Vampire Legacy 04 - Blood of My Blood

by Taylor, Karen E

"Deirdre?" She stood up, moved to the railing of her porch and called me again, this time with doubt in her voice. And a small cache of fear.

  A low rumbling vibrated my whole body; the Cat was pleased. She could feed off fear almost as well as she could feed from this woman's blood. But with the calling of the name came the knowledge of who I was deep inside. And the knowledge that this woman was a friend and not to be harmed.

  The Cat growled again, but quieter this time, recognizing her defeat. "It is all right, my pet," I whispered to her in the recesses of our mind, a soft whisper, as if I were soothing the tufts of hair on her ears. "We had a good night. We will have other nights more glorious. But now it is time for home and bed."

  In response, the Cat yawned. The woman gasped at this careless display of deadly teeth, and the hands that gripped the railing turned white at the knuckles. The small rush of her fear was invigorating, but the game was over. I gave one last call to her and ran off into the night.

  I shed the cat form just before I reached the door of our cabin. Transformation had become easier over the years, still painful and still a wrenching away from the familiar, but it was a known pain and sadness I had learned to discard as quickly as a wet garment. There would always be time enough to wear it again.

  "Hi, honey, I'm home." I called our typical greeting when one or the other of us stayed out alone. Mitch looked up from where he'd stretched out with a blanket in front of the fire.

  "So I see." He smiled and held his hand out to me, the blue of his eyes reflecting the dying flames. "Come warm yourself by my fire, Mrs. Greer?"

  "Always." I lowered myself onto the floor; he wrapped me up in his arms and dropped a lazy kiss on my forehead.

  We lay for a while in silence, basking in each other's presence, and then he chuckled.

  "Did the cat have fun playing with her toy?"

  "My toy?"

  "Elly. I knew you would go there after I left. You really shouldn't, you know. Elly's a good person. A friend. We have so few of those, we should be careful of them. And not scare them to death at night, romping in front of their house."

  "She is never all that frightened, Mitch. Tonight she called my name. She knew it was me."

  "See, that's what I mean. It's not good. You're breaking all your own rules, Deirdre."

  I gave a low laugh. "But for the fact that I break my own rules, Mitch, you wouldn't be here now."

  "Yeah." He stopped for a minute and kissed me on the end of my nose. "I'd still be a detective in New York, eating bad Italian food and hanging out with shady characters."

  "The good old days?" I was sorry I'd said it before the words were even out of my mouth.

  He said nothing, just looked deep into my eyes, then looked away, as if absorbed by the fire. "I love you, Deirdre, you know that. So let's not discuss the past."

  Just those few short words and I could feel my life drain away. And here it is, I told myself, the resentment and the anger you've been expecting for so long. I'd hoped never to face this situation, knowing all the while that it would come. I had done the unthinkable to him, ripped him away from humanity and life, and he would never forgive.

  "Besides," he continued, as if it mattered now to either of us, "it's not wise for you to tease her. She's perceptive and she's curious. A dangerous combination for us."

  "What?" I glanced over at him, trying to maintain a balance between reality and my inner fears. He seemed unaware of my struggle, unaware of the turmoil his previous words had wreaked.

  "Elly. You should quit visiting her late at night."

  "Yes, Mitch, you are right." This conversation was safe, at least, and I sighed to myself in relief. "But sometimes I feel like I have to communicate with one of them."

  "Yeah, I know." He pulled away from me and got up from the floor, walking over to the door of the cabin, opening it onto what remained of the night. "Deirdre, we need to talk about the future…" he started, then stepped, radiating a tension that was palpable even from across the room.

  "What is it, love?"

  He paused in the doorway, staring out into the night, then closed and locked it. "Nothing," he said. "I thought I heard someone outside, but there's no one there." He fastened the heavy shutters on all the windows and pulled the draperies closed. "I'm imagining it. After all, who would be there? Forget about it. Let's just go to bed."

