“Ready for what?” I asked and a moan interrupted us. We both looked over to the corner where Mitch lay and found him sitting up, rubbing his head with his left arm. His right arm dangled uselessly at his side. I tried to move, but Max’s grip tightened.
“Ready to join with me, forever.”
“I would never do that, Max. You represent everything I hate, everything our kind has been reviled for over the centuries. There is no need to kill, no hunger so great that would necessitate the death of the victim.”
Max threw back his head and laughed. “Oh, Deirdre, you are so young, so innocent yet. Look at her, Greer. Is she not magnificent? The face of an angel and the kiss of a devil. A body captured and preserved at its peak of maturity and passion. Yet in vampire terms, she is still only a child, little more than an infant. She has yet to realize one-tenth of her powers, powers of the body and mind which I have bequeathed to her.” He gave both Mitch and me a humorless smile, frightening in its inhumanity, then grasped my face in his hands. “And still you talk of needs and hunger as if the thirst for life could be measured in pints. There was no need, I kill simply because I can.”
A faint sound from Mitch’s corner interrupted him. Max turned and went to him. “I don’t think you will need that radio, Greer. Give it to me.”
As Max’s hand neared him, Mitch clutched the unit tighter. “You won’t get away with this, Hunter,” he said grimly, his mouth contorted with pain. Quickly Max reached over and wrested the box from his grip. He looked down on Mitch, an expression of disdain on his face.
“Can you stop me?” he sneered derisively as he reached down and took hold of Mitch’s knee. Small beads of sweat began to form on Mitch’s forehead and once again I could hear the sound of breaking bones. He let out one labored breath as Max continued, “Are you man enough to take me, Greer?” He turned away abruptly and began to laugh.
“Damn you, Hunter,” Mitch said with a grimace. “Get on with your story. I’d like to hear your justification for four murders.”
Max laughed again, still looking down at Mitch. “Justification? Why should I need justification for any of my deeds? And why would I provide it to such as you? I could explain to Deirdre, for she might come close to understanding. There are times, lately, when the blood is not enough, when I need the total quenching of life. It was not premeditated, not planned; the deaths simply happened. At such times I have no control, but it makes no difference.”
Mitch stared at him, as did I; his total lack of shame for his deeds appalled us. “Before you go any further,” Mitch told him in a tight, pained voice, “I must inform you that anything that you say can be considered a confession at this point and it will be used as such.”
Max turned to me. “I begin to understand your attraction, my dear. He is a very determined man, even when helpless. He would do well as one of us, don’t you think, Deirdre?”
I said nothing but I gasped. “But, no,” Max went on, “that would probably be unwise. And you seem to like him human, so human he will remain.” He lowered his voice, all traces of humor vanished. “The span of his human endurance I leave up to you.”
He strode over to me, held me in his arms. His eyes were crazed, maniacal, striving to draw me into his madness. I looked away, but stood limp and passive in his embrace, not wanting my struggle to inflict further torture on Mitch. “I want you, Deirdre.” He whispered to me now, an urging, demanding whisper that caused a chill to travel through my body. “I have always wanted you. You will grow stronger, you will cast away your petty morals. I will teach you to revel in death, as I do.” His voice was deep and passionate, his words echoed in my brain. He began to caress my back, his hands strong on my yielding flesh. “Look at me,” he commanded and wrapped my hair around his hand, drawing my head back roughly. Our eyes met and I knew I was lost. Then Max kissed me, his lips burned on mine, his eyes blazed into my very soul and I thought he would never stop. I did not want him to stop. Mitch whispered my name in anguish, but I still could not take my eyes from Max.
“Soon, my little one, you will learn that human lives are worthless, next to the power we possess. The power of life eternal, savagely drained. And the power of death. That night at the club, when I said you had changed, I thought that you had finally awakened and come into the power that is yours by right.” He smiled at me and I saw that his canines had grown sharper and longer. “I know now that was not the case. That you had only been in love. In love,” he repeated with scorn and grasped my face roughly between his hands again. His face glowed with a fury and a love that I had never seen before. “You have no idea what that word means, until you taste what I have to offer.” Somewhere in the back of my mind a voice was crying violation and rape, but I was again drawn into him against my will, and when he bent his head to drink at my neck I welcomed his kiss.
