He smirked, giving me a small nod as he turned to follow Sabrina. As she walked away a lithe, carefree air about her I found myself likening Sabrina to an angel and felt a loyalty to her in that moment unlike any I had experienced before. It made turning my attention to the others all the more jarring.
They, on the other hand, bore no such elegance to them. Gathered around the room, clutching goblets filled with wine or blood or both, they were the picture of decadence and sloth. Many had settled in other chairs while their companions reclined in pillowed couches, content to waste away. I frowned. Perhaps I did need a new identity, but I could not abide by the prospect of being such an utter waste of space.
I stood, but had to steady myself through a wave of dizziness. Yes, something had to change. I could not spend eternity scared of my own shadow, ignoring my base needs. Crossing to a pair of vampires engaged in conversation, the hallowed argument resurfaced in my mind while I snatched a glass of blood from a dark-haired vampiress named Rebecka. “Your doctor was a hypocrite,” I said aloud, draining the contents of the glass in one drought before wiping the remnant from my mouth and throwing the empty goblet at its previous owner.
Rebecka gasped in horror. I ignored her. The eyes of my brethren shifted toward me, undoubtedly wondering ‘what the devil Peter was doing’ while I continued my argument. “You defend him and you tell me what to be, but none of you bastards can tell me why he killed his girlfriend. I don’t give a shit if you think he was a saint, or not. Saints don’t slash through two people.” I continued walking until I stopped in front of a set of Japanese swords mounted to the wall beside Asian-themed tapestries. My hand lifted to caress one of the blades without breaking my train of thought. I smiled. “Argue all you want, but there’s your real doctor. He’s a killer, just like me.”
“So, he speaks to himself now as well. Your descent into madness is almost complete.”
I turned my head at the sound of Michael’s voice, seeing him standing behind me with his hands tucked inside the pockets of his fine linen pants. The regal, pompous bane of my existence was clad in a suit, his hair tied back again as though the Victorian era came and departed while leaving him behind. “I’m sorry,” I said. “Was that directed at me?”
Michael raised an eyebrow. “I don’t see who else I would be talking to, unless you have imaginary people to accompany the voices in your head.”
I shrugged and looked back toward the wall. “Doesn’t matter either way. I plan on ignoring them now.”
“You don’t have the resolve to accomplish that.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’re weak. I’ve known that from the start, when you were writhing on that bed like we’d set you on fire. And you have been slowly unraveling ever since.”
“Oh, I see,” I said, smirking. The mocking tone had finally found me on a night I was not apt to endure it. Pivoting to face him fully, I folded my arms across my chest. “So, I take it that you rose and immediately became the king of all vampires.”
“I didn’t scream like a stuck pig.” He crossed his arms behind his back in return and walked two, measured paces around to my side as if sizing me up. “Utterly useless,” he repeated, eyes surveying me from head to foot. “Nothing more than a deathless mortal. You will be nothing but a burden to this coven for all of your short, miserable existence.”
“You have a lot of room to talk, you reject from an antique store.” I shook off a wave of irritation as it surfaced. “You call me a madman? Well, what does speaking with a madman make you?”
Michael huffed. “As if your words could wound me. You are no better than our prey, Peter the Blind.”
I felt my fangs start to peek from their hiding place, and clenched my jaw to hold them back. “I’m going to love having a new identity and telling you to shove that pet name up your ass.”
“A new identity?”
I stepped closer to him. “Yes, I’m choosing another name. Figured it’d make for a good change of pace.”
“So we can mock another moniker instead?” Michael smirked.
“No, so I can show you just how little you actually know about other people. You’re nothing more than an arrogant prick.”
He laughed and I saw his fangs slumbering inside a sea of porcelain. “Bold words for an ignorant neophyte afraid of his own shadow. Do you think me just weaned from my mother’s breast? I have lived for many years while you have barely left a footprint on this mortal coil.”
