Beautiful Death

by Christina Moore

  He groaned. “Hey, Ash...”

  “What is it?”

  “Yeah, I don’t think riding around on a motorcycle with a very large pointy object that could cut me in half is a good idea. You may be okay, but I’m only human.”

  He could almost hear the groan that came out of that bright blue helmet as she climbed off the bike. Her steps were heavy and her posture that of annoyance as she made her way to him, but he could see the smile she was trying to hide behind her visor.

  “Hey!” he yelped. Cold hands were suddenly under his jacket on his left hip, pulling at the katana cord. “What the hell are you doing?” Before he could figure out what was happening, she lifted the sheathed blade high and shoved it down the back of his jacket, the tip of the sheath wedging itself securely right into his butt crack. He cried out and jumped up, nearly knocking the motorcycle over. He’d never moved so fast in his life. “Holy shit! Ash! What the hell?”

  The vampire burst into laughter, catching Tristan off guard. He hadn’t heard her laugh before and wasn’t sure she really had it in her. That made her more human to him. He grinned at her even while shaking his head in dismay and pulled the katana from his pants. “You’ve got a fucked up sense of humor, you know that?”

  She smiled and spun on her heel towards her motorcycle. Tristan smirked at her backside and sat back down on the motorcycle and readjusted the katana. Ash had the right idea, but the very wrong execution. Instead of taking the tip between his ass cheeks, he shoved it between his belt and jeans. The hilt stuck up out of his collar over his shoulder, hitting his helmet. In the end, he decided he didn’t even want to use the sword. He was no good with it and it’d just be a burden. The gun suited him just fine. Ash didn’t argue with him when he tossed the blade aside. She was however, impatiently tapping the toe of a heavy boot against her foot peg, more than ready to go.

  “Be sure to keep up!” she shouted and flicked her visor closed. She revved the bike loudly and released the clutch, fishtailing down the driveway in a cloud of dust. Scrambling to catch up, Tristan ended up stalling three times before he reached the end of the driveway. He wanted to blame it on the unfamiliar bike and not wearing gloves, but it was really the excitement of riding again and the anxiety of their impending meeting.

  A quick three-quarters of an hour later, the pair arrived at a home even more secluded than Ash’s, deeper in the Akita Mountains. It was a large sprawling home, modern Japanese and well-kept considering they were in the middle of nowhere. Privacy was important when you were a species that wasn’t supposed to exist. All of the windows were covered in pleated grass paper, soft light showing from within. There was a whole dealership’s worth of cars parked out front—Benz’s, Bimmers, Hondas, a few Porches and other high end pretties… Lucien’s Aston Martin.

  Tristan parked behind Ash, hopped off the bike and dropped his helmet on the tank against the handle bars. He took a few moments to shake out the numbness in his hands and stretch out his body. He felt alive like he hadn’t in ages. He could almost forget about being chased by the walking dead, forget that a whole race wanted him dead. He stopped suddenly and turned to face Ash. She blinked at him, expression considerate but soft. She didn’t want him dead. Granted, he was sure she didn’t want him the way he wanted her, but she didn’t want him lying face down, drained of blood.

  Ash’s soft smile washed away and she walked up to him. She stopped with little separating them, looking up at him. Not for the first time, he thought it was unfair that she could read his mind. Ash started up at him for a long moment and then broke into a faint smile. And he realized in that moment, he never got a satisfactory answer to one very important question. One he was sure she had to remember regardless of what this Yukihime took from her mind.

  “Why are you helping me?” Last time he asked, she told him the story of Haruka. But now, well now he wondered if there was something more. He saw the way she looked at him and it wasn’t just physical hunger. There were suppressed emotions in her eyes.

  Ash had heard the question and all of the doubt and worries lingering on its tails moments before he spoke and still, she was unprepared for it. But really it was the unspoken part of his query that stunned her, “What am I to you?”

  “I,” she started, mouth flapping open and closed a few times and then shutting. She swallowed hard, staring hard into his deep blue eyes and shook her head. Her voice was soft and low when she answered, “I cannot… say.”

