The Bonded

by John Falin

  I am caught in a hurricane of primal desires. Hunger and violence are building in tempestuous pressure, swirling around me with irresistible force… and I yield. Her neck is tender as my two fangs penetrated deep into her flesh. The blood fills my mouth and I allow it to reach every part of my tongue to savor the delicious taste. I let my mind go and slip into her as I digest who she was with what she was in some sort of blood-essence sacrifice. I feel her impending death. I feel her dammed tears that want to break through, and I feel her mind cringe in memories of bartered sex and beatings, of broken ties, of selling her children, of so many horrors that as the blood enters my body, the tears leave in equal pace. I know her dreams of championing the addiction, of program after program, and dreams of having a family with a steady job, of growing old and grandchildren, of reconciling with long-lost parents. The dreams are a sick punishment that we both need to end, so I gulp ravenously. And as her memories and dreams fade, I let her lifeless body down gently next to the warm fire, watching my tears fall slowly onto her peaceful smile.

  I run, not physically, but deeper into myself and let the demon have at it for a while. I hear the smacking of my tongue meeting blood as I drink from another, and I smell the disappointment of the two who were not chosen casually fade into the woods. I am in a place of isolation, lost, but present. It’s safe here and I’m numb… I’m so thankful for it. So, I fade into the darkness.

  * * *

  The fringe of awareness seeps into my mind and I am groggy, but alert. These hybrid cars are strangely quiet, creating a sense that we are parked, but the windows tell another story. Shadows pass as we move into the cement cave’s entrance. The gated arm lifts with obedience and we enter a parking garage as Percy snatches the ticket that sticks out like a tongue from the mouth of the machine. She says, “It’s about time. Are you all right?”

  I shake my head to relieve the hazy fog of sleep and retort, “I think so. Where are we?”

  “We are where it began.”

  I peer out the side window and see that we’ve reached the 5th floor and pass by rows of empty slots on the way to the top. I recognize the garage, one of many, but it’s mine. This is where Hanz and Franz had their little fun with me. The sting of defeat gives me thoughts of a rematch, maybe one day. “Why are we here?”

  “It’s a connection to who you were and are. You need to reconcile the two before you lose control.” She knows. She must know about my demon.

  “I want you to explain what you think you know of me?”

  She unlocks the doors, unfastens her seatbelt (why would she wear a seatbelt?), and steps into the shaken snow globe. Once again, I follow her lead. “You allowed another part of yourself to surface without the burden of conscience. That can be very dangerous to one who holds so much power.”

  I relent to honesty. “I’ve had this… pressure, this demon, since the dawn of my memory. It has always wanted out. I knew innately that if he were to gain control, then I would lose who I am in the scuffle. So, I imprison him deep in the back of my mind, at great expense, I might add,” I say, expecting congratulations.

  “Adriel, there is no demon, certainly a pressure, but no ‘other’ you. You are not schizophrenic and your being is not dichotomic. You are like one of us, a predator that has had to live with prey for so long that you have judged your needs with human moral standards.”

  “I am human, Percy. Perhaps not genetically, but I am human nonetheless. I can’t just turn it on or turn it off on a whim!” I sense her probing. “Why did you make me experience that tonight? What value was that?”

  “Tell me about your feelings when the moment came?”

  I didn’t want to remember, but steeled myself. “I felt what she felt, and perhaps it was even magnified to some extent. If I’m being honest, I wanted to release her from her guilt. She wanted to die. She wanted it so bad that I wanted it for her, and I knew it was useless to attempt to talk her out of it. Her decision was contemplated and examined. I felt her resolve. It was final, and it was my resolve as well.”

  “In some ways we are more human than humans. Our emotions are hypersensitive and cross over their boundaries. We feel desire with a heat they will never understand, we experience empathy so powerfully that we can nearly read minds, and we can feel anger enough to slaughter hundreds in blind rage. You fear losing control AND you deny what you are. If you continue to entertain this denial and push it away, it will push back harder. You cannot win this battle; you cannot fight what you were born to be.”

