2 initiation
After entering the apartment through her bedroom window, I stood in the shadows, watching her. She sat on the sofa with her legs drawn up beneath her, staring thoughtfully into space while idly picking at the fabric of the sofa as if plucking at imaginary strings with long, slender fingers. She appealed to me on all levels, and though I could still feel Lookout’s blood being devoured inside me, I still wanted to taste her blood and her thoughts.
But I wouldn’t.
Her head was canted slightly to one side, hair tucked behind her ears. It shimmered in the soft, indirect lighting, the red almost invisible. Her face had recovered much of its natural color, her cheeks caving in slightly beneath her regal cheekbones. She was sensuous, beautiful. I felt my hand reaching out to touch her, though I was well out of reach.
Moving silently, I exited the bedroom, leaning casually on the door frame. The wood groaned under my weight, and she swiveled her head toward me, a gasp coming from her throat. “Ohh! You scared the shit out of me,” she said unnecessarily, jumbled nerves forcing her to state the obvious.
“Sometimes I forget how quiet I can be,” I replied, an outright lie. I knew exactly how silent I could be and had been; I’d wanted to see her reaction, her expression.
“Try to remember,” she murmured dryly, seeing my lie. I smiled sheepishly, nodding my head in agreement and apology. “Thanks for taking out the trash,” she offered, and then she hesitated a bit, looking away. “I wasn’t sure if you were coming back.”
Interesting. “Did you want me to come back?”
She continued to look away, staring off into space without answering for so long that I figured she wasn’t going to. I already knew the answer, but I really wanted to hear her say it. I was about to repeat my question when she nodded her head slowly, embarrassed by her answer.
“Alicia,” I began softly, a swell of empathy coming out of nowhere. “You don’t need to be embarrassed by that. I wanted to come back as much as you wanted me to come back.”
She looked up at me, looking once again for sincerity. It was there. She smiled, appreciating my admission and gesturing at the empty spot on the couch next to her. “Sit.”
Hesitating for a moment, debating about whether or not I wanted to put myself so close to her so soon after returning, I looked away. “I’m not going to bite, and neither are you, so what’s the problem?” she asked in a half-flippant tone that served as a not-so-subtle reminder of my promise, for both of us. The boldness and flippancy exhilarated me. Few people have spoken to me that way since my Conversion; it was incredibly refreshing.
“Perching so close to temptation can be uncomfortable,” I responded at once, no longer bothered by the truths that poured from my lips when I was around her.
“Ohh,” she replied, at a loss for words. “Sit wherever, or stand, then,” she stammered. “Didn’t you...uhh...f-feed...feed enough tonight?” she inquired haltingly, angry at the trembling of her voice.
“It wouldn’t matter how much I’ve fed, I’d still want you.” I tried to keep my tone light, but in reality, I was admitting this to myself as well as to her. My admission was sober, and to be frank, it scared the shit out of me.
It horrified her. “I see,” she said, lowering her eyes to the floor. Her voice was soft and tipped with sadness.
“I’m not sure you do; I’m not sure you can. Regardless, I want you on many levels, Alicia, not just for the blood.” She blushed, her hand coming to her mouth involuntarily, her gaze wavering.
“I don’t know what to say to that,” she murmured at length.
“You don’t have to say anything; just listen, try to absorb, and remember.” It was painfully apparent at that moment that I was going to have to remind her often of what I was, because, as I feared, this setting was starting to make her forget. Her subconscious would never forget what I was, but her conscious mind was asserting its authority.
“I will,” she promised, patting the couch beside her again.
I was there in an instant, laughing softly at her gasp. She laughed at herself as well and placed her hand on my arm, then immediately drew back with another sharp gasp. “You’re warm now!” she exclaimed, her eyes seeking mine.
“Yes. I fed while I was out, and my Blood is assimilating the mortal blood. It will last for an hour or two,” I offered. I began to reach for her hand, but she surprised me by placing it back on my arm.
