Beating Hearts

by Lucretia Stanhope

  On the drive home, she had an idea about what she could give him. Stopping at a field that had a lot of flowers, she got out of her car and started taking pictures. She made sure to capture the way the sunlight hit the petals.

  Happy with the shots, she decided she would take some pictures of the house after she put away the groceries.

  It was October, and the leaves were beautiful, something he could not fully appreciate in the darkness he lived in. She took a lot of shots, from various angles, and spent the rest of the day sorting and editing those shots. After she picked a few of the house and a few of the fields, she printed them off. Once done, she looked at her watch, there were still a few hours until the sun would go down, so she headed out again, this time to get some frames. She figured she might as well make it a finished gift rather than a thrown together idea.

  Back at the house with the groceries put away and the gifts sorted, she had just enough time left to get her dinner cooking before he woke. As she cooked, she thought again about the dream, about how wonderful his touch had felt and how beautiful his body had been. She couldn't pretend anymore that her desire to feel him had anything to do with the film, the facts, or studying anything, aside from how good he could make her feel.

  Lost in thought, she didn't hear him enter the room, and was startled when she heard the fridge door open. She spun around to see him pouring a glass of thick blood. She closed her eyes and turned back to her own food as she felt herself flipping from desire to disgust at his meal. Fighting back both, she wondered if she would always react that way to seeing him drink blood, or if her shock would dull over the course of the next few weeks.

  “You startled me,” she managed to say after gathering herself. Her eyes stayed down while she stirred her soup.

  “I see you went shopping. Did you find everything you needed?” He stood with the fridge door opened, letting the cold air distract him from her warmth. Having just woken, he was famished and Kate was smelling delicious. He wanted to walk closer, feel her warm skin against his, listen to the rhythmic sounds of life within her. There was still something special about her that called to him.

  “I did, thank you. I even have something for you. I was rude not to bring a gift on arrival,” she said, and then turned off the burner.

  “No need for formalities.” He watched her move, watched her curves, soft warm curves.

  “It's done. If you want to dine with me, I will just grab the gift and meet you at the table?” she said in a questioning tone.

  He nodded and filled his glass again while he fought the urge to reach out and touch her. He couldn't ever remember wanting to hold a human so badly, especially without the intent to feast and kill. When he walked into the dining room, he noticed her scent was there too. It was everywhere. He was going to have to spend the whole night outside at that rate.

  She came in and smiled at him as she sat down, and reached across the table to hand him the gift, wrapped in brown shopping bags. Her spoon stayed poised above her bowl, waiting to start her soup. She wanted to see if she guessed right about what he might like.

  There was something in his eyes as he looked at the shots she picked. Something nostalgic. He looked at the one of his house with the fall leaves for a long while, then sipped his glass and looked up to her. “This was very thoughtful.” He studied her delicate features and sweet eyes, and thought about her spending her day taking the shots for him, for the killer she was stuck with for the next few weeks. “Thank you.”

  “Of course. You have been kind to let me stay in your home. If there is anything else you would like me to shoot in the sunlight, let me know.” She started eating her soup, which had sufficiently cooled.

  He watched her eating as he sipped from his glass, unable to imagine how things were going to play out. After one day, he wanted to touch her, and on day two, wanted to feel her warm skin against him. Now that they had shared a touch, he wanted to hold her, kiss her and by next week, god only knew where his mind would be. “Did you enjoy town?”

  A smile filled her face as she remembered her relaxing day. “It was quaint. I don't think I have ever been able to think and shop at the same time.”

  “Yes, it is charming, even in the moonlight. Did you sleep well?” He cocked his head, slightly puzzled that she blushed.

  Kate tried not to think about him naked, or about how he felt pressed against her in her dreams. “I did. I slept past noon, so maybe I will be able to keep up with you tonight.” She hoped he didn't notice the nervous tremble in her voice.

  “I'm not hard to keep up with. I'm not so sure you will find me an interesting enough study to fill more than a few days.”

  She looked at him, looked at his deep brown eyes and still couldn't place his emotion. He wasn't sad or sullen like many dark types could be. He wasn't menacing, and didn't seem to enjoy scaring her.

  It seemed to her that he was friendly, but there was something else, something about the way he looked at her. She entertained for a moment that he might be having the same thoughts she was. Did vampires dream?

  She washed up her bowl and his glass, finding it hard not to think about what was in it.

  Afterward, they both sat in the main room. She watched as he added wood and got the fire roaring. She liked the way his muscles moved when he heaved the logs on the fire, and blushed again as the thought of him naked by the fire upstairs danced into her mind. She couldn't believe how she struggled to get those images out of her mind now that he was so close.

  Chapter Five

  W hen Kate was finally able to push the dream from her mind, the void filled with what happened before she went to bed.

  Nick watched as the expression on her face changed while she thought back to the point he tried to make.