The corner of my mouth curled. I closed our distance with another stride. “How old does that make you, then?” I asked.
Michael’s blue eyes steadily held mine behind the sunglasses. “One hundred and one years, with thirty-two mortal years prior to that.”
An eyebrow rose in defiance. “And in all those years, you never checked the calendar?” Tension filled the space between us. “You look like you haven’t left the last century.”
“And you speak as though you were not educated in this one.”
“You don’t know anything about me,” I spat.
“Allow me to enlighten you,” Michael said, his smirk growing until it enveloped his countenance. His words dripped with malice, smugness evident in everything from his expression to the posture he assumed. “I can tell you have no clue what you are now. That you have no notion of what it is to be an immortal despite what others have attempted to teach you, and as such, do not deserve that title.” He paused. “I can tell one other thing, too.”
“Oh?” I asked. I held his gaze and reciprocated it measure for measure. “What would that be?”
Michael’s grin broadened. “That I have a coward of a being standing before me, not having the strength or the genitalia to keep his mortal girl happy. Little wonder she sought greener pastures. I would have as well.”
The anger bubbling up inside me burst into a glorious spectacle of fist meeting face. I punched Michael across his jaw before he could dodge the blow, sending him sprawling onto the floor. Blinking in surprise, I glanced quickly to my hand, but had no time to process what had just occurred. Michael came to his feet, blood running from a cut on his lip, and hissed at me with fangs elongated.
He wished a fight?
I hissed in return, more than willing to oblige.
Michael swung for me. I moved out of the way prior to impact, but failed to dodge his other fist when it came for my face. He avoided breaking my sunglasses only by a hair’s breadth and I determined not to give him a second chance. I grappled with him, attempting to pin one of his arms before resorting to throwing another punch that smashed him on the cheek.
A crowd was gathering around us as Michael threw me off him. The force sent me flying into the group of onlookers, knocking several off balance. They remained on the floor while I came unsteadily to my feet, woozy from hunger. Rage compensated for what I lacked in nourishment, though, and powered the violent swings I threw in Michael’s direction when I charged back in. He dodged one and captured my hand with the next, crushing my fist with all the immortal strength he could summon. I gasped in pain, but was close enough to knee him in the stomach in instinctive retaliation. The blow doubled him over and freed my hand from his grip. I stepped back and followed it through by connecting my foot with his chest, taking him off his feet again.
Hate shot from Michael’s eyes as he stood, hair half-hanging out of his ponytail, suit rumpled and askew. His hands balled into two weapons as he stalked me. The intimidating look should have been accompanied by venom dripping from his fangs, and caused me to take another step back. The full measure of a vampire pounced at me and before I had a chance to react, he hefted me by the fabric of my shirt and snarled into my face. “I care little for what she says you are,” he hissed. “You were a mistake.”
Michael threw me. The door separating the adjoining room buckled and splintered as I crashed through it, and when I landed on tiled, flooring on the other side the second impact completely knocked my glasses from my face.
The effect was instantaneous as light seared my retinas with exquisite pain. I wailed in agony while cupping one hand over my violated eyes.
A shiver ran up my spine. I rolled onto my stomach and groped with my free hand for my sunglasses. It took several frustrating seconds for my fingers to locate the frames and slip them where they belonged. No sooner did I come to my knees with glasses on, though, than a sharp point touched my throat just above my Adam’s apple.
Opening my eyes, I swallowed hard and looked up to find Michael standing before me, a European-styled sword in hand. “Beg for your life,” he said, “And I might allow you to retain it.”
In the perfect position for doing just that, I strangely found myself smiling when my eyes finished adjusting. Knives and swords, some hanging on the walls and others situated on display shelves like prized jewels, were arranged around the room. Sabrina’s armory surrounded me, whispering sweet temptation into my ears.
I looked back at my older, more regal brother, and sneered with more confidence than I had any right to exude. In one manner or another, I knew my salvation was in this room.
