Crimson Groves

by Ashley Robertson

  My mouth got dry like there was an invisible sock stuffed in it. My tongue scraped the insides of my cheeks trying to find anything wet. He stared at me, eyes full of expectation. I didn’t know what to say. So I said nothing.

  Eerie minutes passed by. He watched me like he was waiting for something—a reaction maybe? Well, he wasn’t going to get one just yet.

  “Abigail, you are a vampire now. You are the one who will stand by my side as my eternal partner. I brought you back to life with my blood to complete the transformation.”

  Well, that was going to get a reaction. I was literally about to blow. I jerked back, pulling my hands free, and the sofa conformed around me like soap in a tub. Did the sofa just break? I shouldn’t have been able to go that deep into the cushions. I got up, moving fast, too fast. Everything around me was a blur. I stopped moving, got very still. Everything was okay again. I looked down at Bronx. His lips were curled in a smile, concealing his oversized teeth. “What a load of freaking crap!” I yelled, my voice sounding hysterical. I was. This guy was crazy and he must have drugged me with something. I’d heard about drugs that could get you into a euphoric state, and I’d also heard of ones that made you see visuals. He’d dosed me with both.

  “No. It is true. All of it.”

  “You’re a liar,” I screamed, voice high-pitched, raw. “I’m getting out of here, now!” I turned around, started to run. Bronx was there—I never saw him get up off the sofa. He was just there, holding my arm. I couldn’t budge. It was like being stuck in concrete. He pulled me into him in a dizzying whir of movement. His arms wrapped around my chest like an anaconda suffocating its prey. I sidestepped him, trying to get free, but I wasn’t going anywhere. My breathing was still slow. It should’ve accelerated. I couldn’t feel my pulse. My heart should have been pounding out of my chest. I wiggled my fingers up to my neck, pressing down hard just under my chin. Nothing. No heart beat. I was so scared I didn’t know what to do. So I started crying like a baby. Hey, we all have our breaking points.

  I finally calmed down, or rather got the crying down to a minimum. Bronx’s hold loosened up just enough for me to pull away from his chest. I instantly smelled something bloody, salty. My face, it was coming from my face. The scent grew sharper, more pungent and tasty. Wait! Tasty? How could I possibly like the smell of blood? My mouth watered. I got thirsty, hungry. This couldn’t be happening. I pulled away from Bronx, and he let me go. But there was nowhere to go. I was consumed with the unthinkable. I touched my face, and then lowered my hand in front of me, staring at my red fingers, mesmerized.

  Loud noises shrieked in my ears, distracting me from those horrible, bloody thoughts. Everything was so much louder than it should’ve been. There were crickets chirping their nightly chorus as if singing into a microphone. Birds were flying somewhere close by, and their wings swished in to add percussion to the choir of crickets. Low thuds vibrated as the neighborhood entrance gate swung to open or close, adding the missing subwoofer to the band of crickets and birds. How was I hearing this? This was crazy!

  The room started to pulsate, wobbling and groaning. I frantically placed my hands over my ears, using them as earmuffs, trying to keep the noise from getting in. Nausea tickled my stomach and shivers jumped down my spine like ants. I crouched down to the floor, grabbing my ears more tightly. I closed my eyes. When I opened them, I’d be safe at home. Nope, that didn’t work. I was still here with this lunatic.

  He spoke, voice ramming through my ears. My makeshift earmuffs weren’t working. “I can tell you are starting to experience the enhanced senses that you now have as a vampire. Seeing, hearing, feeling, smelling and most of all tasting. The taste of blood is what you thirst for above anything else, and you will need to feed again before daylight. My blood transformed you and will be enough to hold you over for a little while longer, but you will need more of it soon.”

  Oh my God, what was happening to me? A vampire? Could I really be a vampire? A make-believe being that created best-selling books and sold out movies with almost every story imagined about them. It didn’t seem possible. But then again, neither did any of the crap happening to me. I was unable to move, completely frozen, immobilized by fear.

