NYC VAMPS (The Italians): Vampire Romance (Book Book 2)

by Sky Winters

  “Nonono, please please.”

  This is absurd, thought Vincent, averting his eyes from the squirming man on the table. Just get it over with.

  His fingers wrapped around the hilt of the knife, Mr. Moretti placed the tip against the artist’s bare chest.

  They’re not, they’re not going to do it, thought Simone, her eyes on the point of the blade as it caught a stray glint of candle light.

  She wanted to run, she wanted to call for help, she wanted to do any number of things that weren’t what she was doing now, just standing and watching.

  The man with the knife made another swift movement, this time carving a line across Eduardo’s chest, leaving a red trail behind it

  Two of the other men in the circle dashed to the front of the table and held their hands over Eduardo’s mouth, muffling his cries.

  But the man wasn’t done. With, cutting movements, he moved the blade in patterns, then stepped away, setting the knife on the table next to him.

  What the fuck are they doing, thought Simone, frozen in place by fear.

  Another man moved from the circle, reached towards the knife, and took it by the handle.

  The one-handed man then looked over Eduardo’s body, the man’s eyes as slim and sharp as the blade he wielded. Then before Simone could even consider what was going to happen next, he plunged his hand into Eduardo’s chest, causing Eduardo to break out into pained squirms as the two men pressed harder down on his face. The one-handed man wore a look of concentration on his face as he stared forward, grasping onto something.

  Then, with a jerk backward, he pulled out Eduardo’s still-beating heart.

  Simone’s eyes watered in fear.

  Vincent looked in horror at the blood on Mr. Moretti’s hand. He considered the decades of training on how to blend in with the humans, the drumming in his head of the rules of the society, and his own everyday battle to fight against his own animal instincts. It all seemed to be undone with this single act of unsanctioned murder.

  He watched as the ritual continued, as Mr. Moretti brought the blood to his mouth and liked the red liquid clean. He watched Anthony and Chaz hold the artist’s body down against the table as it made its final squirms, the life slipping from his eyes. And he watched as the elders each took turns with the young man, shoving their teeth into him as the ritual demanded, draining his blood and leaving red smears around their mouths.

  Eventually, it was Vincent’s, and he knew that he would be forced to take a bite of his own. But then something caught his eye, something that he couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed before.

  There was someone standing in the doorway.

  Vincent looked around to see if anyone else noticed, but the other vampires were too enthralled in the ritual to notice anything other than that. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the stares of the group move to. He knew that if he did it, if he partook of this feeding, he would be forever marked as outside of the society. He looked again at the eyes at the door, and his glance caught the attention of Mr. Moretti, who looked as well.

  “An intruder!” he said, his eyes wide. “Someone get them; no one must know of the ritual!”

  Without looking, Vincent stepped away from the circle.

  “I’ll do it,” he said and headed for the door.

  Chapter 6

  Her heels in her hand, Simone ran down the second-floor hallway as fast as her legs would take her. Her mind reeled with images of what she had just seen, of Eduardo’s body splayed across the table, of the group of men drinking every last drop of blood from his limbs, of the piercing, razor eyes of the man who spotted her.

  What the hell is going on; who are these people? she thought as she ducked around the corner of the first intersecting hallway. Over the sound of her own breath, she could hear the soft clicking of a pair of dress shoes from down the hallway. Someone was looking for her. Her heart thumped in a quick, steady rhythm as she tried to catch her breath. Her back pressed against the cool surface of the wall, she moved with slow, sidling steps towards the next hallway down.

  OK, calm down, Simone. You’re just being pursued by a blood-drinking murderer, no big deal. She took another deep breath and tried to formulate a quick plan. She knew that the stairwell was just a little way down the next hallway, and if she could get to it, she could make it back to the crowd and blend in. But the footsteps were growing louder, and if she ran too fast, whoever it was would surely hear her. But if she moved too slowly, he’d see her. She felt a thin sheen of sweat form on the top of her forehead as she considered her options.

  Simone decided that running would be her best bet, and prepared herself to sprint. The footsteps were growing louder- he must’ve only been thirty or so feet away.

  Here goes nothing, she thought, getting her body in position to sprint.

  With one last breath, she started into a run, her bare feet plodding on the floor. But as soon as she ran no more than five or so feet, she felt the hot tension on the back of her neck of someone watching her from behind. And as she reached the end of the hallway before the turn, she could see the form of a man in the reflection of a painting that hung on the wall in front of her.

  “Hey!” a deep, masculine voice called out as she rounded the corner. The voice had a strange quality to it as if the man it belonged to was trying to get her to attention to tell her something, rather than to simply seize her.

  Simone ran down the parallel hallway, and within seconds, was at the door leading to the stairwell. Flinging it open, she heard the same voice call out, in the same way.

  “Just stop, for a second!”

  She didn’t comply, assuming it was some kind of trick, and instead dashed down the stairs, her ankles throbbing with each step as her bare feet landed with fleshy thuds on the hard surface of each stair.

