by Evie Byrne
Everything was wrong.
And he was so fucking hungry he could suck on a rat. He had to sleep. Then he could hunt. Then he could think. So he anesthetized himself with several shots of vodka and sealed himself in his bedroom behind a triple-walled sliding steel door. The bed sheets reeked of their sex. He fell into a light, troubled sleep.
When he woke he dressed and stalked grimly into the street. It was just dark. He took the first person he saw, some hipster kid plugged into his iPod. Gregor hauled him into an alley and drained him as far as he dared. Well, maybe a little further than that. No one was getting off easy that night.
The sour blood made him wretch, but he swallowed because he had to. He wiped the kid’s memory of the bite and shoved him out of the alley.
The first feeding did nothing more than give Gregor the strength for a second feeding. For this one he went all the way to Central Park, because he needed to run in the woods, to hunt, to be wild.
He climbed a tree and squatted on a branch, scanning for a likely prospect among the evening runners and dog walkers. Maybe Mikhail was right. Maybe this was the best way to feed. Maybe this was the best way to interact with humans, period.
A female runner jogged past his perch, her breath labored in the cold night air. The fact that her ass looked a little like Madelena’s might have had something to do with his choice. He dropped from the branch, silent as a dream. In three long strides he caught up with her and spun her off the path into the bushes. Instead of stunning her right away, he let her fight. She kicked and struggled and screamed against his palm. He only held her closer.
The struggling stopped when he bit her. It always did. Her panicked blood spurted down his throat in pulsing hot bursts, but her fear did nothing to improve the flavor.
She was not Madelena.
Though Gregor tried not to listen to the stories that lived in human blood, he caught images of people she loved, places she’d been. He didn’t want to know. He shoved her away and she fell to the ground. Dragging her to her feet, he whispered, “Forget me. Run.”
Convinced that he could find someone who tasted decent if he kept trying, he began to grab and sample anyone who came in his reach, hardly bothering to conceal his actions. Each one tasted worse than the last, but their blood mingled in his veins and gave him a powerful rush.
He spotted a sleek young suit walking along with his attaché in one hand and his phone in the other. Gregor spread his arms and smiled like an old friend. Surprised, the man flipped his phone shut, and Gregor embraced him. Observers would mistake them for lovers. They would not see the struggle. He bit high, sinking his teeth into the cologne-scented flesh just beneath the jaw. This one tasted worse than all the others, so bad he had to draw back and spit the blood onto the ground, where it mingled with standing water and dead leaves.
A shadow stepped between them. Mikhail. No one else would dare.
“Go.” Gregor and Mikhail said it at the same time. The man ran.
Mikhail stood close, so close his breath warmed Gregor’s cheek. “I wondered who was hunting on my grounds, leaving a trail of fear.” When Mikhail was this quiet it meant he was angry. “I’d mistake you for new-turned trash, Grisha.”
Gregor spat again, trying to clear his mouth of the taste of cat piss and ashes. “Just walk on, Mikhail. I need this.”
“You’re blood drunk.” Mikhail’s hand closed on his shoulder. “Go home.”
Gregor knocked his hand away. “I will feed when I want, where I want, as much as I want.”
“Listen to yourself,” Mikhail said, his lip curling with disgust. “You are a Faustin!”
“I’d rather be trash.” Gregor walked away, heading deeper into the park, not out of it.
He expected Mikhail to come after him. What he did not expect was that he’d hit him from behind.
Whump! The blow knocked Gregor face down in the dead winter grass. He flipped over just in time to catch Mikhail’s leg and pull it from under him. They grappled on the ground, silent, their blows powerful. They fought rarely, but when they did, it was real. And they knew one another too well not to know exactly how to best harm the other.
Mikhail pinned him down and hammered on his kidneys. Gregor twisted free just enough to jam his elbow in Mikhail’s face. A spray of blood flavored the air, and Mikhail reeled back. Then they were both on their feet, throwing punches. This was where Gregor was strongest, where he wanted to stay.