  We made love, tucked up together in the loft of the cabin, sealed tightly against the killing rays of the sun. I had searched so long for someone, despairing over the years and decades. Then I had found him and lost him and found him again. His presence was all I needed to make me smile, to make me whole. When he made love to me, he was everything I had ever wanted. Passionate and tender, rough and gentle, he took me places I'd never dreamed existed, carried me to heights and depths almost unimaginable. He was my mate and my soul. Forever.

  As always with Mitch, this time was like the first time, filled with need and desire and hunger no amount of blood could quench. And when it was over, I still ached with love and longing for him as if it were our last. I lay awake after the sun had risen and he had fallen into the deathlike sleep I used to know.

  Sighing, I got out of bed, pulling the heavy comforter with me, wrapping myself up to keep vigil. I sat in the armchair by the bed and waited, listening to the birds outside greeting a dawn I would never see. Soon, I prayed, let the dreams start soon and get it over with.

  Mitch began to mumble in his sleep and I tensed, but he quieted down almost immediately. So it would not be soon. With one last doubtful glance at his still and perfect body, I rose from the chair and went downstairs to prepare for the long day.

  In the kitchen I made a pot of coffee, gathering a mug and a carafe and the cigarettes sitting on the counter. There were only three left in the pack, just as there was very little coffee remaining. I glanced anxiously at the calendar on the wall. Sam would be visiting in about a week with our quarterly shipment of supplies. We could do without the coffee and the smokes and all the other little luxuries he brought, but three weeks ago we had drunk the last of those precious little bags Sam managed to procure for us. And even though taking from animals could maintain our bodies, only human blood could assuage our darker thirst.

  "You will find us quite hungry when you arrive, Sam." I laughed after I said it. He was always so avidly curious about our feeding habits that I accused him last time of deliberately shorting the order so that he could better observe our hunger when next he arrived. He didn't deny the possibility and showed no fear of my anger. After having been Mitch's psychiatrist and the best man at our wedding, after having removed a bullet lodged in my shoulder and acting as my confidant, after having taunted me into feeding on him one lonely night, I suppose he was entitled to this familiarity. I missed him, missed the interplay of vampire and human. Here was the reason I sought poor Elly out for so many nights—I longed for recognition and acceptance, longed for an acknowledgment of my existence.

  The coffee had finished, so I filled the carafe, and prepared to carry it, the mug and one of the remaining cigarettes back upstairs. As I walked past the front door, I shivered, an involuntary reaction. But a reaction to what? I looked over my shoulder, peering at the solid wood as if I could see through it. There was nothing and no one there, of course. And even had there been, I could hardly open the door in broad daylight. I gave a nervous laugh. I was letting my hunger and my worry about Mitch and his dreams get the best of me. Still, I hurried up the stairs as quickly as I could, feeling vulnerable and exposed.

  Upstairs, settling into the chair again and wrapping the comforter around me, I poured a cup of coffee and waited.

  The dreams began about two weeks ago. Mitch said he never remembered them and I always told him that was for the best—they couldn't have been pleasant. He would thrash and flail and cry out with such anguish and pain that I found it better to sit up and wait until the dreams played themselves out. To be perfectly honest, I was not sleeping all that well either; I would
awaken with the setting of the sun, feeling as if all my energy had been completely drained away. Without blood and sleep for so long, it was no wonder we were both tense and nervous.

  "You are quite right, my love," I whispered to him. "We do indeed need to talk about the future." But I feared the future all the while I continued to run from the past. All I had was now. What was there left to say?

  I drained my cup of coffee and poured myself another. Maybe he won't dream today, I thought, but even as the words came to me, Mitch cried out. I jumped from the chair and lay down next to him, holding him as he screamed, attempting to comfort him with the touch of my body.

  "Hush, my love, sleep now." I crooned it over and over, wrapping my arms around him and rocking him like a child. But the dream was strong, stronger than it had ever been before. He trembled, he clenched his fists, he thrashed back and forth on the bed, he bit into his lip until blood dripped down his chin.

  Every muscle in his body seemed to tense and flex. He shuddered and opened his mouth. And for the first time his distress found words—words that made me loosen my embrace and retreat to the corner of the room.