  The new desires of my body were instinctive but foreign. The blood cravings, super-sharp vision, hearing so clear it was as if there was a souped-up hearing aid in my ear, and I was so much stronger, more powerful than before. It’s like I’d taken steroids—from what I’d heard about them anyway. All of these facts led me straight back to Bronx’s crazy story. He is a vampire. I am a vampire too.

  “Are you doing this to me? Are you making me sick? Is that your gift?” I peered up at him, and his eyes were still locked on me.

  In a swish of cloth he was holding me, cradling me in his arms like a baby. I didn’t see him pick me up, never saw him move. He sat me back down on the sofa. He sat beside me, close, too close. He held my hand, gently squeezing. His touch, our closeness, made my insides burn. I tried to pull away. His grip tightened. I was stuck. My body felt exhausted, and I didn’t want to fight him anymore. I swallowed hard. “I don’t feel right. What’s happening to me?” The words sounded strained.

  “Most vampires do not have special gifts. That is what makes the Enforcers so powerful. Years ago I discovered that I could use persuasion at a level far more intense than any other. All vampires possess this ability but most are not very skilled at it, and none can use it on other vampires like I can. Persuasion enhances your emotions beyond the intense ones you are now beginning to feel as a vampire. It allows you to persuade people to do anything you want in a way that makes your victim feel like they are acting on their own. I used persuasion to make you feel comfortable with me earlier this evening; however, I am not using it on you at this time. It may have felt like you were hypnotized if you were even able to notice it at all. Most humans do not realize I am using persuasion until long after they have done what I wanted. Though most never notice it at all.”

  The trance-like state I was in earlier must have been this “persuasion” he spoke of. Everything had felt normal, but it wasn’t. I knew something was off, but I couldn’t do anything about it. I was his puppet. He was the puppet master. He controlled me—what I thought, what I felt. He got inside my head and made me love him, trust him, feel completely at ease with him, and then he lured me to this place so he could destroy me, break me, and really make me his forever.

  I shook my head rapidly, trying to shake away the truth—the truth I didn’t want to know. Ignorance is bliss. Leave my mind in the dark. But it was too late for that. I knew this was real. I was a vampire. My body was weak, exhausted, starving. Blood. It wanted blood. I wanted blood. No! My neck was stiff. I swallowed hard, rotated my shoulders until they popped. It didn’t help. This new reality dropped down on me like an avalanche, weighing my body down and suffocating my mind. I slumped back into the sofa and closed my eyes.

  “Abigail,” Bronx said, voice like a sadistic melody. “You are desperately in need of more blood, and you will continue to grow weaker until you get some.”

  “How could you do this to me?” My voice was broken, small. I slowly opened my eyes and glared at him. “Shouldn’t I have had a choice?”

  “I did not have a choice when I was transformed. It turned out to be the best decision for me.” There was a blur of movement and then he wasn’t sitting next to me anymore. He stood above me, smiling slightly, no show of fangs, just shiny white teeth, glistening, sparkling.

  “But I have a life,” I said, tears streaming down my face. “I had a life. And you took it away from me. What am I supposed to say to my family? To my friends? They’re going to notice me missing.”

  “You seem to forget that I watched you long before I decided to transform you. You have been alone for the past six months.”

  “That’s not true.” I coughed to clear my throat, trying to raise the volume of my voice. It didn’t work. “I do have friends. I mean, a friend. And what about my co
workers?” Had I really let myself become such a loner? Yep. I sure had. How freaking convenient for Bronx.

  “Your coworkers are hardly your friends,” he said. “A phone call to your boss explaining your absence at work should buy you time to decide on a more permanent explanation. If you shall even need one.”

  “A more permanent explanation for what?”

  “You will never see your human friends, or family for that matter, again. You are a vampire, Abigail. No one can know what you are. It is vital for our survival and theirs.”

  “But...”

  “IF ANYONE WERE TO DISCOVER WHAT YOU ARE, THEY WOULD BE DESTROYED!” His voice was so loud I thought my eardrums would burst. I cried harder, tears falling more urgently. I needed to think of something else, I needed to be somewhere else.