Blood drunk or not, the violence cleared Gregor’s mind. He lined up his blows carefully. A jab, a feint, and a sharp uppercut to Mikhail’s jaw. Beautiful. It snapped his head back. That punch would have knocked anyone else out, but Gregor was fighting the strongest vampyr in New York, maybe in America. Soon he’d take over leadership of the family.
In the next second he hit Mikhail twice in the solar plexus, doubling him over. Gregor felt happy for the first time that night. He lifted his leg to kick him in the head, but Mikhail recovered fast and caught his foot. Gregor tumbled.
Mikhail caught him by the collar and heaved him into the air, roaring with the effort. For a moment Gregor was flying, weightless—until his spine wrapped around a tree trunk.
The tree knocked the wind from him and he hit the ground hard, smacking his head on a tree root. He had a moment then to consider that the good thing about fighting Mikhail was that you never got the feeling he was holding back on you.
Instinct alone saved him from Mikhail’s next blow, because all he could see was stars. Blind, he threw out a fist, met flesh, got in a couple of random strikes before Mikhail was on top of him, his knee on his chest, his forearm a steel bar against his windpipe.
“Give!”
Gregor tried to unbalance him, but Mikhail was immovable. He weighed a thousand pounds.
“Give!” He put his weight on his forearm, crushing Gregor’s throat. Instead of panicking, Gregor relaxed. When everything was fucked up, it was good to know a few things for certain. One was pain. He understood pain, how he felt now, how he’d feel tomorrow. He also understood precedence. Fighting Mikhail was a grand gesture, but always futile, because he was Eldest. But he had to test him once in a while, and test himself, because Gregor was Second.
He was in no hurry to surrender, though his lungs screamed for air. But when the will to live finally overcame his stubbornness, he raised his arms above his head and opened his palms. His vision was closing
around the edges, but he could see Mikhail’s blood-caked face clear enough. Seeing his gesture, Mikhail smiled like an angel and kissed Gregor on the lips.
“Now tell me why you’re being such an asshole.”
Only then did he lift his arm, and Gregor choked his way back to life and breath.
“I don’t see why you gave her any choice.” Mikhail said after Gregor told him his story. They still sat underneath the same tree, both of them too sore and tired to go anywhere else.
“What, was I supposed to tie her to the bed?”
“Yes.” Mikhail was perfectly serious.
“You’re saying I should drive to Queens, tie her up and stuff her in the trunk?”
Mikhail shrugged. “She’s human. You don’t even need rope. Just tell her to get in the trunk.”
The idea of trying that was funny enough to make him laugh—almost. “You haven’t met her. I can push her a little, but no more.”
“No fascination?” Now Mikhail looked mildly curious. “She’s that resistant? It must be part of the package—why she’s a fit mate for you.”
“Yeah, and is a messed-up heart part of the package? Is it part of the package that I can’t feed on her? Is it part of the package that she won’t have anything to do with me? I’m telling you, this is fucked up.”
“She’s not lying about the heart, is she?”
“No, her pulse is whacked.”
“But I don’t understand. You tasted her when you bonded to her. She was okay then?”
Gregor had not considered that. He thought back. It was hard to
say. “I didn’t taste her heart’s blood, just bruise blood.”
Mikhail grimaced. “Why would you do that?”
“I thought I owed her something after I ran over her.” That was his mistake. He should have just let the ambulance take her away. If he had, he’d still be sane. “I wasn’t hungry, I just wanted to clean up her wounds.”
“You ran her over—with your car?” Mikhail laughed. He didn’t do that very often. He sounded like a coughing seal. Gregor scowled. It really wasn’t funny.
Well, maybe it was a little funny.
“Look,” Mikhail said, wiping his eyes. “I’m sure this can be worked out. If she’s your intended, of course you can feed from her. How are you going to breed with her if you can’t convert her? Go get her, and I’ll find someone to consult on this.”
Chapter Nine
“I cannot believe what a fucking idiot you are.”
