Two sighed. “I feel so... girly around you,” she said at last, laughing at herself. Theroen grinned, said nothing, traced the contour of her breast with his fingertips. He was not looking at her, but rather at her reflection in the window, blurred and indistinct.
Two took a deep breath, asked what she wanted to ask. “Finish me?” The words seemed to hang in the air for a moment before sinking, given weight by their implication.
“I would not have offered you a choice,” Theroen said after a moment, “had I been able to do so on the first night. I was... rather arrogant, really, in my desire. Now? Two, you must mean it with all of your heart and soul.”
Two was quiet, contemplating. How could she ever be sure? She was not tempted by the money, the clothes, the fast cars, the expensive furniture. These things mattered little to Two. Here though, was love, and redemption, and escape. Everything she could possible desire was here in this mansion, on this couch.
The blood was here, and if it held power over her now, half-complete and unable truly to taste it as a vampire might, then what might it be like once the transformation was complete?
“Love, lust, hatred, passion... it is all things, Two. Yet it is nothing more than another drug in the end. It is not the blood you need to accept. The blood pushes itself upon you regardless, and you will do whatever is necessary to acquire it.
“You ask me to make you a destructive force. A tornado. A fire. A flood. A thing beyond the scope of mortal comprehension, who kills at her whim, because it is her nature to do so.”
Still quiet, but wasn’t she now simply giving Theroen the chance to say his piece? Her mind was made up. The taste of what he offered, the blood, the escape, the strength to put her past behind her, had set desire aflame in her that could not be quenched by cautionary words.
“You will have to kill,” Theroen said. “Oh, Two, you’d be such a vampire. Lover, fighter, mother, killer. It’s all in you. I sense it. Yet I can no longer blindly force you down this path. You must lead yourself. You...”
Two put her fingers on his mouth, turned her head, locked her eyes with his.
“Theroen. Finish me.”
He paused a moment longer, looking into her eyes as if searching for some fear she might be hiding. Two knew that all he would find there was truth. Indeed, Theroen smiled at her, and nodded.
Strong arms, lifting her, carrying her toward the bedroom. Her arms were around his neck. In this short moment, Two bid her mortal life farewell. Pain, anguish, hatred and despair; these were the hallmarks of this life, a dark void lit only by the occasional candle of friendship, an almost nonexistent light. What chains bound her to these things? Two fled without moving, fled on Theroen’s feet, toward the bedroom, and away from the darkness which had oppressed her since her first memory.
* * *
There was pain, but not like before. Theroen’s teeth pierced the flesh of her neck, but to Two it seemed minor. Far away. The pain was a vehicle to an end result which truly she craved.
“Ah...” the slightest sound as she felt her blood begin to flow. No pulsing orgasm this time, only a bittersweet ache of desire. This act was no culmination of lust, but rather a final act of love. Two sighed, feeling tension leave her. The draining sensation increased, seemed to swallow her. The thudding of her heart, the deep rush of her breath, these things soon brought her to a state of near hypnosis. Theroen held her gently in her swoon, drinking, his lips against her neck, judging her pulse. Waiting. At last pulling away.
Two looked up, eyes half-lidded. Breathing seemed difficult, but the sensation was so far removed she could not be sure. The world was grey and dim. Theroen’s eyes alone seemed to shine out at her. She heard herself say something, the words lost instantly. She would have to remember to ask Theroen later what it was, what she’d said.
Is this death? She had time to think. This apathy, this dimness? Her heart pumped in her chest for what felt like the first time in minutes. Weak. Two could not keep her eyes open.
A voice, whispering. Drink. Drink. And there was pressure at her lips, and warmth, and a deep rushing sound which seemed to swell in her ears until it vibrated through her entire body.
Theroen felt Two’s arms tighten around him and breathed a sigh of relief. For a moment he had been in mortal terror that he’d killed her before she had a chance to drink. Her words to him had shaken him quite badly, more so for the fact that she clearly had not heard them herself.
He’d made the cut at his throat immediately following her declaration, and pressed her lips to it, imploring her to drink. He felt now the force of those lips, burning like heated iron, felt the draining of their blood. Hers, his -- intermingled -- the vampire blood a part of it all, and enough now that the change was assured. He was dizzy. Trace amounts of the drug must still have remained in her. It was no worse than dining on a young woman filled with red wine, or warm brandy, though, and he had done both.
Melissa’s voice at the door. A gasp of surprise.
“Oh!”
Theroen gestured to the chair beside the bed, careful not to disturb Two, now locked so tightly to his neck that he would have to pry her off. She was gasping for breath here and there, whimpering slightly, still lost in swoon. Her thirst would be far greater than ever before. It would take time to satiate her. He heard Melissa sit down, felt her take his hand and press it to her cheek.
“I’m so happy for you, Theroen.” He felt her muscles stretch as she smiled.
But he could feel tears there, too.