  I wept in my hands for what seemed like hours. I peered up at Bronx. He hadn’t moved an inch, his watchful eyes on me. I looked away, squinting to see more of the dark room around me. It was much bigger than before. Wrought-iron wall hangings and tall candles with tiny dancing flames cast shadows on the deep gray walls. The dark wood floors were distressed with cracks and creases, and a large stone gargoyle sat on top of them in a corner. Two matching armchairs were across from where I sat, a rectangular coffee table of wrought iron and wood in between. What a perfect place to become an undead creature of the night.

  How could this have happened? I was bombarded by “why me” and “what if” questions. Why did he pick me? What was so damned special about me? What if I hadn’t been such a loner? What if I hadn’t picked up those stupid extra shifts at work? Would any of that have even made a difference? And what about that crazy call from my father? Was it just some odd coincidence that he’d called hours before this happened?

  There were footsteps, distant, across the room. I swung my head around to see where Bronx was going. He stood in a doorway of what looked like a hallway. “I will return in a minute.”

  He was gone but then he was back—like pressing a fast-forward button through the commercials. He held a middle-aged woman in his arms. She was fifty something, short, a little overweight, but the oversized blue tunic she wore with a super-tight pair of white leggings made her look even bigger. Shoulder-length black hair streaked with gray drooped over her round, pudgy face. Inexpressive eyes peeked out at me from between thick wisps of hair. Her arms were stretched behind her, most likely restrained somehow. If they were pulled any tighter, she’d probably pop like a balloon with too much air.

  “What are you doing? Who is that?” I meant it to sound more demanding, but it came out soft and flat. More questions circulated in my mind like a hamster running on its little wheel, but I couldn’t get my voice to ask them. I was beyond exhausted, too overwhelmed, and growing more impatient with Bronx and his twisted games.

  Bronx answered, “This human will provide you with the blood you need. Time is of the essence. Come now and drink from her.

  4

  Learning

  I STARED AT THE WOMAN who should’ve looked more frightened than she did. Perhaps Bronx was persuading her, but if that was the case, then why were her hands tied? There were bite marks already on her neck. Just great! Apparently she’d already been snacked on. The thought of that revolted me, and bile shot up my throat like baking soda in vinegar. I swallowed hard, getting most of it back down. A lingering tang lay on the back of my tongue, gliding down into my throat. I shook my head, teeth clenched, eyes glaring. “I am not touching that woman! I’m not doing anything to her!”

  “Yes you will, and I prefer not to use my persuasion to make you do it.” He sounded calm, gentle, serious.

  “I’m not going to kill her or anyone else, not now, not ever!”

  “You do not have to kill her to feed on her blood. Some humans, known as blood donors, know of our existence and willingly allow us to drink from them. Our bite gives them a feeling of pleasure that begins during the bite and lasts for hours after. This woman has been a regular blood donor for a few of the other vampires around here. She would be honored for you to bite her.”

  “You’re lying,” I retorted, wanting badly to yell, but only soft wispy sounds came out. “Why are her hands tied? I know you must be persuading her to be relaxed, you can cut the crap now!”

  “I am not persuading her, and that is the reason her hands are bound. Persuasion should not be used the first time you feed from a human. You need to do it on your own. Her arms are tied to make it easier on you. Even willing blood donors are afraid, yet intrigued, of the bite from a new vampire. It is intensely painful at first, and most try to fight you during that time. You are too weak to keep your hold on her should that happen.” His voice was still eerily calm.

  I stared at the woman, tilting my head. “Is he telling the truth? You want me to bite you?”

  She looked at me, face blank, eyes empty.

  “Are you going to answer me?” I asked, voice a little louder. Yeah, for me.

  “Enough of this!” Bronx said. He wasn’t calm anymore. He tossed the woman on the floor, a few feet in front of me. Her body jiggled as if it were made of Jell-O. I didn’t move. There was no freaking way I was going to drink her blood!