The trick to hospital life was to sleep as much as possible. To hover just below the threshold of consciousness where you were not hurting, or worried or bored, just numb. She’d done a pretty good job of it, too, coming out of it only to argue with her family and doctors. Late night was the best time, when the ICU was quiet, or as quiet as it gets, and no one visited. Which is why she was very surprised to wake up to these words late on her second night there.
Gregor? Cracking open her eyes, she saw his massive black silhouette in the greenish fluorescent light. The memory of their night together had kept her company in these quite hours alone. She held the memory close, and knew that even though he hated her for leaving him, he would also remember their night together, how good they were together, long after she was gone.
She never wanted him to see her like this.
“Get lost, Faustin,” she said, her voice a croak. “You don’t belong here.”
“I’m not leaving.”
Maddy groped for the call button at her side.
“That won’t work.”
“Please tell me you didn’t do anything to the nurses.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ve just arranged it so that we can talk.”
Maddy rolled her head toward at the curtain to her left. “Mr. Zimmerman?”
“Isn’t listening.”
Vampires. The low, electric hum of her machinery became loud in the silence as she considered what to do with him, the wheels of her mind turning slow. All the little computers attached to her pinged and chirped their slow chorus. Her oxygen tube itched her nose.
“So, talk.”
Taken off the offensive, he seemed at a loss. His eyes flicked nervously over the tangle of wires emerging from the collar of her gown, the tubes at her wrists, the machines behind her. “Well, first…uh, I have to give you this.”
Gregor fished a big gold crucifix out of his pocket. He dangled it in front of her like a hypnotist. It was an Eastern Orthodox cross, the kind with the extra bars. “My mother wanted me to give this to you, and to tell you she’s praying for you. See, the writing on the back says, Save and Protect in Russian.
“Your mother?” Maddy was wondering if she was having one of those strange hospital dreams. “What in the hell does your mother know about me?”
Gregor picked up her hand, carefully, because it had an IV in it, and pressed the cross into her palm. “My mother hopes you will marry me.” Then he knelt down on one knee and kissed her knuckles. “Madelena, I hope you will marry me.”
Oh shit. It was like being hit with his car all over again. She struggled for breath, her eyes on the ceiling tiles, the ceiling tiles a blur from tears. “I’m dying, Gregor. You know that, don’t you?”
“I’ve come to offer you a chance at life.”
“Oh my God.” It was just like Lestat and Claudia. “You’ve come to make me into a vampire.”
“Well, yes, that’s part of the plan.”
“Forget it.” She pulled her hand from his. “I won’t do it.”
Gregor stood up and put his hands on his hips. “Now what’s your problem?”
Tender moment officially over.
“Because I don’t want to be immortal. It’s not right. We all have to move on.”
He threw his arms out. “Why are you so goddamn death obsessed? Look, it’s not an issue. None of us are immortal. I’m not offering you immortality. I don’t even know if I can offer you a full life.”
“Just what are you offering me, then?”
“A heart transplant.”
“Christ, Gregor.” Maddy sighed. “You think I haven’t been through all this with my own doctors?”
“I want you to meet someone. Can I bring him in?”
Maddy lifted a hand. “Bring him in. Bring anyone you want in. Why the hell not?”
Gregor stepped through the curtains, and returned a few moments later with a sleek, handsome man wearing jeans and a sweater, and carrying an attaché. He gave her the “don’t worry, I’m a professional” bedside smile that she’d seen so many times, so she knew he was a doctor right away.
“Madelena, this is Dr. Felix El Khouri.”
“Hello, Madelena. You can call me Felix. I’m pleased to meet you.” He spoke in an intriguing French accent. “I’ve been reading your charts. You’ve quite the history.”
“You’re telling me.”
“You’ve refused further interventions, I see.”
“If you’ve read the chart then you know they would just be gestures at this point. I’d rather not go through it. What kind of doctor are you, anyway?”
“I’m a cardiac surgeon—or I was, until recently—Harvard Medical, Johns Hopkins, New York University. But then I met my wife and became a vampire, and now hospital work is not practical for me anymore.”