  "Kill her." The words began as a choked whisper, increasing in vehemence with each repetition. "Kill her." Stronger now, it became a chant, growing louder and louder until the words echoed off the walls of the small loft, filling the cabin that had once been our home.

  "Kill the bitch who made me what I am."

  * * *

  CHAPTER EIGHT

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  As soon as the sun set, I left. I had no other choice. Mitch would most likely have no remembrance of the dream upon awakening; he had never remembered before. But I would be tortured by the memory with each touch and every word, knowing only the truth of the dream.

  I had thrown some of my clothes into a backpack and dressed in my heaviest jeans, shirt and hiking boots. It was reflex only; no coat in the world would ever give me warmth. Shivering uncontrollably, I made my way through the woods, carrying the thoughts of Mitch's voice with me.

  "Kill her." The words were uttered with such hatred and such vindictiveness, it was hard to believe that they had come from the mind and heart of the man I loved. How could I have been so wrong about him?

  I stopped and turned, standing just under cover of the trees, watching the cabin for a minute or two. Would he wake soon and find me gone? And would he come after me or would he consider my absence the best alternative? I ached to go back inside and crawl into his arms. But now there could be no comfort found in his embrace.

  The Cat prowled restlessly inside my mind. "Let me out," she begged, "and I will take you far away. We will run and we will feed and we will be whole again."

  I shook my head as I turned my back and walked deeper into the forest. She would carry me beyond myself, beyond remembering, true, but the cost was great. With no reason to return to human form, the Cat would soon forget the rules that governed our life. If I had wanted death, I'd have stayed and accepted it from Mitch's hands.

  I wandered for a while, aimlessly, shivering and crying. The Cat growled within, not liking or understanding the despair. She knew only the night and the forest and the taste of blood. "Let me out," she wailed again, "and I will kill them. It will be easy, we are stronger than they are, older and wiser."

  "No, my pet. There will be no killing."

  It only needed the cold October rain to complete my misery. The trees provided no protection from the storm. And I was chilled, with a deathlike cold that penetrated beyond my flesh and bones and burrowed deep into my soul.

  "Oh, God, how could I have been so wrong?"

  It came as no surprise when I found myself mounting the steps to Elly's cabin and knocking on the door.

  She threw the door open. "Deirdre? Oh, my dear, please come in. You're soaked to the skin." She peered past me into the darkness. "Isn't Mitch with you?"

  At the question, I collapsed into Elly's arms, incapable of speech. She let me cry for a while, then led me into the warmth of her cabin and sat me down in a chair next to the fireplace.

  I shivered. "You'd better get those clothes off," she said. I fumbled with my shirt, but my hands trembled far too much.

  "Help me. Please."

  She couldn't have heard the words clearly through my sobs, but she understood and knelt down in front of me, taking off first my boots and socks, then my jeans and panties. Her touch as sexless as that of a mother, she unfastened the buttons on my shirt, undid my bra and pulled me to my feet.

  "Stand there in front of the fire and dry off. I'll get you a blanket."

  I did as I was ordered, comforted somehow by her command. It was a relief to let go of all the decisions and cares, to deliver myself into the hands of someone I trusted. Elly's cabin was plainer than ours, but homier somehow. I never walked into her place without feeling peace descend on me; from the candles always burning on the mantel to the braided rugs on the floor the room exuded a welcome, even for such as me. As I watched the dancing of the flames, my sorrow subsided slightly and I felt warmed.

  Elly entered the room again, bearing a heavy blanket, and gasped when I turned around. I managed a smile. "What?"

  "You are so perfect. Like a goddess."

  I laughed—a wild and desperate sound. "I am not a goddess, Elly."

  "No? Are you sure?" She held out the blanket to me, an offering.

  "Positive," I said, and took the blanket, wrapping it around me as I sat back down. "Not a goddess, just a bedraggled and miserable creature of the night. Thank you for taking me in. I had nowhere else to go."

  "No problem, you are always welcome here." She showed no surprise at my words, but merely repeated hers. "You're always welcome. Can I give you a cup of tea? Or"—she gave me a shy smile—"something" a little stronger?"