  “Every blood donor craves the bite of a new vampire. It is more potent than any other. She wants you to bite her and feed from her. She wants to feel the pleasure only you can give her.” Bronx was closer to me. I hadn’t seen him move. He was just there. I wish he’d stop doing that!

  People let vampires bite them so they can get high? This guy must be high if he thought I’d buy that crap. But the way he’d just described how a vampire bite felt, well that sure was similar to what I’d gone through when he bit me. No, that couldn’t be it! Could it? No way! Maybe?

  I didn’t believe him, definitely didn’t trust him, and yet the only thing I had to go on was what he was telling me. So were some tidbits of truth sprinkled inside Bronx’s words? I glanced down at the woman’s neck, imagining the blood within it. I slowly shook my head in disgust. Yep, that seems real human, doesn’t it?

  And to top everything off, I wasn’t feeling any better. Actually it was getting worse. My body was worn out, like I’d just run a marathon. My stomach churned, demanding food, but I wasn’t hungry for food. Fear crept up my neck like a small, uninvited insect. I was afraid of everything Bronx told me, more afraid of how I felt. I was a stranger in my own body. But not to what I wanted. I licked my lips, slowly. A desire for blood pushed to the corner of my mind—instinctive, familiar. My mouth watered. I pressed my lips together, then closed my eyes, and squeezed them shut. If drinking blood was my only way to survive, then let me die again right now. And this time there wouldn’t be any coming back.

  This had to be the worst nightmare I’d ever dreamed, but I knew it wasn’t a dream at all. This was real—all of it. I opened my eyes, looked at Bronx. He was smiling, watching me with anticipation. I shook my head violently, screaming “no, no, no” in my mind. I closed my eyes and started praying.

  There was movement in the room. I strained to hear it, didn’t want to open my eyes, afraid of what I would see. But that delicious aroma was already waltzing inside my nose, tickling my taste buds. On my skin, goose bumps scattered everywhere. My stomach tensed. That scent was all that mattered now, mouthwatering, irresistible. I had to have it now.

  My eyes shot open wide, instantly seeing what my new body craved. He bit her. He just freaking bit her. A disturbing thirst grew inside me as I watched tiny droplets of blood trickle down the middle-aged woman’s neck. There wasn’t blood on her before. The old puncture marks on her neck had been clean. I stared at the crimson rivulets, mouthwatering, my fangs struggling to stay confined inside. My tongue stroked across my new canines—sharp and hungry. My refusal to bite her and drink her blood had been much easier before I saw it, smelled it, felt it sticking to my taste buds like honey. Sweet, scrumptious honey made of blood.

  I moved closer to her without thinking, like I was hypnotized by the scent of her fr
esh blood. It called to me, inviting me to it. I had never tasted blood before, but the instincts that came with my new body naturally brought with them the need for the desired blood feast.

  I didn’t bother asking to get the name of the middle-aged woman as I knelt down beside her. My black work shoes squeaked on the wooden floor. Bronx was close by, making some kind of growling noise, deep and guttural. I didn’t care. Everything around me went black, silent. I wanted blood, her blood. Blood, blood, blood.

  The woman turned her head to look up at me. Regardless of any discomfort she may have felt, her facial expression was empty, emotionless. He’d assured me numerous times that this was the only way. He couldn’t risk her struggling with me at my weakened state. That’s why her hands were bound. He must be telling the truth, right?

  I carefully placed my frigid hands on her warm, plump cheeks. Her body trembled. My hunger intensified. My lips parted, my fangs plunged out. The woman looked shocked, small eyes widening. I could sense that she wanted me to bite her. I was absolutely certain that’s what she wanted. The pulsating vein in her neck provoked me. I leaned down closer and closer, and my fangs brushed across her soft skin just before plunging into it. The woman jerked and tried to pull away, but I was able to hold her head steady. Her blood was rich, velvety, tangy, and sweet, an explosion of goodness inside my mouth. I sucked harder, pulled her closer to me, savoring every last drop.