  It was true, he could do what he wanted, kill her, or drain her dry as he said, but she kept coming back to the fact that he didn't. He didn't even touch her inappropriately.

  Maybe she had been wrong, maybe they were not all killers, not all without heart, even if they claimed to be.

  “Did you go to school for film making?” he asked, breaking her thoughts.

  “Not initially, at first I thought I wanted to be a journalist, so I went to school for that. Film making was a career change after I realized reporting wasn't what I had thought it was, or should be.”

  “How so?”

  “It lacks integrity. At least this way I get to tell the story I want. The story that needs telling. Not the story that the advertisers pay for.”

  “Yes, but I am sure the story that gets put out there will still be what is wanted by whomever is pulling the media strings.”

  “I'm just not sure why there is so little information available about what you are, but I know there is a demand to know.”

  “Perhaps those that don't want others to know are more powerful than you might imagine.”

  She considered that before, in fact, she felt that he was probably right. Her gaze drifted to his handsome face, and she imagined what kissing him would be like for real. How his cold lips would feel on hers. Probably as amazing as it felt in the dream. “I want to hear more about you before.”

  “You want to hear more about trapping?” He gave her a puzzled look.

  “Yes, I am a bit of an early American history buff, and I would love to hear about the frontier life from someone who was actually there.”

  “You would probably find it a great sacrifice to live like I did. Even then, when people didn't have the conveniences like they do today, living out alone in the mountains was challenging.”

  “Did you make your own things, like clothes and furniture, or did you trade furs for them?”

  “Some traded, I did not. Not that I would say I was better than anyone, I just like to use my hands, to do my own thing, my way. The things I made were not pretty, but they always did the job I needed them to.”

  “You might be surprised what people find 'pretty', rustic decor is hot right now.”

  “Ru
stic would be a kind description of what I made,” he said, and then laughed.

  “Do you have anything here that you have made?”

  “Maybe, maybe the little clunky table you have been eating at.” He smiled with a look of pride, and watched her as she stood up and walked into the other room to get a better look. He followed her and watched as she crawled under the table to see the joins.

  “This is fabulous!” she said, and then stood back up. “I love the way it holds itself together without any screws or nails.”

  She admired the table a bit longer and then they headed back to the main room. Once they were both seated and comfortable, he watched as her brows furrowed at something on the screen.

  “Is everything working okay?” he asked.

  “Yes, I just got an email. I had anticipated it would be a little later, but it seems I am confirmed next weekend for an overnight at a club in Kansas City. I am sorry, it should complement your story, as a contrast. I will only be gone one day, and it shouldn't put us behind at all.”

  He looked at her with concerned eyes. “Where, and with who are you supposed to stay?”

  “Ummm…” She looked at the email again. “Charming, it's called Beating Hearts, and the contact is someone named, Warren,” she said, and met his gaze, which suddenly became unhappy.

  “That, is a very bad idea. Can you decline? I can arrange a club outing for you at a safer place.”

  “Decline? I made the proposal. It would be in very bad taste to decline.”

  “Those vampires, Warren, most especially, are not the kind you want to be alone with.”

  “How do you know Warren?” She wondered if he would tell her what she really wanted to know.

  “I've been to that club, when I lived in the city. It's the sort of place you go to when you want more than just a taste. They are into trafficking as well. No good comes out of that place.”

  She looked at him and watched for a reaction when she asked, “Is that the type of place you went to for a meal?”

  “This isn't about what I did; this is about you not walking into your death. It is an unnecessary risk.”

  “Like being here?”

  He closed his eyes and rolled his head, stretching the tension in his neck. “Granted, being here is not safe, but a human walking in there? A human with no bite marks would fetch a steep price.”

  “Certainly they wouldn't risk exposing their underground trafficking by killing someone who was known to be going there,” she said, and paused. This was what she wanted to know about. “Human trafficking? If that is true, I must go. Something like that has to be exposed.”

  “Foolishly brave,” he said, and stood up to walk outside.

  Once alone outside, he tried to clear his head. It had been a long time since he thought about Warren or that awful place. Now he had a beautiful woman, who for some reason he wanted to touch and take for his own, talking about going there. She had no idea the risks. How could he begin to explain without revealing his complicity in the start of that place?

  The three of them, Warren, Teddy, and himself, were all second generation, and as such, felt they were above the average vampire, who is usually at least ten generations out. They were of course more animal, and had sharper senses, stronger enchantments, and a stronger paralyzing saliva.

  It had been Warren who came up with the idea of trafficking in humans, but it made good sense to them all, and no one was the voice of reason. They could track and enchant humans far better than later generations, generations that were willing to pay a premium for a blood slave. The money was a big temptation, but even more tempting for Nick was to be trapping for a living again. Not just for survival, but as a trade.

  Warren set up the club and had the contacts. Nick rounded up the merchandise, nightly, he was the best. Teddy hunted too, but he didn't have the passion. Nick often thought after he left, the operation would cease to function. Either they had a new supplier, or Teddy had improved.