  “Can’t say or can’t remember?”

  Ash just shook her head again and turned away, leaving Tristan to stare at her in that sexy leather suit, long braid down her back. He didn’t know what to think about her anymore, only that he had to trust her and hoped it was the right thing to do.

  When he shook out of his daze, Tristan looked up to see Ash letting herself into the home without knocking. He jogged up behind her and into the house, shutting the door behind him. He was about to stop to take off his shoes, Japanese custom ‘n all, but Ash just kept on going. Tristan caught up to her and fell in line next to her. It was then that he really saw the place. It was odd, for a home.

  The corridor they were going down was wide, like four-person wide, lined on each side with square pillars with images of people doing intimate things to each other etched into the wood. There were oil lamps attached to each pillar, giving the space a dull yellow glow. Behind each row of pillars were long fusuma—paper wrapped moveable walls—butted end to end. The idea was, the entire home was an open space, divided by these large walls and screens. If you wanted to make a room larger or smaller then you simply opened or closed a screen, or even removed it, altering the room size. Question was, just how many rooms were there and what did they hide?

  Besides feeling weary of the home, there was that other thing that worried Tristan. That feeling he felt the deeper in they walked. His abdomen was burning, but not the burn of a flame. More like freezer burn. And it had nothing to do with the frigid temp, being colder inside than out. He swallowed hard and moved closer to Ash.

  “What the hell is this place?” he whispered.

  Ash looked up at him quickly, expression stoic. “Yukihime’s home.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “She is aware we are here. Now listen,” Ash said quickly, “remember she is the oldest vampire alive. You must either refer to her as Mizu no Yukihime, or Mizu no Shishō, she will not tolerate anything else.”

  “Mizu…? I thought that meant water?”

  Ash shot him a surprised look. She hadn’t realized he learned any Japanese. “Yes.” Then again, “mizu” was a simple word, used in any restaurant. But from what she’d gleaned from Tristan’s wide open mind was that the man would never order a water to drink. No, he preferred something more… spiritual.

  “What the fuck does that mean?”

  Ash sighed. “I think perhaps you will find out.”

  He definitely didn’t like the sound of that. He suddenly faltered, the overwhelming feeling of being watched like a smack in the face. There definitely was a hum to the air, some sort of excited charge that told Tristan that the feeling of being watched was not completely unreasonable. But he wasn’t having one of his bad feelings, like he did before Aaron attacked him, only uncomfortable. There was no sense of dread or danger, just the feeling of ants on the back of his neck. Nasty little bugs.

  “Do not disrespect Yukihime in any way. She needs no reason to kill and I am no match for her should she decide she wants to harm you.”

  “I can take care of myself,” he said defiantly even as he felt the sweat forming at the small of his back under the heavy leather jacket despite the cold.

  Ash harrumphed. “I have no doubt in your will. It is your mortality, Tristan, that worries me.”

  This time he swallowed hard and only nodded when their met gazes.

  “Please, I understand it is far beyond your nature, but try to behave. Just a little?”

  He smiled for her. “No promises.”

  A
sh let out a long sigh. “At least you are honest.”

  He laughed. Moments later they reached a panel colored differently than the rest at the end of the hallway. In their quiet, he could hear the trickle of water off somewhere. Tristan stopped and frowned at the paper door. He didn’t know what was on the other side, but his whole body hummed with prickly energy. Ash, sensing his anxiety, lightly touched his arm. Even through his leather jacket, he was sure he could feel those soft as silk, yet cold as winter fingers. It was of course only his memory of being close to her, feeling her skin under his hands. God, he should have just made a move on her last night. But, she wasn’t just a woman, she was a vampire. And he was food.

  Ash snapped her hand back and looked away quickly. He sighed to himself, realizing she heard his thoughts. But then, he didn’t really care so much as she pushed open of the large panels, revealing the room beyond.

  “Oh my god,” he said on a long breath out.