Ah, a vamp doc. That’s why he gave off a sexy vibe. She wondered if there were any dorky vampires, or fat vampires, or loser vampires. Felix continued, “But don’t worry, I’m not much out of practice yet. And I have a plan for you.”
“There’s nothing left to do. I’m not a candidate for transplant.”
“Ah, but with vampire blood in your veins, you will be.” Excited by the idea, he waved his hands like a magician. “Madelena, vampire blood is amazing stuff. It’s infection proof, it just assimilates everything, even transplants.”
“You know this for certain?”
“Not for certain. We haven’t done this before, as far as I can discover, but theoretically, it should work.”
“You have a donor heart for me?”
“No, and to be honest, it might take a while to find one through unofficial channels. A clean one, you know. I don’t think you’d want a heart taken…ah…unscrupulously? In the best case scenario we will find you a vampire heart, but that would be even more difficult. Anyway, that is all talk for the future. Right now, I want to implant a Jarvik 2000.”
Maddy groaned.
“You know it? I don’t mean the full mechanical replacement, the Jarvik-7. I’m speaking of a heart assist. The Jarvik 2000 is an axial blood pump. Unlike the 7, we’ve had some success with extended use of the 2000. I think you will do well with it until we can find you a heart.”
Maddy gestured for him to continue. “I’ve read about it.”
“Now, your case is a bit of a…what is the term? Catch-22? It will be hard on your heart to be turned so quickly, but you will need vampire blood to accept the Jarvis. We’re going to have to do it all at the same time. We’re going to drain you, transfuse you, take your heart off line and install the pump.”
Maddy sniffed at the idea. That was crazy. Felix nodded in agreement. “It’s not certain to succeed. If I had the choice, I would separate the two procedures by weeks, but you don’t have the time.”
“Odds?”
“There’s no precedent by which to set odds.” Felix chewed on his pen. A bad sign.
“Come on. I know how you guys think.”
He shrugged. “You are weak, but the will counts for much. I’ll give you 4 in 10 that you will survive the transfusion, and then raise your
odds to even for the installation. But if you survive, I think you’ll do well with the pump. How you’ll do with the donor heart will depend on your health later. That I can’t predict.”
Maddy fingered the cross, its warm weight reassuring in her hand. She thought she was done with these decisions, and there had been peace in that. Could she put herself through it? Split open yet again, and maintained by machines, nagged by. The perpetual doubt and worry. She looked over at Gregor. She bet he didn’t have a clue what this artificial heart meant for her—or for them.
“Felix, remind me, where would the cable exit my body?”
“Just above the navel.”
Gregor’s brows rose in surprise. Yeah, she thought that would be a shocker. Baby’s got a plug.
“And it ties into a battery pack, right?” She looked straight at Gregor as she said that. “One I wear around my waist 24/7?”
“Yes, this diagram shows how it works.” Happy as a boy with a toy, Felix pulled a brochure out of his attaché. Maddy waved it away, but Gregor took it and studied it, his face grave. “You see, there is the battery pack on one side of the belt, which powers the impeller, and this box on the other side is the system controller. It regulates the pump speed.”
“And I would have to avoid all strenuous activities, I assume.” Maddy met Gregor’s eyes again. “So how’s that for sexy, Faustin? A puffy, couch-bound wife with a crusty plug in her belly and a belt full of batteries that never comes off. Still hot on the marriage idea?”
Gregor sat down on the edge of the bed. Suddenly he looked as tired as her. “Maddy, turning you is marrying you. Turning is a binding process, it links us all the way down to the cellular level. And of course I want to turn you, because I want you to live.”
“I’ll be outside if you have any questions,” Felix said as he slipped away.
“Linked to the cellular level?” Maddy said. “That’s nuts! If that’s true, what happens to you if I die in this process?”
Gregor lowered his head, didn’t answer. It came together for her, all too clearly. This was as dangerous for him as it was for her.