  “I need a scotch.”

  “You’ve spent a lifetime numbing the sharp edges of your emotions!” Her bite retracts and her voice softens. “What you did tonight was a service. Our lives are in a symbiotic relationship with our human cousins. We are not ruthless serial killers, but a natural part of their world. We may take random people to feed on, we may choose to rid society of criminals, and then like this evening, we may decide to ‘alleviate’ suffering. This is no different from when you were a child with your dog, or as an adult with the elderly. It is no different when you protect the vulnerable from those who want to cause them serious harm, and it is no different from hunting animals that feel pain as we do. We are ‘human’ in nearly every way. You can choose to live within that framework and be who you are. It is time to embrace your so-called demon, to fully understand what you are and to discover what you are capable of doing.”

  “I’ve seen what we can do.” I sigh.

  “You are not like the rest of us, Adriel. You resemble us as we resemble humans. We share similar needs and strengths, but you are not a vampire, at least not wholly so. Just look in the mirror and admit the obvious.” The memory of Hanz and Franz debating over what I was surfaces and I know this to be true, but to have someone else utter the words is frightening. My entire life has been spent on the outside looking in, avoiding unnecessary attention and hiding who or what I really am. Perhaps it’s time for a change.

  I straighten out my shoulders and sit up in anticipation. “Tell me what I am then, Percy.”

  “I do not know yet, but rest assured, I am trying my best to find out. We will discover this together, if you’ll trust me.” There is something more than words in that statement. It is an oath, something ancient. Words and handshakes mean nothing today, but centuries ago, a name and reputation was all that one had, and to betray another was unforgivable. I remember a lecture in a religion course stating that in ancient Sumer, clan leaders would cut their wrists and mingle blood for what they called the Blood Covenant. Then they would cut several cows in half and walk through the blood and gore in a figure eight, symbolizing eternity, saying, ‘If I break this oath, then let this happen to me.’ That tradition passed on for thousands of years to when I was a boy, as my friends and I became blood brothers. Well, except for the sacrifice part. To break the Sumerian covenant was death then. I sense that she offers it with identical intent and if I accept, she will hold me to mine. So, we join in the eternal death walk.

  I finally say, “What do we do now?”

  “We do nothing. When we are not together, I am tracking down potential leads. It will not be much longer, but you must be patient,” she says with a defeated grin. She knows me well.

  “What about Cassius? Wouldn’t he be a resource? He claims to be the oldest of all vampires and that he has potential connections to my past.” She leans over the edge with both elbows on the cement wall, disregarding their filth. I feel her tension as she contemplates a careful response and I quickly whisper near her ear, “Be honest with me, Percy.” I feel the heat of my own breath.

  She says, “He is certainly the oldest that I have met… He was always fierce, even callous, but in the past century, he has become obsessed over something. He leaves for weeks at a time and has become even crueler as he ages. He is a dangerous vampire. It would be wise to remember that as you develop a relationship.”

  “I think he’s a prick, but that’s just me.” She giggles in response. “Why don’t we just le
ave?”

  “He has a part in your life, of that I am sure. Remember, he can detect when you lie, or even slightly exaggerate, and unlike you, has no moral issue with extracting that information from you in very uncomfortable ways. Stay the course, play your part, and be cautious. He is a master strategist—no one attains power without savvy and ruthlessness.” I nod in agreement. The city is sleeping, but on the verge of a new horizon.

  Chapter 8

  Mmmmm coffee, the bitter taste of freshly ground beans. Add the fact that I haven’t had a cup since the Resurrectio, nearly a month now, and it may as well be the nectar of the gods. I know the effects will burn off within seconds, but enjoying something that has no benefit brings a smile to my face. I balance the cup and casually stroll to the window over the kitchen sink, soaking in the haunting backdrop of snarled trees wrestling with a mild wind.