  The room was large and rectangular with no furniture. Somewhere off towards the far end was the source of the running water he heard before. Hundreds of dark red candles lined the perimeter, giving the room a yellow glow. Some sat on the floor, their wax melting into a molten pool on the tatami. Others were set on tall gold pillars. But, the freaky part of the room was the people all around the perimeter. Some seated, some kneeling, others standing, but all were utterly motionless. All stone-still and staring directly at the pair through faceless white masks, completely nude.

  “What the hell is this?” he whispered, not out of courtesy, but because he was afraid of what his voice would sound like if he spoke any louder. If he would have yelled like a toddler that hadn’t learned the meaning of “inside voice” yet.

  Ash sighed heavily at his side, silently cursing Yukihime. She should have expected this. “Unfortunates. Outcasts and lost wonderers. Master-less vampires who needed someone to care for them. Guide them, teach them what it means to be a proper vampire.” Though, Ash never thought of Yukihime or any of her ilk as “proper”. Then again, who was she to judge?

  “But…” He looked around again. So far, Ash and that bastard Aaron and that prick Lucien where the only vampires he’d met, but these people, they didn’t look like them. Ash was pale all over—skin, eyes, hair. Lucien wasn’t nearly as pale as Ash, but he looked the part. Even Aaron had a good amount of white to his brown hair, same pale skin. But these people, they all looked human. Warm toned skin, dark hair, natural colored eyes. By all rights, they were human.

  Ash looked up to Tristan, meeting his eyes and licked her lips slowly, nervously. “They… they are of lower standing than I, or Lucien.”

  Tristan shook his head. “I don’t understand.” He paused a moment and then said, “And why the hell are they naked? Hm, not that I really mind…” He winked at a dark skinned girl standing nearby with a sexy little body, pert nipples in the cold air. Just wished he could see the face behind the mask. “Hey, are we getting naked too?” he asked with a smirk.

  She scowled in return. “Hardly.”

  “Oi!” came the yell from the other side of room. “Aboot bloody time yur lot showed.” The opposite wall opened, showing the source of the water by way of tricking fountain, and a thick man wearing only a pair of dark brown dress slacks stepped through, sliding the door shut behind him. There was a collective murmur in his wake as he strutted across the room towards the pair. Tristan almost stepped back when he got a good eyeful of the big guy. And big wasn’t even the right word. This guy was a fucking linebacker. A Titan. He was enormous and tall, only an inch or two shorter than Tristan, putting him at over six feet. He had white hair cut short into a spiky style that was supposed to be fashionable, but just looked messy. While green like peridot, the guy’s eyes reminded him of Ash’s—clear and pale. This behemoth was a vampire, there was no doubt in Tristan’s mind.

  “Whoa,” Tristan mumbled so that only Ash could hear. “That’s one big ass dude.”

  Ash shook her head and opened her mouth to chide him, remind him to behave, but then stopped at the look on his face. “Tristan? What is it?”

  “Holy shit…” When the big guy stepped closer, smirking like a fucking idiot, Tristan knew he was right. “I know you.”

  13: Fre@K $HoW

  NEXT to Tristan, Ash flinched. “What?”

  “I, he was at that club, uh O-doe—”

  “Odoru Shikabane.” Ash frowned at the big vampire. He grinned back. “You are certain?”

  Tristan laughed. “Well yeah. I mean, he was the only other guy there over five feet tall.” He was also, surprisingly, the only dude in a skirt. Most of the other patrons looked pretty normal, even the few in costume.

  Ash made a face and shook her head. She had been so focused on Tristan and getting him away from Malik’s jikininki that night that she never noticed the Scotsman lurking around. It was fledgling carelessness and she was anything but fledgling or careless. She wanted to blame the loudmouthed American, but she knew with whom the real fault lie.

  …Perhaps not even herself. Yes, it must have been her again.

  Remiss to do it, but knowing she must, Ash bent forward into a deep bow. When she realized Tristan was just staring, she grabbed his arm and forced him into a low bow with her. He reluctantly let her pull his upper body forward, keeping an eye on the big man, weary not to. Some called it paranoia, he called it living sensibly.