“I can almost forget,” she marveled, sliding her hand up my arm. Quickly, I grasped her hand, scaring her. Scaring myself. She shrank away from me, trying vainly to pull her hand away, but I wouldn’t allow it. Couldn’t. It was obvious that I was hurting her, physically and emotionally, but she had to listen to what I was about to say, for her sake and my own. To listen very carefully and retain.
“Don’t,” I ordered, my voice low and feral. “Don’t ever forget what I am. Do you understand? Nothing good can come from it, for either of us.”
Pain filtered across her face for a moment, pushing the fear aside, and then she stopped trying to pull away. She closed her eyes for a moment, and then took a cleansing breath. When she opened her eyes, she fixed me with a determined look. “I won’t,” she promised, her voice thin. I released her hand, and she put her other one around it in a protective gesture, clutching them both at her breast, and we sat in silence for a while. I was all right with that because it gave me the opportunity to stare at her without awkwardness as she looked at the painting above the mantel without really seeing it at all.
“I don’t know your name,” she whispered suddenly, her eyes coming about rapidly. “Will you tell me?” she continued, unsure of herself. Her thoughts said that she wasn’t sure if we were at a stage where I would divulge my name, but that particular revelation meant little to me. I had many mortal identities, and my real name was not among them.
“Of course,” I replied softly, apprehension and excitement warring inside my head. To this day, I still cannot adequately describe the effect that conversation had on me, and I can sometimes sit for hours, replaying it in my mind. “My name is Jason, as it was when I was mortal.”
“Jason,” she said, her voice strong, as if she were trying my name on for size. “Do some ...vampires... change their names when they...ahhh,” she stammered, frustrated by her lack of acceptable terminology, and I got the distinct impression that she was afraid to offend with her choice of terms. I wanted to laugh at that, but I was good and managed to contain my amusement to a smile.
“Yes, some revenants take a new name after their Conversion, others keep the one they were born with. Some are given pet names by other revenants, and they stick. Our species are alike in this fashion.”
“Tell me about the others,” she requested haltingly, watching for but not seeing the imaginary boundaries I'd set without making her aware of them.
“I can't," I stated softly, shaking my head. "The privacy of other revenants is sacrosanct. I have no problem telling you about myself, but they're off limits.” Alicia raised her eyebrows but said nothing in response. I read the disappointment on her face even as it shouted at me from her thoughts. “You may meet some of them, someday,” I offered slowly to assuage some of her disappointment, but I never actually believed there was much chance of that happening.
Her eyes narrowed, an indication that neither of us believed me. She was a sharp one. Then, she smiled, rather mischievously, too. “Vat if they vant to suck my blahd?” she asked, doing Bela Lugosi proud.
I laughed out loud, her inquiry catching me by surprise. Was there no end to how much she would intrigue me? “They’ll all want to drink, Alicia, but none of them would dare.”
“Why not?” she asked amid her laughter.
My laughter died, and my voice was sober. “Because I would destroy them.”
Her eyes went wide again. “You can do that? You would do that?” she gasped, shaking her head in disbelief.
“I can,” I whispered calmly, “and I just told you I would. I
have no reason to lie to you.”
She pondered that statement for a moment, her forehead bunching beautifully. I wanted to reach out and smooth away those wrinkles, but I found them so fascinating that I held myself in check. Well, that and I wasn’t sure I could take her recoiling in horror. “Does it happen often?” she asked softly, curiosity mixing with concern on her exquisite face.
“What? Me killing other revenants?”
“That, and less specifically, revenants killing other revenants?” she clarified.
“Unfortunately, in general, yes. Specifically, no. Thankfully. I don’t like it, but sometimes, necessity overrides everything else.”
“I understand that,” Alicia responded, nodding her head in agreement. Her voice was tinged with pain, quieted by regret, and clipped with anger.
“Marco and Rubberband?” I asked quietly, supremely excited that the opportunity presented itself to swing the conversation her way. It was inevitable that she would have questions requiring answers before any other progress could be made, and I thought I’d been quite patient waiting for that phase to run its course.