  I miss the sunlit mornings with their vivid colors and dawdling warmth that pierced windows. Yet, the night has always been my favorite child. The days brought innocence and fresh beauty, but the nights were lascivious, unknown, and wild. Nearly a month of training, of feeding, of acclimating to this new life—and in spite of all its demands, I still feel sedated by the greeting nightfall. I take a mental journey through the last several weeks, as they have been blurred with a hectic pace. Although I have accepted my role as newly knighted predator, the feedings continue to bring emotional discomfort. I could deal with a small gulp or two, perhaps even draining one a night, but sacrificing two humans a night for my hunger seems inordinate. It’s a twisted metaphor; as I drain the life out of others, they drain the life out of me. The mixed feelings versus primal urges duke it out in a battle royal. I wonder if they have a vampire counselor hotline.

  Locked in a dream-like stare, I command my eyes to refocus on the steamed window. My mind settles on reality; it’s time for practice. I look into the mug at the one last sip, knowing it’ll be the cold shadow of the satisfaction it once was, so I fling the remnants into the sink, place the cup in the dishwasher, and once again leave Mrs. Comfort for Mr. Out of Control.

  The front door has developed an annoying little creak that announces my entrance to the outdoors. This evening, instead of the usual grumpy Weapons Master, I’m greeted by about thirty vampires. The numbers have gradually increased since the initial battle a month or so ago, and with everyone cramming in bedrooms with inadequate sleeping conditions, tensions are elevated, to say the least. Most of the anger is directed my way due to Cassius’s insistence that I remain alone in my quarters because “He is processing the Resurrectio and must be allowed privacy to be effective in the coming war!” No one buys it, of course, but he doesn’t seem to care as long as they obey. Most were suspicious to begin with, but now that he has planted seeds of doubt, they believe me to be a spy, a genetic mutation, or an inferior, undeveloped vamp. I think he has an impressive strategy: Isolate and ostracize to ensure no one speaks to me, which in turn places him in the unique position of having my fullest attention. Perhaps he thinks that there will be some variation of kidnapper-victim psychology where I develop deep feelings and loyalty to him. All of this is making me very suspicious.

  It is that moment he chooses for an entrance. His long hair is pulled back in a ponytail, not the modern version, but one from centuries ago with the ribbon tied low on the neck. Just give him a white wig, powdered face, and some piano lessons to complete the costume. I think I’m the only one who appreciates the situation, as the others seem suffocated with his heavy presence. Cassius leisurely, but with intention, makes his way to the center of activity as a wave of vampires part the sea for their beloved Moses. As usual, I’m on the outside looking in. He says, “The waers are testing our boundaries and our commitment. They have infiltrated the hunting grounds, killed Jeffrey and Brian, and molested our prey. They are animals with no conscience or value in this world. We must stand united with discipline!” I hear the approving murmurs of excitement. He continues, “I am meeting with the Council of War and we are near a battle plan that will finally rid the world of their filthy kind. Be strong and resilient; our time is near.”

  It was short and sweet, but those around embraced his words with rabid shouts. “Now go. Be cautious, and if you happen upon a waer, kill it without mercy, without thought, for they will surely do the same to you.” The response is immediate as vampires hurriedly scurry in twos to their cars, trucks, even motorcycles. I begin my visual search for Seth, as practice is never altered or cancelled, and my efforts are unsatisfied. I let the moment develop on its own as I stand in still patience. A Harley crackles like angry thunder to avoid me. He tosses out a couple of expletives to show his appreciation and I let a half smile slip, knowing I got the best of him.

  I move into one of my moments of deep withdrawal; I can’t seem to break through the immobile trance as my eyelids fall shut and my secondary senses peak. I hear cars revving, whispers of anticipation, and frenetic heartbeats preparing for battle. I inhale, deeply absorbing every scent, every particle that I can find, as smell is the most powerful of senses. I catch it, a musty flavor so diluted and masked, as if it is only one molecule that no one would detect were they not searching. I suck in my bottom lip, licking it with a rolled tongue, and taste the faded scent of waer. My teeth grow and bite down on that lip in ecstatic response as I hear a voice.