  “Greetings, Desmond,” Ash said, straightening. “My guest and I request audience with your Master this evening.”

  “Noo noo, wus that the way yew were taught tae mind us then, lassie?” Desmond’s accent was so thick, it was like he had marbles in his mouth and it took Tristan a few moments for his brain to translate the words into a coherent sentence. “Now now was that the way you were taught to mind us then”, that’s what the big guy said, you know, in real English.

  Ash started to huff and then swallowed the frustrated noise. She bent into another deep bow, albeit a bit more flamboyant, more mocking than before. “Greetings, Desmond of Water.” She had to practically spit the words out.

  Desmond’s grin turned into a broad smile, flashing bit of fang. “Tsuchi no Asta,” he greeted her.

  “Ash,” she corrected through gritted teeth.

  Tristan turned slowly to look at Ash wondering what this formal greeting was about, “of water”? He didn’t know what the word tsuchi meant either, not to mention that other thing… “Asta?”

  Ash’s jaw tightened and she refused to look at him, pretending to pay a lot of attention to Desmond.

  “Aye, guid tae see yew. Come fur a wee blether, then?” He gave Ash a good look over, starting at her face and moving down. He grinned so hard his fangs were bared in sharp relief against his lips. They were no bigger than Ash’s, but it was like he was trying to make a point by flashing them. No pun intended.

  “You know why we have come.”

  “Oi…” Desmond’s voice lowered as he got this mildly constipated look on his face. “Master will be ill aboot the shoes.”

  The pair both looked down to their feet at the same moment. Everyone in the room was barefoot except for Ash and Tristan—then again, they were considerably overdressed. Apparently.

  The American groaned, rolling his eyes and relaxed his stance. Seriously… shoes? And by the look on the man’s face, he was being dead serious.

  “Dinnae say we no’ warn yur lot.” Desmond laughed at the look on their faces and took a step towards the pair, eyes fixed on Ash. A few soft moans of pleasure echoed across the room. Tristan tensed, having a good idea of why they moaned. He felt something too when Desmond laughed. Like someone had just lightly caressed him someplace intimate with the back of their fingers.

  “Whut’s this?” Desmond asked, reaching out. He grabbed Tristan’s arm before the other could react. “Pussy hvae a wee screeve it yew, mate?”

  “Get off me,” Tristan growled and jerked his arm free. He didn’t like that Desmond knew his arm was sliced open without even seeing it.
Guess it stood to reason the vamps would know anyway.

  Desmond grinned at him as if it were just a big game. “Yew ken yew supposed tae bring a gift fur Master,” he said to Ash. His clear green eyes flicked to Tristan for just a moment, before settling on her again. “Somewey we no’ think the bairn es it.”

  “He is not,” Ash snapped, sounding disgusted. Somehow, that made Tristan feel better. It was nice to have someone on his side. Especially if they were hot like Ash. Oh right, and strong, that helped too.

  “Bloody right,” Desmond snorted and then grinned. It wasn’t a grin Tristan liked much, it held something darker, nefarious and naughty. “Looks daft as a yett on a windy day, eh?”

  Even though he didn’t understand what Desmond was saying, a sharp quip was right on the tip of Tristan’s tongue. It was just his nature, but somehow he managed to bite back the nasty words. Just for Ash’s sake. Because she asked. That, and he was starting to suspect he was the only human there. It was little ole him versus all of them.

  Desmond gave Tristan a crooked grin and stalked Ash, forcing Tristan to step back from her or get touched. He cupped her cheek in his huge palm. “Yew the wee mind then, eh, Asta?” Desmond asked a little breathy. His fingers slipped down her cheek slowly, making their way to her throat. The line of his body brushed against hers as he moved closer, crowding her, but she refused to move from her spot. He started his way around her, trailing his hand from her cheek, down her shoulder and around to her lower back. His fingers lingered on the small hollow of her lower back, just above her ass, threatening to reach down and grab her.

  Ash hissed through her teeth. “You know how I feel about such antiquated customs.”