“Ah,” he said as he withdrew his bloodied mouth. “She walks in beauty, like the night.”
I caressed his cheek and smiled. He kissed me again, I could taste my own blood on his tongue and was deeply aroused. “Tell me more,” I urged huskily. “About our power.”
“We are gods, you and I. They can mean nothing to us; they are here for our sustenance, nothing more.” He spoke insistently. “Your initiation has been delayed for too long, little one. But now your time has come. You will be my mate, my love, my passion through all eternity.” He turned me in his arms to face Mitch. He was struggling to rise from the floor, to reach us, to stop us. “Look at him, Deirdre,” Max commanded. “Look at your human lover. Pitiful, isn’t he? You could break his neck with one blow. You could crack his spine easily, without a second thought. But we don’t want him dead, not just yet, do we?” I looked at Max questioningly, I was a child in his hands. “Go to him, Deirdre. Take him, he is yours. Take all of him. I suspect he’d rather suffer his death at your hands than at mine. But just to show what a good sport I am, Greer, I will let you die in private.”
Max laughed and gave me one more kiss, still holding my gaze. “Soon, my love, we will begin our life together, we will roam the earth together, the night will be ours.” He closed the door softly and I walked slowly toward Mitch.
“Deirdre,” he said weakly. “You have to stop him.” I knelt down next to him, took his uninjured hand in mine and stroked his hair. “He’s crazy, you know that. He’s got you under some sort of spell, don’t you realize that?”
“Don’t worry, Mitch,” I said. “Everything will be fine.” I was startled by the expressionless tone of my voice; he heard it too and tried to crawl away from me. The horror on his face was terrible and yet somehow gratifying. I remembered what Max had said, that he was mine to take completely. I smiled, knowing that my canines were exposed to his view.
His face grew ashen with fear. “Deirdre,” a note of pleading entered his voice. “You don’t have to do this. He can’t make you kill me.”
“Oh, but he can, Mitch.” I lifted him gently in my arms.
“Look at me, Deirdre. Really look at me.” I heard him as if from a distance, but the words made no sense. The veins were throbbing in his neck, calling me, pulling me. I put my mouth on him, nuzzling and licking the skin, his scent was fear and blood.
With one final burst of strength he grabbed my chin and pulled my face up. His eyes drew me; I could read fear there, but beneath it I could see his love for me still. “I love you,” he whispered and I heard the truth in his words. “And I will love you even as you do this.”
I shuddered and began to lose some of the urgency of Max’s words. “I love you, Mitch, and I won’t hurt you. It will be painless, I promise.” He shook his head weakly, the desperate grab had drained him. “If I don’t,” I continued in a panic, “Max will. You know that. He won’t be kind.”
“I don’t give a damn about the pain, or even my death. But I don’t want him to turn you into someone you’re not. You can’t be like him, Deirdre. It would kill you eventually.” He looked at me again, his eyes that intense blue I so loved. Somewhe
re, deep inside me, his words were being heard.
“You are not afraid of me, then?”
“No,” he said, never taking his eyes from mine. “I know what you are, but I am not afraid. I trust you with my life and my soul. You won’t hurt me.”
Tears began to stream down my face and I knew that the battle had been won, if only temporarily. “But I don’t have the strength to fight him, Mitch. He’s fed on me and he is strong, fortified by my blood. He’s weakened my body, knowing that my mind will follow. When he returns, he’ll force me to kill you or do it himself. You must leave.”
He tried to smile. “I can barely sit up, Deirdre, how could I leave?” He looked at me again and shook his head. “No, there is only one way, you must take me, take my blood. Take it all if you need, my death won’t matter if you can rid the world of that madman.”
“No, I won’t.”