  “Adriel, what do you sense?” asks Seth.

  My heart jumps with startled nervousness and I force a quick recovery. “I’m still getting used to this new awareness and sometimes it can be a little overwhelming.”

  He stares with uneasy suspicion, but continues matter-of-factly. “The Council of War will be meeting in an hour. Our practice will have to be cancelled.”

  “I’m sure you’re disappointed,” I reply, knowing his disdain for me.

  He nods with ambivalence. “My feelings toward you are quite irrelevant. My position here is to make certain that skilled warriors continue their education, and although it is… a regression to teach a young one like you, I do it without contempt.”

  “What distinguishes a warrior from a novice?”

  “You will be tested by others who are nearer to your level of competency. Admittedly, it is proving difficult to find vamps that have time at their disposal to accomplish this. Your background has provided you with a head start and you seem to have a natural talent for swordplay. I imagine the tests will begin soon. Also, I am curious as to how your strength is increasing at such a rate. Other vampires increase with very subtle gains, but you are jumping levels quickly.” I fight back a smile, but lose. “Do not take my assessment as a compliment, Adriel. You will be a formidable opponent one night and perhaps could best some vamps already, but you are still a child to a master.”

  Thanks for the buzz kill. “So, I have three hours of free time?”

  He thoughtfully replies, “No, Cassius is expecting you in his home. He has some time before the council starts and has summoned you. I suggest you don’t make him wait, as he is a killer with little tolerance for tardiness.” He lowers his head and sidesteps with hand extended to open a direct path to my destination. After taking a brief moment of mental preparation, I walk expeditiously to his home.

  I knock quietly and wait a solid minute, anticipating the lock to slide and click. His fingers creep around the edge of the door, pulling it open with casual ease. “Good evening, Adriel. Welcome to my home.” His voice is gentle, even parental, and certainly a far departure from all I’ve seen of his ill-tempered demeanor.

  The house is striking with knotted pine fitted from floor to ceiling. It has the natural look that so many cover with dry wall and bright colors as if recreating the world in their shallow image. We avoid the staircase that is three steps directly in front of the foyer and turn right, opening the French doors into the study. The study is rather large with cathedral ceilings and bookshelves that stretch twenty feet to accommodate the thousand or so books aligned in some sort of order. I can’t help but stare at the old parchment
s with time-beaten bindings and spines that have threads hanging like disheveled hair. He has amassed a collection of antique books that rival many of the ancient museums I’ve visited through the years. My gaze gradually shifts from the heights above to ground level where a large, oversized mahogany desk with hand-carved demons etched into the sides rests, accompanied by two guest chairs clothed in burgundy leather.

  He takes notice of my impression and continues my thought. “I have spent nearly 1,500 years choosing books that are meaningful to me and to our kind. Of course this room could not possibly contain all that I have read or attained, and not all are worthy to be showcased or even kept for that matter. These books represent our history, who we are, and from whence we came. All are original manuscripts, or the oldest and closest that have been discovered. Do you read often, Adriel?”

  I shift my gaze from books to his eyes and reply, “I’ve been alone most of my life, for this reason or that, but have always found good company in talented writing. I have to admit, I could spend quite a few nights in here.”

  He reciprocates with a smile. “Persephone has informed you of how we survive, but I think it is time to describe our beginnings, for one cannot understand what one is without understanding the past.” He approaches one of the shelves and stands in place, tapping his chin and pondering the location of the book that will illuminate me. Of course it’s rehearsed, but I allow him the moment. Retrieving the rolling ladder he lets out an “aha!” and climbs six steps, gently grasping an ancient book. Holding the book like a football, he swoops down and places it on the desk. “Please have a seat.” He directs with his hands. I take his offer and he joins me from behind the bulky desk, teacher and student. Here we go again.

  “I understand that your training is progressing well with our Weapons Master and that your hunting skills are keen.” It was a sentence, but ended with a slight raise in pitch, indicating a question.