  As she reached the door to the first floor, she looked up and saw the face of the man chasing her. Even from where she stood, and through the panic that was rushing through her, she noticed that the man’s face was striking and handsome.

  Simone threw the next door open and was greeted with the packed-full gallery. The heads nearest to hers turned as they watched her frantic form run from in the stairwell. Her feet still bare and her head in her hands, she ran through the crowd, sliding past bodies when she could, but colliding into suited men and artists here and there.

  And as she made her way through the crowd, a bizarre sound began to flood her mind- voices. Overwhelming her thoughts was a chattering cacophony of voices; all different, all saying different things.

  Who is this girl?

  What’s going on here; why is one of the girls running through here like a wild woman?

  Why is this hussy holding her shoes?

  Simone stopped for a moment and pressed her palms against her temples, her heels knocking against her head as she raised her hands.

  What the hell is going on? She thought as she stood in place within a crowd that was growing into a wide circle around her.

  “Simone!” called the familiar voice of Corbin from somewhere behind her. Simone turned and was greeted with the sight of her boss, standing with his arms crossed over his chest, his face burning with a furious glare.

  “What on earth are you doing?”

  She looked around, her eyes wide and frantic, at the crowd of people around her. She spotted Amanda in the group, her face one of concern. But before Simone could gather herself, she saw the same man who was pursuing her step into the room from the stairwell, and move through the crowd towards her.

  Remembering now that was she being pursued, she ignored the dozens of pairs of eyes on her and rushed through the circle of people, in the direction of the entrance.

  Reaching the entrance, she threw the front doors open, the frigid evening air rushing over her exposed flesh and bracing her with a freezing chill. Adrenaline pumping through her body, she stepped onto the sidewalk, her bare feet stricken with the twin burning and freezing chill that only bare skin on snow can ca
use. Turning around and looking into the gallery, she could see the crowd still watching her, and the man still moving through it, towards her. Her fear overwhelming her shame, she turned and ran down the length of the front of the building, and turned down into the alleyway.

  She continued down the alleyway, panic rushing her mind and flooding her thoughts. She turned and looked over her shoulder, and saw that to her horror, the man was standing at the entrance of the alley.

  “Just stop now,” he said, his voice frustrated.

  Simone ignored him and kept running, her eyes on the end of the alleyway, where she decided, if she could reach it, she stood a chance of running into a crown and blending it.

  But before she could even reach the halfway point of the alley, a rushing of air was heard behind her, followed by the iron grip of a hand around her upper left arm. Another hand reached around her front, landed on her right shoulder, and spun her around where she stood.

  The man she faced was gorgeous. His hair was long and dark, and fell around his face in tresses knocked loose from his run. His eyes were slim and golden, and his lips were full and red. His skin as white as the snow that fell around them.

  “Stay still, don’t move, don’t talk,” he said in his voice, which was low and melodic, almost hypnotic.

  Simone stood still for a moment, transfixed by his eyes -yellow, and flecked with black- but seconds later, regained herself and began struggling and thrashing against the man’s grip.

  “Let me go, you sick asshole!” he said, her face in a wince as she tried to force her way out of his grasp.

  She opened her eyes enough to see the look of confusion was on the man’s expression, as though something he was expecting to occur didn’t happen. He regained himself, however, and his bemused expression was replaced by one of stern determination. Holding Simone with ease in place with one hand, he slipped his other into his pocket and withdrew a slim, metal vial. He pressed a button on the side of the thing, which caused the top to open, and an astringent smell to rush into Simone’s nostrils. He waved the vial under Simone’s nose, and she felt her strength fade within seconds. Black began to crawl in from the side of her vision. The last thing she remembered before a deep dark consumed her was the sight of the red streak from before on the side of the alley, a strange, now-hardened liquid that now, as her consciousness faded, she now recognized for what it was- blood.

  Chapter 7

  When Simone opened her eyes, all she could see was black. But as she focused, she saw that it wasn’t the same black of the void that consumed her vision before she went out, but the cool black of a leather couch that her face was pressed up against. Moments after coming to, she bolted upright, sitting spear-straight against the back of the couch.

  Looking around, she saw that she was in the study of an apartment that she didn’t recognize. It was a spacious and elegant room, with walls of dark, cherry wood, and a glossy parquet floor. Tall bookshelves packed with dark-colored spines of books were here and there along the walls, and several paintings of various war scenes were hung, with the biggest one, a Napoleon-era battle scene of clashing cavalry, exploding cannons, and infantry in close-quarters, bayonet combat, all taking place in a blasted, winter field, hung above a fireplace that was currently home to a roaring, crackling fire.

  Outside of the shut door, she could hear footsteps against wood, and quiet, one-sided talking. The volume of the voice grew louder and softer, depending on where the speaker was in his walk.

  “Mhmm,” said the voice, “yes; she’s here.”

  Simone jolted further into awareness. She knew that the “her” referred to in the conversation had to be her. But who was talking, and why were they talking about her? And why was she here?

  Then, the events of the evening before being confronted in the alley came back: the blood-drinking ceremony, the strange men, the chase…the man in the alley.