“You must. I want you to. It’s the only way out for you. And you’re all I have now. I don’t want to live, knowing that he will always be there, to corrupt you, to twist you into a creature like him. You must kill him and you must take my strength to do it.”
“Are you sure, my love?”
“Yes, now do it quickly, before he returns.”
I kissed his mouth and slowly moved to his neck. “Now, do it now,” he whispered and I sank my teeth into his skin; he never even flinched, but sighed and smiled as his blood flowed into my mouth, warming and strengthening my body and my resolve.
When I had finished, I gently stroked the hair from his pale face. “Forgive me, Mitch,” I whispered to him. His eyes fluttered weakly but I hoped that he would hear. “I never meant for this to happen.” I kissed his cold lips and rose from the floor.
I quickly surveyed the room. It was exactly as I remembered it; how many nights had I sat here with Max, drinking and laughing? And yet how changed it was, now. It had acquired a nightmarish quality and I knew that I would never be free of the dreams that had occurred here tonight: dreams of love, passion and death. “Max.” I called his name aloud and it echoed around the room. “Max!” I screamed it in fury and paced around the room. I tossed a barstool at the wall to see it shatter into pieces. Picking up the largest splinter, I turned it over in my hands. It was one of the legs, about two feet long and the end that had broken was sharp and pointed. “Max!” I screamed again, knowing that he would hear. “Come and see what a god has done.”
He burst through the door, and saw me, my arms hidden behind my back. His eyes took in the crumpled heap that was Mitch and lit with a devilish glow. “Good, Deirdre. You have done well. Come to me and I’ll reward you. Tonight you will feed on me.”
I moved toward him, slowly and sensuously. He closed the door and leaned against it. He looked at me; then loosened his tie and unbuttoned his shirt. His neck exposed, he beckoned to me. “Come to me, Deirdre,” he said forcefully. “Tonight is our wedding night. I will share my essence with you once again.”
I felt a moment of panic as I came closer to him—his power over me was still formidable. Had I taken Mitch in vain?
But at that second, Max closed his eyes, reached for the light switch and turned it off. His power over me was gone and I found him in the dark, as he once found me. I kissed his neck; he gave a low, passionate moan. “Put your arms around me,” he said huskily. “Hold me close to you.” I could feel his heart beat next to me. I placed one hand firmly on his shoulder, pinning him to the door. “Now your other arm, Deirdre. Ah, I have waited so long for this, so long for you.”
“So have I, Max, although I never knew it until tonight. Thank you.” I bestowed one more kiss on his neck, then his mouth. He was silent in expectation. “Now,” I said quickly and he caught his breath in passion. I brought my other hand from behind my back. The stake found him quickly; I used all my borrowed strength and drove it deeply though his heart. The force of my blow lifted him from the floor and impaled him firmly on the door. He gave a choked cry and flailed his arms about in an attempt to free himself. One of them caught the switch and the lights blazed on.
The sight was horrifying: Max writhing, blood spurting from his chest, his lips foam-flecked and his face grimacing in pain and surprise. When he tried to grip the stake, to remove it, I pinioned his arms to the door. His eyes frantically searched about the room for release; finding none, they fastened upon mine. I could not fathom their expression; was it disbelief, fear or hatred? Perhaps it was even relief, or love. No matter, he held me there as compellingly as I held him. His mouth moved, but no sound emerged. Was he saying my name, pleading with me?
Tears began to flow down my face, but still I held him, and was forced to watch the life slowly drain from him. And as he died, I saw the years accumulate, not in his face or body, but in his eyes. “Dear God,” I whispered softly. “How many years, how many centuries?” I loosened my grip upon him in horror at what I had taken away from him and from myself: the knowledge, the capacity to survive for so many years. He struggled no longer, but continued to draw me into his eyes. I shared his pain and despair, his triumphs and conquests; somehow I was pulled into him, deeply pulled into him and felt his power and his pain enter into my own body and soul. Mentally, I staggered back from the invasion, no longer sure that I could hold him or my resolve. No longer sure that I desired his death. But before I could loosen my hold, before I could repair the damage I had inflicted, his eyes glazed over and his mouth fell open in a ghastly grin. His bloodless lips curled back, exposing his teeth, still sharpened, startlingly white. “Deirdre,” I heard his whisper in my mind. Then, as abruptly as the slamming of a door, he was gone.