* * *
Darkness, my love. All I see for us is darkness.
Two’s voice, Lisette’s words. Had she not whispered this exact prophecy more than three hundred years ago, tears coursing down her cheeks, reflecting the moonlight like rivers of silver? Bare skin, sharp fangs, joined at the waist, joined at the neck. Dull throbbing, dull roaring, the blood, the skin, the tears, and then that whisper.
And all that had followed.
Tears at his fingertips. Melissa weeping, he knew, for the beginning of the end. Theroen had betrayed her at last, as they both had known he would someday do. How was she to live as Abraham’s servant? What was left for her now that Theroen had Two? Only Tori, and the darkness at the end of the hall; madness on either side greater even than her own.
Tears at his throat. Two’s? Lisette’s? Theroen drifted between New York of the twenty-first century, and London of the seventeenth, and heard again those words. Darkness. Darkness.
Who better to speak of darkness than those forsaken by the sun? Who better to voice those words than a vampire?
“I would make her my bride.”
“You will do no such thing.”
“You cannot hold me forever, father.”
Theroen felt himself reaching the extent of his strength. Two had drained him as much as he dared allow. He unwound her arms from his neck, pushed her lips from his wound, pushed her words from his mind.
* * *
Consciousness came to Two like layers of red gauze being lifted from her eyes.
She could feel Theroen’s arms around her, holding her safe, as the blood rushed and roared. It burned her veins, as her empty body sought to replenish itself, but the hurt was far away. Unimportant.
She spoke his name, forced her eyes to focus, looked around. Melissa, too, was here now. Not Missy. Two could tell solely from the expression on the face. Melancholy, and yet filled with happiness. Tear tracks were drying on her cheeks. Missy could not have looked like that if her life had depended on it. Two coughed. “I’m thirsty, Theroen.”
Melissa laughed at this. Two felt Theroen take a deep breath.
Two put her arms behind her, took her weight away from Theroen, and glanced around. The light, previously dim, now seemed much brighter. It was not overwhelming, but the change was drastic. Melissa stood in a corner now, smiling in a way that said she knew precisely what Two was experiencing. Two flexed the muscles of her arms. Theroen watched her, his uncanny calm returning once again
to mask whatever he might be feeling.
“How do you feel?” Melissa asked. Her grin said she knew.
“Thirsty. Hungry. Strong.”
A pretty laugh, and Melissa glanced at Theroen. “I think the young lady’s in need of a drive, Theroen. Time to show her what she really is.”
Theroen stirred as if waking from deep contemplation. He turned to Melissa. “And what are we, really, sister?”
Melissa’s smile didn’t waver, nor did it turn bitter or cynical. She raised her eyebrows a bit, eyes gleaming. “I believe we are predators, brother.”
“Ah. Yes. That we are. Do you understand this, Two?”
Two considered. “Does it matter who I drink from?”
“Not so long as their blood is untainted.”
“Or relatively so,” Melissa chimed in. Theroen sighed, and her smile widened momentarily. Two looked out the window, thinking.
“Not tonight.” Theroen’s voice was flat. Two turned to him.
“Why not?”
“He’ll wait. I’d rather your first night as a vampire not be so focused on your past, Two. This is your future.”
“Who would you have me kill then, Theroen?”
“There are twelve million people sleeping in that city, Two, and several hundred thousand between us and them. Pick one.”
Two mused, looking frustrated. Melissa watched, obviously confused, but not yet ready to interrupt with questions.
“You confuse the mortal desire for revenge with some sort of higher purpose, Two. You will have it, but not tonight.” Theroen’s voice carried no judgment. He was simply stating the facts.
Two looked over at him, swallowed, closed her eyes momentarily. This was not what she had expected, exactly. Theroen’s calm description of vampirism had seemed so clear, so easy to accept. She had expected to come through to the other side believing in it as thoroughly as she had when she asked him to finish her. She had not expected this nervousness, this concern.
“How do you mentally prepare yourself to kill someone?” Two’s voice was plaintive. “I thought that... when I was finished, that I’d just want it. That I wouldn’t care.”
Theroen shook his head. “No, not at first anyway. Eventually you will come to understand, or to rationalize... it depends on who you talk to. At first it will likely be hard for you. I do not think, though, that your current thirst will let you wait, and that is perhaps for the best.”
A moment passed. Two sighed. He was right.
“There was a town, in a little valley, surrounded by trees. I saw it on the night when this all started. You took me there.”
Theroen nodded.
“There, then. If we’re ending what was started that night, we might as well do it there.”
Theroen stood and grinned. It was like sun breaking through on a grey morning. “A good idea. We shall go there. As beautiful as you look in that gown though, Two, I think you may find your old dressing habits more suitable to this line of activity. I will meet you in the garage.”
He departed. Melissa remained.
“Who did you want to start with, Two? Who were you talking about?”