  Simone tensed with fear, and her heart began to race. She must be at the home of the man who chased and caught her. Bolting off of the couch, she ran to the door of the study and grabbed its gold knob. Turning it with frantic twists, she found soon that it was locked. Now desperate, she began banging on the door with her fists.

  “Let me out of here!” she said, yelling, fear flooding into her voice.

  “She’s up. Gotta go,” said the voice on the other end of the door.

  Simone froze at these words. She knew that she wanted to get someone’s attention, but didn’t think far enough ahead to consider the consequences. She remained still as the footsteps grew louder.

  “I’m going to open the door now. Please don’t try to attack me when I do so. I know this is a strange situation, but you’re going to have to trust me when I tell you that you’re not in any danger. Well, immediate danger, that is.” The voice on the other side of the door was low- a man’s voice.

  “If you do anything rash, rest assured that it won’t do you any good, and will only result in me having to restrain you. So, the only decision you have to make is whether you want to spend the next hour tied to a chair or not. And I assure you, the chair I have in mind is quite uncomfortable.”

  Simone considered these words and backed away from the door. She watched as the handle turned and the door opened, revealing the figure of the man who assaulted her in the alley. Simone was prepared to stand down, but upon seeing the man who was responsible for her kidnapping, she flew at him in a wild rush.

  The man let out an annoyed sigh as Simone attacked him, and Simone noticed right away that her flailing would have to effect. Tightening her knuckles, she pulled her right arm back and brought it to the man’s face in a swipe. He turned his head to this attack, and when he looked towards her, his right cheek was raked with three streaks of dark, almost black, blood.

  The man touched his cheek with his fingertips, looked at the blood, and shook his head. Then, to Simone’s horror, the blood vanished, as though being sucked back into the man’s face, leaving no trace of her blow.

  “You know, I was going to give you a few hits, seeing as how I did kidnap you. But drawing blood definitely, means you get the chair.”

  With that, he dashed to Simone’s side with inhuman speed, scooped her off of her feet, and flung her over his shoulder.

  “Let me go, you asshole!” she yelled, pounding on his back with her fists.

  The man didn’t react to her hits and instead continued walking with calm steps over to the wooden-armed chair with a back made of red-and-white floral-printed fabric. He heaved her into the chair and held her in place with a palm on her sternum as he reached into his suit jacket pocket and withdrew a handful of fabric. One limb after another, he tied Simone into place, until she was restrained. But as he tied her, a strange feeling of something rushed through her- to her surprise, she seemed to experience a flash of pleasure with each cinched knot around her flesh.

  She struggled for a few moments against the strangely-tough fabric before giving up in frustration, strands of black hair now loose and draped over her forehead.

  “OK. You see what I mean about the chair?” said the man, stepping back.

  Simone conceded internally that he was right- it was an extremely uncomfortable chair.

  “Now, do you want to sit in that thing all night, or do you want to know where you are, who I am, and why you’re here?”

  Simone said nothing.

  “And trust me, if it helps your decision-making process, that chair only gets more the longer you sit on it.”

  Simone narrowed her eyes.

  “Who the fuck are you?” she said, nearly spitting out her words.

  The man smirked and clasped his hands behind his back.

  “That’s more like it. Vincent is who the fuck I am. And to save you your next question, you’re in my apartment, which is in the village. East Village, to be specific. You don’t need to know the exact address.”

  “What the fu-“

  “-K are you doing here,” he said, cutting her off. “Well, I’m
afraid that’s a little more complicated. Really, you saw something that you should’ve have seen. That you really shouldn’t have seen. Though it’s not entirely your fault; I thought it was a terrible idea to do that ceremony in a public venue, but I’m not exactly the one who made that decision.”

  Vincent walked over to an overstuffed leather chair and sat down on one of the arms.

  “You and I are in a little bit of a predicament,” clasping together this long fingers. He was about to speak, but then stopped himself, his face tightening for a moment in an expression of deep thought. “Let me ask you this: What do you think was happening back there?”

  “I don’t know,” said Simone, trying to fight away images of the gory scene that were now flooding her mind, “some kind of Satanic ritual?”

  “Actually, you’re not too far off with that, but that’s, perhaps, a conversation for another time. What you actually saw was a blood-drinking ceremony. A very old ritual, and something that I’ve never seen before either.”

  “Blood drinking?” she asked, her voice fearful.

  “Yes. I’m a vampire if you haven’t figured that out yet.”

  “Vampire? Like, the blood-drinking, can’t-stay-out-in-the-sun, stake-through-the-heart thing?”

  A gentle smirk played upon his face.

  “Yes, though you’ll find that much of what you’ve heard about my people is a myth. A stake through the heart, for example- we’re actually a little more delicate than that. Though not much more.”

  “OK, so you’re a vampire. That makes you a murderer; you murdered Eduardo.”

  “Now that’s where it gets a little more complicated, Simone.”

  “How did you know my name, did you read my mind or something?” she shot out.

  “Why, I checked your driver’s license, of course.”

  He considered something, then spoke again.

  “Though, correct me if I’m wrong, “mind-reading” is something that’s a little more up your alley.”