I let go of his arms and they dropped limply at his sides. His body swung gently back and forth and small drops of blood ran down the length of the stake into the expanding pool at his feet. I wiped my hands on my pants and turned away.
“Is he dead?” The voice was weak but undoubtedly Mitch’s. I went to where he lay.
“Yes,” I said wearily. Speaking was an effort; I was tired and shaken. “He is dead.” There was no happiness, no triumph in my voice, but Mitch did not notice.
“Good!” He tried to smile at me but failed. “What a night, huh?” His eyes closed once more. I walked slowly to the desk, and called for an ambulance. Then I sat down next to him and cradled his head in my arms until I heard the sirens. When they arrived, I kissed Mitch and felt for a pulse in his neck. It was there, but so faint that I could have missed it. “Please live,” I urged him. “I have enough blood on my hands. I don’t want yours.” I rose then, carefully opening the door that still held Max impaled and lifeless, and fled into the blackness of the night without turning back.
Chapter 24
During the three weeks Mitch spent in the hospital, I completed my plans for departure. The transfer of Griffin Designs went smoothly. Other aspects took longer: the transfer of my funds to Swiss accounts, travel arrangements and living arrangements at my new destination. But by sundown, New Year’s Eve, I was packed and ready to go. Most of my effects had been sent on ahead so all I had was a small travel case, plane tickets and a passport with the picture and name of a stranger. The name I could get used to, I had before; but I looked with doubt at the picture and its image in the mirror. I had cut my hair short and dyed it a deep brown, almost black. It was very chic, very modern and I hated it. But I looked sufficiently unlike Deirdre Griffin to proceed with a new life. That, I told myself again, was all that mattered.
I called the lobby and asked Frank to get a taxi for me in about half an hour. My flight would not leave for almost three hours, but I saw no need to linger. The rooms had already acquired an impersonal feeling; it was strange to consider that soon someone else would be living here. I made a final tour to make sure that I had left nothing behind. I was in the bathroom, when there was a tentative knock on the door.
“Come in, Frank,” I called for I assumed he was here to get my bag. “The door is open.”
“Deirdre?” The voice was not Frank’s; my heart ros
e then fell when I realized the confrontation I had tried so hard to avoid had come.
“Mitch?” My voice was tremulous, betraying emotion best kept under control. I walked out of the bathroom and into the hall. Mitch stood, glancing around the room, taking in its emptiness and the packed bag at the door. As I entered he looked at me in shock.
“What on earth did you do to yourself?” he questioned sharply.
Nervously, I ran my hand through my too short hair. “Don’t you like it?”
“No.”
“To tell you the truth,” I said with a wan smile, “I don’t like it much either. But it keeps the publicity hounds at bay. How are you?”
“Fine.” He looked anything but fine. His right arm was in a cast as was his left leg. His face was unusually pale, from the loss of blood, I assumed, but his eyes were as blue and intense as ever. And at this moment they were angry and defiant. I found I could not answer his gaze; I looked away.
“Would you like to sit down?” He grunted an agreement and hobbled across the room on a cane. After he was seated, I walked over and sat facing him.
“You’re leaving.” It was not a question and I could not lie.
“Yes,” I said simply. “It seems best that I do.”
“Oh.” The single word held such anger, such reproach that I choked back any words of explanation I might have made. Instead, I rose from my chair and went to look out the window. A heavy silence descended on the room. When I finally turned around he was still staring at me, but some of his anger had been replaced with resignation and sadness. I would have preferred the anger.
He began to speak hesitantly. “I thought you might like to know the outcome of the other night. I just stopped by to let you know that you’ll not be questioned or held accountable in any way for Max’s death.”
“Thank you. I was wondering what happened after I left.” My voice softened on the last word.
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