in a while, even if she did have nowhere else to come back to?

  Secondly, she didn’t even know herself what it was that drew her to the clubs. Yes, the hopes of finding someone willing to let her feed was a part of it. To be able to eat without it being a struggle, without wanting to curl up afterwards and cry in disgust—was that really so much to ask? But, there was more to it than that. She felt like she needed to be there, somehow, almost as if there was something she was hoping to find. Tonight…she wasn’t sure, but maybe she had. “I wasn’t just following him around, all right? Marc was…he was being nice, you know? He was trying to help me.”

  “Help you?” Nighthawk sneered as he crouched down in front of her, getting right in her face. His eyes, so nearly silver, so weirdly pale in his dark face, glittered wildly. “Do you want to know how he’s going to help you, little girl? He’s going to help you right into your grave, that’s how. We’re vermin to him, to all of them. They want to see us dead. They want to exterminate the lot of us. What’s it going to take to make you realize that?”

  Heather hugged her knees to her chest defensively. “Not Marc. He’s different than the others—friendly, kind, less…snarly.”

  “He’s not different! If he’s one of them, he’s the same as them. I know what I’m talking about, damn it.”

  “He was teaching me things.” Things she really wanted to learn more about, like how to eat without scaring people, or hurting them. “He said I could trust him and I believe him.”

  Nighthawk sighed and sadly shook his head. “Look around you, Heather.” Standing up, once more, he gestured around at the others, who sat huddled together in the dark. “Here are your friends. These are the people you should be trusting—the only people. Are you saying I haven’t been kind to you? You’d be dead by now if it weren’t for me. I found you wandering around lost in the street! Have you forgotten about that already? How hungry you were? How confused by everything that had happened to you? I didn’t have to take you in then, did I? No, but I did. And, ever since then, haven’t I been the one who’s fed you and taken care of you and made sure you always had a safe place to sleep? I taught you everything you needed to know to survive. Was that not helpful?”

  Heather nodded reluctantly. She wasn’t sure if the hurt note in Nighthawk’s voice was genuine, but either way she’d never score any points by telling him what she really thought right now about his supposed teaching. What had he taught her, really? Next to nothing, that’s what. And even some of that wasn’t true! Take the venom, for example. All he’d ever told any of them about it was that they’d use it to hurt each other if he didn’t make them regularly milk it out of their fangs. He never told them all the things they could be doing with it instead. Was it possible he didn’t know? And, come to think of it, what the hell was he doing with it? He collected it from them, and then what? Where did it go? What did he want it for?

  “Then why don’t you trust me? Why don’t you believe me when I tell you I’m the only friend you have out there, that I’m the only thing standing between you and a stake through your heart?”

  Because I think you’ve lied to me. I think you’ve lied to all of us. I think you’re lying right now. Heather sighed. No, definitely not the right answer, even if it was the truth. “I do trust you,” she said, answering a lie with a lie. “Why wouldn’t I?”

  Nighthawk was spared the trouble of responding when the outer door opened to admit two of the older vampires and the three semiconscious teens they’d brought home for dinner.

  A hungry murmur traveled around the room as the boys were dumped unceremoniously in the middle of the floor. They lay in a heap, right where they’d been dropped, with their mouths gaping open and their eyes rolling around in their heads, as though they were frantically trying to
find something on which to focus. “Pass out the cups,” Nighthawk ordered one of the men, while the other stood guard over the bodies, making sure everyone kept their distance.

  Heather’s stomach turned over in disgust. She could smell the fear and confusion rolling in waves off the disoriented captives. They looked to be roughly her own age, maybe a little younger, and all had the slightly unkempt appearance of runaways. They seemed vaguely familiar too. Had she seen them around somewhere before, perhaps when she herself was living on the streets? If she hadn’t been kidnapped, dragged underground and turned into…into this thing she was now, would she have ended up like them, as someone else’s dinner?

  “Here.” Nighthawk’s voice startled her. She looked up to find him holding out one of the small plastic collecting cups. “I should let you go hungry tonight, to teach you a lesson. But, despite what you may think, I’m not that cruel.”

  Heather cast another glance at the teenagers lying on the floor. I wonder if they’d agree? Hesitantly, she took the cup from Nighthawk’s hand and brought it to her mouth. Was it her imagination, or was there an unsettling gleam in his eyes as he watched her? As if he was waiting to see what she’d do with the cup. As if he knew she’d used up a good portion of her venom already tonight. As if he feared she was onto him—that she knew more than she was supposed to, more than he’d wanted her to, more than was safe.

  She sank her fangs through the thick rubber membrane covering the cup and worked her jaw, relieved when the first few drops of venom welled up to splatter the inside of the cup. Nighthawk turned away, seemingly satisfied.

  “All right, people,” he said as he surveyed the room. “Listen up. You all know the drill. I want that venom out of your systems before you eat. So load up those cups. When you’re finished, place your filled cups in the tray by the door. No cup, no food. And I don’t want to see any pushing or shoving. Remember, there’s plenty for everyone.”