Chapter Six
Not even two weeks into life as an immortal and the end already seemed nigh. A blade to my throat, a vampire stood before me who eclipsed my years by over a century, and yet I still sneered in defiance of my peril. Sabrina had told me, mere minutes ago, that if I embraced my nature, the gifts I possessed might come to light. The room surrounding me only affirmed this prophecy, whispering its hushed call.
It happened when my eyes caught sight of the armory. Time itself seemed to pause, affording me the chance to study Sabrina’s weapons. The same sentiment that had tickled at me in the common area when I admired the Japanese swords on display came over me again. I did not have the foggiest idea how to wield anything besides a scalpel, but I knew I needed to get to the blades across the room.
If I could just get off my knees.
Looking at Michael, I held a firm and steady gaze with him as time resumed its normal course. “What are you waiting for?” I asked, indulging in a dangerous smirk.
He pressed the sharpened tip against my larynx. The sword did little more than create a superficial cut, but Michael’s case was stated. “Beg me, neophyte,” he spat. “What cause do you have to exist?”
“Whatever cause I have, it doesn’t matter. You can’t do it anyway.”
His weapon parted flesh, suggesting otherwise. I winced, feeling a rivulet of blood running down my chest. Michael scowled, fangs elongated. “Do not try my patience. I’ll make you suffer first.”
“You can’t do it,” I continued, bluffing, “Because if you could, then you would’ve already. You bark like the big dog trying to piss on his territory, throwing your weight around like you own the place. And you don’t show anybody any respect in return.”
“I have no cause to respect you.” Michael’s hands began to tremor, his voice descending even further into an enraged snarl. “You’re nothing more than a nuisance. Her new little pet I am expected to coddle and train when he has been nothing but a disgrace to the word immortal.” The fraction of a pause was just long enough for me to see deadly intent resolve itself in his eyes. “Now, I’ll end you like I should have when you were just a pitiful human.”
Sabrina’s voice cut through the crowd assembled by the broken door, shouting, “Michael!” loud enough to cause him a moment’s hesitation. Poised to drive the point of his sword through my throat, Michael froze and my instincts seized the moment, both hands capturing his blade. I threw it to the side, knocking Michael off-balance, and leaped into a sprint as I stood.
Michael hissed, his feet planting on the ground to steady himself. Sabrina clamored to break through the crowd while I ran for the blades, feeling Michael pursue me the entire way. While the weapons in the parlor were intended for show, these swords were more than display pieces. A Japanese-styled one found its way into my hands with sheath flying to the ground in an instant. I swung an untrained blow out of instinct as I whipped around to face Michael.
Our blades connected, saving my neck from a fatal strike.
My eyes widened, both hands wrapping around the katana’s hilt. As Michael moved to attack again, I raised my blade and blocked another blow, but the edge of his sword came within a hair’s breadth of cutting my cheek. It forced me back, and he took advantage of the opening to slash my arm as I attempted to dodge.
Fangs elongated, I hissed and responded with a strike.
He twisted his sword downward, deflecting my shot. Our blades caressed for a split second before he threw his weight into it and sent me to the ground. When I hit the floor, he drove his weapon toward my stomach, but I rolled away from harm and raised my sword when he struck again. Michael gritted his teeth, studying me with his brow furrowed and our swords touching.
Now, I took the offensive. I pushed his blade away and came to my feet.
He and I swung at the same time. Together, we filled the room with the harsh sound of metal clanging. The awkward blows I threw somehow met his, which brought a look of confusion back to the forefront of Michael’s eyes. Metal struck metal again. Michael whipped his sword upward and immortal reflexes saved me as I avoided the tip of his blade. I could not keep this up forever, though. The sight of blood staining my shirt invaded my periphery with the reminder I would not outlast my brother in my hunger.
“What do you want from me?” I asked. Our swords intersected again. “To die? To go away? Tell me what the hell you’re really upset about, because you’ve had it out for me from day one.”