She flashed me a weary look for a moment before nodding her head, and I waited for her to continue without prodding, at her own pace. She looked deep into my eyes, and I felt a sudden panic to look away, that I must look away at all cost, as if she could see into the very depths of what I was. I held fast, however, realizing that I had to encounter some form of vulnerability for this to work. Alicia seemed to draw strength from my presence, and she told herself that she had nothing to fear while I was around.
“Absolutely nothing,” I whispered before I could stop myself, immediately desperate for the ability to take back that tidbit, but even with all my power, it was out of my reach. At this point in our relationship, I would have preferred to keep that information under wraps. Her eyes narrowed a bit, and I saw fear scurry across her face before annoyance chased it away.
“You can read minds,” she murmured dryly. A statement, not a question. Actually, an accusation. In response, I tipped my head, looking neither embarrassed nor ashamed, for I was neither. “Can you cut that out, please?” she snapped quickly, the vehemence in her voice startling her. Again, I was struck by the urge to laugh out loud, but I was good.
“I could, but right now, I don’t want to. I'll understand your story better if I continue to read your thoughts. Later, some other night perhaps, I'll teach you to shield your thoughts.” This was a half-truth. I intended to teach her that and many other skills if our relationship extended beyond tonight, but I had never met anyone capable of keeping me out of his head if I really wanted in.
“What if there are things I don’t want you to know?” she ground out slowly, completely aware of what she was saying and to whom she was saying it. I was hurt by her words, and I knew that it showed, but I could hardly blame her. Despite all that we’d shared, I was still most of a stranger, a simple truth that was further complicated by the revenant issue.
I paused for a moment, carefully choosing my reply. “I’m afraid you don’t get a vote, Alicia. It’s the price of admission,” I said finally with a small shrug of my shoulders. She glared at me with open hostility for a moment before reining it in, and then she let out a mighty sigh and ran her fingers through her hair, tucking it back behind her ears when she was finished.
“I forgot my situation for a moment,” she admitted, as much to herself as to me.
“I warned you about that,” I said softly, curbing the reproach in my voice, mainly because I shared part of the blame. “Would it help if I hovered in front of you for the rest of our visit?” I asked, my face utterly serious.
She looked confused for a moment, as if she wanted to ask if I could really do that, before she fell into a bout of infectious laughter. She hugged her sides as we laughed together, and in her mind, she thanked me for lightening the mood. Her response to my joke, and the fact that she recognized it for what it was, had been more than enough thanks, but her mental gratitude sent a tingling up my spine.
“My pleasure,” I replied warmly, allowing myself to touch her hand briefly, and she glanced down to her hand for a moment, though my hand had already withdrawn. She was thinking of how it still felt like my hand was there, as if it had made a delicious imprint on contact, a pleasant thought shattered by the realization that it was not private, and a fierce blush burned it away.
“Don’t be embarrassed. I feel stuff like that, too. I want to touch you in many ways, but I won’t for now. Maybe later, maybe never, but not now,” I offered with the hope that knowing another intimate detail about me might soothe her embarrassment. It did, but it also had the unexpected side effect of fanning the flames of her desire, making her want me as any mortal woman might desire a mortal man.
Of course, that was the problem. I'm not mortal, and there was still a large part of me that wanted only her blood and the memories involved in the taking. I can’t help what I am, and I find it rather pointless to allow myself to be affected by that. I’m a revenant, a vampire, and that is only one of the curses that go with immortality. Getting depressed or angry about it is like screaming at the wind, and I despise pointlessness.
“Marco is... was... Christian’s pit bull. Christian was my boyfriend, my lover.” There was no hesitance in putting their relationship in the past tense, and though I caught it, I had no chance to savor it as the word lover detonated inside my head. I could feel myself flinching stiff, and she looked at me with both empathy and concern, placing a firm hand upon my arm and containing the blast enough that I saw something else in her eyes, heard something in her mind.
She was preparing me for the next pitch.