  "Something a lot stronger would be great, thank you."

  She nodded and headed out to her kitchen, coming back with a large bottle of red wine and two glasses. "Will this do? I have scotch instead," she said as she uncorked the bottle, "but as I remember, that is Mitch's drink. Dare I ask? Is he okay?"

  I felt my mouth clench. "Mitch is fine, I daresay. And the wine is, too."

  She poured the wine and held a glass out to me. "Do you want to talk about it?"

  "Not particularly."

  "Ah."

  The fire crackled and sighed. Beyond the cabin's walls, the storm continued, accented now with great booms of thunder. It was exactly the sort of night that had always made Mitch and me abandon all thoughts of the world outside; we'd make slow love by the fire for long, lazy hours, needing only each other.

  I choked back a sob and drained my glass.

  "More?" Elly's glance was curious, but kind.

  "Keep filling them. Please."

  She did so and we were silent for a while, drinking and listening to the rain.

  "So," Elly said as she poured the last of the wine into my glass, "we're not to talk about Mitch. What shall we talk about?"

  "What would you like to talk about?"

  She threw back her head and laughed. "Oh, what couldn't we talk about? There must be a million questions I want to ask you."

  "Questions are good," I said, finishing my glass, "but what if you don't want to hear the answers?"

  "Deirdre, I always want to hear the answers. More wine?"

  "Yes."

  As Elly got up and went into the kitchen, I laughed quietly to myself. Which of us was now the cat and which the mouse?

  "I've got a better idea." She came back into the room, handed me an open bottle and picked up a carved wooden box from the mantel. "You drink this and I'll read your cards. Then I won't have to ask as many questions."

  "My cards? As in telling the future?"

  She shrugged. "The future, the past, the present.

  It's all in here." She shuffled the brightly colored deck, larger than normal cards.

  "But I don't believe in such things."

  Elly laughed. "In this case, it doesn't m
atter much. The cards don't care if you believe or not." She handed them to me. "Just hold them for a minute and think about what you'd like to know."

  I cupped my hands around them; they felt warm, almost as if Elly had transferred some of her human warmth to them. Perhaps she had. I closed my eyes and thought about the question that had been bothering me ever since the dreams started.

  What the hell is happening to us?

  "Done?" Elly asked. I opened my eyes again and at my nod, she reached out and took the cards from me. "You're cold as ice, Deirdre. Tuck back under that blanket." She groaned as she knelt on the floor in front of the fire. "Bad knees," she said, a note of laughter in her voice. "Oh, I'm getting old, you know how it is." Then she gave me a sharp look. "Or maybe you don't. Doesn't matter, does it? Now"—and she began to deal out the cards one by one, carefully and meticulously setting each one in its place—"let's see what's going on."

  She studied the cards for a long time. And as she viewed them, I studied her, trying as always to find an understanding of her. She was probably in her middle or late sixties, her hair gray and curly, her face crinkled with creases imposed by life and laughter. She was every bit as homey as her cabin.

  Elly looked up at me, nodded, looked back at the cards and gave a small, nearly imperceptible sigh.

  I decided to play along. "What is it? Elly, you are making me very nervous."

  "No need to be. Give me your left hand."

  I held it out to her, palm up. The light of the fire reflected off my golden wedding band, and I sighed. I should have stayed at home, I thought, and given Mitch a chance.

  "Probably," Elly said, staring intently at my palm.

  Had I said it out loud?

  "No, but it's an easy enough thought to read. And you just tensed, so I could guess your response. I'll get you home to Mitch very soon. But here, see this." She cradled the bottom of my hand very gently in hers and slowly traced a line along my palm. "This is your lifeline." She stopped abruptly, her fingernail marking the spot. "I have seen them branch out; I have seen them straight and continuous; I have seen them pitifully short. But I have never seen one with such a complete and definite stop. And then a gap; not a very big gap, I'll grant you, but it's there nevertheless." She lifted her nail and set it down on a different spot. "And then here it starts again. By the looks of this you will live for a very long time." She dropped my hand and shivered, hugging her arms to herself. "A very, very long time."