“You aren’t supposed to exist,” Michael said through gritted teeth.
I stepped back. Michael stalked forward. We each poised our swords in anticipation of another strike, but neither of us moved. “What does that mean?”
“It means you are a mistake. You want a name? I’ll give you one.” Michael’s eyes shifted to the side, glancing at someone standing nearby. I did not see who before his gaze returned to mine. “I think you should call yourself Flynn.”
“Flynn, eh?” I smirked in defiance of the veiled insult, not understanding its significance and not caring. “I like that. But if I get you to your knees with my sword about to give you a tracheotomy, then I think I deserve the right to name you back.”
“Name me what?”
“Robin.” I paused to regard Michael. “Seems like a good name for such a pompous prick.”
“So be it then,” Michael said. I watched his rigid posture fractionally relax, his mouth opening to issue more condescending banter. He began to say, “I’ll not give you the chance,” but his drop in guard worked to my favor.
I was already moving with the first word.
Ignoring it all the dizziness, the hunger, the anger I summoned a form of focus I had never experienced before. The movements played out in my mind before they even commenced. I leaped for Michael and swung my sword in a confluence of instinct and vampire prowess. No sooner had he spoken than I landed before him and knocked his weapon from his hands. The attack set Michael aback. Too stupefied to respond, he could not block the sweeping kick to his knee that sent him crashing to the ground.
He fell. The tip of my blade pressed against his throat, drawing blood. Michael’s eyes widened as they met mine.
I held the sword steady. “You were saying?”
“Child!” Sabrina’s voice cut through the heat of battle. I felt a hand touch my shoulder, but did not turn to look at my mistress. She persisted just the same. “Let him go. I will reprimand him in private.”
Michael and I continued to regard one another, but there was a difference in the gaze he returned to me. I could not put my finger on it at the time. A small dose of fear, perhaps? A subtle awe? Maybe a fledgling form of respect rising to the surface. Whatever it was, I withdrew my blade and allowed him to stand. Then, I looked at Sabrina.
She furrowed her brow at the expression on my face. “What is it?”
“I like the sword,” I said, smirki
ng in a manner that hinted at the dark side who wanted out again, who hungered for blood to make up for his weakened condition. He knew exactly what he held in his hands. He held fate. “I’d like to keep it, please.”
Sabrina did not respond. I turned from the armory, walking past stunned bystanders and stepping over shards of wood with sword in hand. I made it to the threshold separating the two rooms before Sabrina ran for me and grabbed my arm, coaxing me to face her. She held the disregarded sheath out toward me. “You forgot this, dear,” she said. As I reached for it, she leaned in and kissed my cheek, whispering, “Dark killer Flynn, go do what it is we immortals do.”
The name resonated in my ears with decadent sweetness. Another identity. Another life. Someone other than this Peter bent on stopping me from vampire fulfillment. I nodded at Sabrina and slid the sheath over the blade while I walked past my brethren.
Everything changed from that point forth.
Striding to the stairs, I passed one of the mortal familiars assigned with managing our affairs. The short, gaunt human shied away from the hungry look in my eyes and scurried off at the wicked smile that bloomed across my face. I breathed a soft chuckle and started my ascent, an added sense of power draped across my shoulders. It lingered there until I disappeared inside my room.
Once inside, I kicked the furniture displaced by my most recent tirade aside. Setting the sword atop my dresser, I walked into the bathroom while stripping my violated shirt from my torso. After cleaning the blood from my mending wounds, I strode to my closet, searching the collection of hand-me-downs for something else to wear. When my gaze found the black suit, it stopped.
I found the irony simply too delicious.
As memory served, the garment had been donated to me by Michael, perhaps the most contemporary piece of clothing my older brother had owned, or such is what I suspected. It had been tailored to his lankier frame, but our overall similarities in height permitted me the experiment with a different style. The inky, midnight hue contrasted against my pale skin in a curious, yet satisfying, manner.
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