“Christian is the cruelest man I’ve ever known, and believe me when I say that isn’t an easy title to come by. He’s an enthusiastic sadist and a sociopath. He likes to hit me, mostly just for the pleasure of it and usually without any warning at all.” She revealed this matter-of-factly, but because I was bogged down by jealousy at her mention of a lover, I didn’t immediately catch the brunt of her second revelation.
In my objective moments, this is something I find utterly amusing about my gender. There she was, walking me down the path to her tortured soul, all but handing me the pieces that could answer the “why’s” I’d been pining for, and my brain was still stuck on an inconsequential tidbit of information. I mean, there was never any point where Alicia had come across as a virgin, in thought or deed, so her having at least one lover in her past was a conclusion that some part of me had already come to and accepted, but by saying it out loud, it was like she trampled me. From behind. Riding a unicorn.
Before you ask, no, there’s no such thing as unicorns, so consider it a semi-cute metaphor to demonstrate that her words did something that should have been impossible, and would have been if my chromosomes were identical instead of fraternal. I only mention it because I find it funny in that supremely annoying, utterly ridiculous kind of way that makes me want to punch myself in the face with an iron. Being of the loofah persuasion, you have probably noticed something similar from the men in your life, although I’ll bet that sort of humor is lost on you.
At long last, with a minor amount of trumpeting, the rest of her words pulled my head out of Manville and got another physical reaction out of me. Hell, I almost jumped up from the sofa, the killing rage mushrooming outward like a nuclear detonation to incinerate any trace of clear and rational thought. I could feel the BloodHunger whispering from the blackest part of my heart, etching channels of hatred across my soul, and it apparently has difficulty with punctuation.
Kill. KILL. K I L L H I M !!! Tear him into pieces we can use to beat him with Then smaller pieces we can make him choke on while giving him drops of Blood like Chinese water torture to help him cling to what little remains of his pathetic and insignificant life as we lap up every ounce of his agony until every single act of depravity and cruelty has been exhausted and we are finally ready to watch him die withouttakingasingledropofhismis
erableblood!
Hey, wait a minute...
Sorry about how difficult that last part probably is to read, but if I hadn’t rushed it in there at the time, I would never have been able to trick the BloodHunger into agreeing to it, which not only means that I got to add an extra “fuck you” all by my lonesome, but also that it’s binding if the opportunity ever presents itself.
Alicia was aware of the raging battle within me, but curiously, it did not frighten her; in fact, she moved closer and found some comfort in it. “He’s fucking dead!” I whispered in a brutal, strangled voice.
At the time, it was a rare thing for me to experience true rage, so it was a feeling to be savored. How amazingly naive I was then. That’s not to say I’ve wised up a whole lot since, but at least I’m fucking sick of rage. When you rail your train of life on tracks of rage, you’re doomed to ride it to the very last stop or be forced to jump out as it hurtles along, turning yourself into Pollock on the side of some building. Or person. Or worse, you get thrown out by someone you thought you could trust.
Rage changes everything. All the rules, all the signs, and even things you believe to be immutable. Especially those.
Everything.
Alicia smiled at me, a beautiful smile that drowned out all my rage in an instant and sent it skulking back to its corner, powerless under the onslaught of such radiance. I was suddenly pinned on the sharp point of desire, unable to free myself. Desire for the taste of her blood, for the joining with her soul, for her magnificent beauty. For her.
“Thank you for that, but it’s not necessary. He can’t hurt me anymore.” Though her voice held conviction, she was trying to convince herself rather than me, and pondering her statement distracted me from seeing the very real emotion blossoming within her.
“Oh, it’s necessary, Alicia. Because I want to. Because I'll enjoy the hell out of it. You have no idea how much.” My voice was low and dangerous, that of a powerful predator anticipating the hunt. Alicia’s eyes were distant and dreamy as she pictured it in her mind, and on her lips was a smile so cunning that it might have frightened me if I were mortal, and definitely would have if I were Christian (aka… soon-to-be-dead asshole). Then again, men who hit women are stupid, so I couldn’t very well assume he was actually smart enough to be afraid.
Corrupting Alicia Page 5