  Humans did make it easy now. Many seemed to run to their deaths. Maybe that was how it functioned still. Maybe they had willing humans? But willing humans were often bitten, damaged goods.

  He thought about Kate again, her soft warm skin, perfectly flawless, no signs of damage. Maybe he should bite her for her own protection? Offer it? Would it be for her, or to feed the growing craving he had to be intimate with her? He could arm her with some tricks that should buy her a few seconds, but if she found herself entranced by Warren, then there would be nothing she could do.

  Kate came outside, breaking his thoughts. “Are you going to want to do more tonight?”

  “Of course, I just needed to gather my thoughts. I would never presume to tell you how to do your job, but Warren...” He paused, trying to figure out exactly what to say.

  “It's set. It's just one night. I will go at the opening of the club and head out after it closes. I won't even be sleeping over. Although I may grab a hotel room and sleep before I head back.”

  He wanted to reach out and shake her, shake some sense into her. “I would again suggest not going, strongly suggest.”

  “I appreciate that, I really do. I will be careful, but really, if every journalist avoided danger then who would cover wars? Or what about fires? Or even weather disasters? As a frontiersman, you must have understood that some things were worth the inherent risks.”

  “Yes, some things are. Warren has no story to tell that I cannot tell you. I can take you to another club. I cannot join you there. I am not welcome at the Beating Hearts, ever.”

  “So there is bad blood with you and Warren?” She pressed again, trying to get him to admit his role and give her more details about the club.

  “Yes, that would be putting it mildly.” Nick sat down on the swing.

  “What happened?” She sat down beside him.

  He tried not to think about the warmth, tried not to inhale her scent. “We should get started if you don't want to lose time here before you go.”

  “Why do you do that? You just change the topic suddenly and with finality.”

  “Not enough finality it seems,” he said and rose.

  She stood up and walked in the house, following behind him. “You know…”

  “Where were we?” he asked as he sat in his chair.

  “We were talking about Warren, and you, and my going to the club next weekend.”

  He cut his eyes at her. “When I change the subject there are good reasons.”

  “Such as?”

  “It is for your own good to trust me.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Well then, since it is a closed topic, I guess we should get back to your story, the parts you see fit to share.”

  He took a deep breath.

  She was full of sass tonight. What sort of woman looked a monster in the eyes and argued with it? The kind of woman he wanted to get to know more about. There was a fire in her soul, a fire that was tempting him to come closer. Tempting him to taste, to touch, to think about things he had no business to think about.

  “Nick?” she said, watching him stare off into the corner, obviously lost in thought. “Care to share what is on your mind tonight?”

  “You are.”

  “Yes, and the trip to the club that you don't want to talk about.”

  “It wasn't long before I found myself getting weaker, having not yet figured out that I needed blood from humans for strength,” he said, and looked at her with a look that said the other topic was closed.

  She didn't press the issue, instead she just looked down and scribbled a few notes.

  He continued, “I was in pretty bad shape when one of the men I traded with came to check on me. He was worried about why I hadn't been in with furs in so long. I remember hearing his heartbeat, and thinking I could hear his blood flowing. It was loud and distracting. He was talking, but I couldn't hear what he was saying.

  “He leaned over to feel my forehead, I must have looked ill. His touch triggered some instinctive response, and withou
t thinking I bit him, on his wrist. I drank, he screamed, and soon I found the energy to stand and pin him against the wall while I fed. I was so ravenous that he was dry in seconds.

  “I looked at him a moment, looked at his empty eyes and then went outside and retched, but nothing came up. I don't recall ever feeling so awful about anything before. I think that was mostly because deep down I realized that I was becoming like the thing that attacked me.”

  She noticed he looked strained and asked him more about frontier life, not wanting to push him deeper into a place of sadness. After several hours of casual conversation, she started to get sleepy and retired early.

  After she went upstairs, he sat by the fire, thinking. Thinking about the past, the long ago past and his first awkward days, as well as the not so long ago past and Warren. He puzzled over things for hours, even paced the yard, with no real satisfaction, until he felt the call for the safety of his dark room.

  Chapter Six

  K ate woke with only a few hours to spare before night fell the next day, and found after she checked emails and drank coffee on the porch, all of the daylight vanished. She sat at her desk making notes and enjoying the fire when Nick came in.

  “And how is the spunky journalist today?” he asked, smiling at her.

  She looked up to see the warmth in his face and returned his smile. “Good and you?”

  “Nice to hear. Let me grab a nip and we can get started.” He walked out of the room with a smile on his face. Something about her seemed to put him in a good mood.

  She turned on the camera when he returned and sat down at her desk. “I was hoping we could talk about what happened the other day when you made it so that I couldn't move. I wanted to ask yesterday but we got sidetracked.”