“Someone I should probably just forget.” Two opened the closet and peered at the clothes within. “Someone who maybe deserves worse than even I can give him.”
Melissa raised her eyebrows, then shrugged. If Two didn’t want to talk about it, that was okay. She turned to leave.
“Will I see you there, Melissa?” Two did not turn to look, but her voice betrayed more nerves, more fear, than perhaps she had intended.
“Do you want me there, Two?”
“I’m going to cry, when... I hate crying. Theroen’s so old.”
“He’s above it all.” Melissa understood. Two could hear it in her voice.
“Are you?”
“Nearly so, but I still remember. Two, I’ll be there if you want me to be there.”
“Theroen’s car won’t fit us.”
Melissa smiled. “I’ve cars of my own. A pretty little turquoise BMW, for one. I know where you’re going.” She shrugged her shoulders. “Is it hard for you to ask, Two?”
Two nodded.
“Then I’ll ask. May I come with you, Two? I’d like to be there, but I thought you might want only Theroen.”
Two turned to her, smiled, clearly fighting against tears. “Yes. Thanks. I’m scared, Melissa.”
“It will be beautiful, Two. You’ll understand soon. I’ll see you in town.”
It was only after Melissa had departed that Two thought again of that look of melancholy, those tear tracks on her cheeks.
* * *
Theroen leaned against the edge of the Ferrari, staring out into the night beyond the light spilling from the mansion’s garage. On the perimeter of their land, a twelve-foot wrought-iron fence served to dissuade most random visitors. The persistent few found the yard patrolled, during daytime hours, by a pack of vicious rottweilers, mammoth dogs with jaws capable of crushing human bones to powder. Those who chose to leap the fence at night rarely made it to the front door before Tori found them.
The mansion was not without human visitors, though. Abraham maintained contact with men in high places, mortal and immortal alike, though for those of the former type he disguised his own nature with both costumes and hypnosis.
There were the servants, as well. Men and women who arrived once or twice a week during daylight hours to clean the house and tend the grounds. The rottweilers knew them, and allowed them entry. They were unaware of the nature of their employers, and knew only that some rooms were off limits, locked to them. They were paid very well for their discretion, and Theroen had never had any dealings with them that were not pleasant. He met with them periodically, during the early morning hours, fighting off the sleep and the pain of the sunlight, in order to read their minds and be certain of their loyalty.
Some vampires kept servants -- slaves essentially -- in thrall to them, bound by drops of blood and convinced that someday, if they behaved properly, they too could become vampires. Absurd, of course. The vampires of all but the Burilgi line were very picky in their choice of fledglings. To become a servant to another creature, in itself, made these thralls the most unlikely choice for an heir.
“Hypocrite.” The tiniest whisper of his own voice, a bitter smile. Was he not a servant to Abraham? Had Two not been a servant to her pimp. Was she not, now, his own servant, dependent upon him for instruction and for blood?
This last he doubted, and this gave him satisfaction. Two had been the proper choice. She was with him out of desire, not desperation, and would remain so for as long as such desire continued. This might be a decade, might be a millennium. Regardless, it was more pure than the bond which held him to Abraham.
He believe that, with luck, it might last half a millennium or more. Long enough, perhaps, to finally bury Lisette.
* * *
The dresses had made Two aware of her own femininity. These clothes made her aware again of the allure of her own body. Tight, slate colored jeans, a white baby-doll midriff, a black leather jacket. She felt strong, comfortable, desirable. Theroen’s double-take as she entered the garage reinforced this.
“Be still my heart,” He commented as she slipped into the leather interior of the Ferrari. Two smiled. He sat down beside her and started the car. “Is Melissa coming?”
Two nodded, then bit her lip. “I asked her to. Or she asked me, but I wanted ... I’m scared, Theroen.”
“I understand. You need not fear though, Two.” But, of course, this was absurd. Of course she would fear this, willingly driving off to take a mortal life. Hadn’t he balked, screaming in terror and disgust on his first night, clawing at his new father as the grinning demon forced the human upon him?
But that was so long ago, so far away. Lisette’s screams seemed so much closer.
Two’s newly enhanced senses were better able to cope with the speed of the Ferrari, but still the world was a blur. The car glided along the dark
roads, top down, the sound of the wind like the crashing of a waterfall. Two’s hair streamed out behind her. She felt the big, stupid grin back on her face despite the evening’s forthcoming events. The car was simply too amazing not to appreciate.
Behind them, now and then, there was a flash of lights. Melissa’s roadster could not hope to compete with Theroen’s, but it was by no means a slow car either, and she drove it with an abandon that concerned even Theroen. At one point he slowed somewhat, and she caught up with them immediately, pulling alongside, grinning wildly, barely watching the road. Theroen stomped on the gas pedal, flying ahead of her, and slowed again. Melissa pulled back to their side, middle finger extended, laughing.
The Blood The Bonds Page 10
