Beautiful Death

by Christina Moore

  His eyes lit up and he chuckled, hand playing idling with the hair on his lower abdomen. “Besides, I just couldn’t help myself.”

  She tisked angrily and leaned to the side slightly to look past him. “Child? Are you okay?” When there was no response she tried again in Japanese. “Ooi! Daijobu?”

  There was no answer, not even a twitch.

  Suddenly there was movement and she gasped, moving to step back but she was already in his arms, pressed tightly to the monster’s athletic frame. She blinked up into the face of the man she thought she loved, so long ago. Maybe she had, once. But once she realized what he was, it was too late. She’d already been taken by the devil.

  He smiled devilishly and leaned over her, his soft white hair brushing her forehead. She shivered and her eyes fluttered, threatening to close. A strained, breathless, “no” slipped past her lips, though to what, she was not sure. No virtuous thoughts passed through her mind, all she could think of was the body against hers, covered in blood.

  He tossed his head back and laughed that deep, sensual laugh that every part of her remembered. She could not fight off the violent shudder as his delicious voice touched over her body like probing, warm fingers, reaching into her and stroked her very soul.

  The breath left her in a shaky sigh, a sinful moan trailing after and her knees gave. “Master…”

  “I’ve always been your Master, your lover, your one.... Don’t you think it’s time to give yourself to me again?” His lips brushed hers, the fingers of his hand nearly hurting her where he held her chin tilted upwards toward his. “It’s been far too long. I still can’t believe you, of anyone, got away from me so easily. Weak little lamb… Perhaps, I am too lenient on you… letting you wander alone for so long.” His breath was fresh with blood, and then lips covered hers.

  Fangs mashed against her mouth, demanding, bombarding her lips with tantalizing pressure. Unable to resist, she opened to him, letting his blood-warmed tongue glide across her. She moaned into his mouth, unable to stop the sound, but stiffened in his arms. Her body begged to let him have her, remembering the pleasures he could give. And yet, her mind screamed to flee, remembering the horrors he wrought upon her.

  She returned his probing kiss, his hot hands roaming over her, caressing, grabbing, pinching. She whimpered into his mouth just as a fang cut into her lip and sank into his hold, her body betraying her mind, giving up. He stepped forward, taking her backwards to slam her against the wall. His hips moved against hers in that familiar dance where she lost all sense and tore at the skin of his naked back with her nails. His mouth worked hard at her, fangs biting over and over again the tender inside of her mouth, bleeding her. A hand touched her stomach and moved down, reaching lower on her body. He knew exactly how to touch her to make her his.

  Her eyes shot open and she bit down hard on his tongue. At the same moment, she reached for her tantō and pulled it free. She made an angry groan and flung her hand outward with the blade securely in her grip. Anticipating every tiny gesture, he easily jumped away, laughing, so that only the tip of the sword caught him across the ribs. The cut was not deep. They both knew it was only a warning. The only one he would get.

  He put on a big, fake pout, touching his fingers to the wound and brought them to his mouth. “Hmm, if you are trying to kill me, you shall have to try harder.”

  The sight of his blood excited her to near frenzy, but she would contain herself or lose the precious opportunity to end it all. She gasped for air, pointing her blade outward. Pale eyes fixed on her, he gave his fingers a long, slow lick, taking the blood from his already healed wound back into him.

  “Yes,” she said. “I know.” She dove, blade out to take him in the chest. Suddenly the girl, all but forgotten, was in his arms and between them. She gasped and slid to a stop, inches from stabbing the last living victim of the devil’s rampage. Why had the girl not run when she had the chance? Foolish, foolish child.

  “Mast—Malik! Stop this!”

  He sneered. “Me or the girl, Asta,” he sang. He dangled her between them as if she were a toy to a dog. Unfortunately, most humans were just that to this vampire. The “lucky” ones died too, but were never allowed to lay to rest. Such was Asta’s fate.

  She growled, her face twisting into anger and grabbed for the child. Malik laughed and tossed the girl. Asta made a surprised noise as the small girl tumbled into her arms, her blade slipping from her fingers to keep from stabbing the child.

  Malik took a step back, towards the opposing door. He grinned, amethyst eyes sparkling and imitated a frown. “I think I’ve had enough play time today. Come find me again when you’re ready to be serious, perhaps in another three decades.” With that he retreated using his preternatural speed. Gone within the space of a blink.

  With a dismayed sigh, knowing it was unwise to let him flee but knowing she must, she dropped her shoulders. He was right, it was the girl or him and right then, Asta chose life over death. Besides, they always found each other, Master and scion. She was destined for eternity to hunt that man. And be haunted by him. The man who stole everything from her and molded her into a monster of her own right.

  Asta frowned, looking down to the girl in her arms. She could not have been older than twelve. All that she wore to hide her sex, to give her some decency, were a pair of pink panties. They were torn at the hip, ready to split open should she move the wrong way.

  She shut her eyes a moment, pushing the image of what Master intended to do to the child, an image he imparted easily upon her, past her thoughts. When she opened her eyes again the girl was watching her. Her face was soft and round, a beautiful child with silken black hair and porcelain skin. She blinked dark, empty eyes at Asta as they studied each other in silence. There was no fear upon her face. No sadness. No emotion at all. A blank doll.

  Asta’s Japanese was perfect and she could have asked in a polite manner what her name was. Instead, she rudely blurted, “Dare da?”

  There was no answer and feeling a sudden swell of aggravation, Asta tried again, only slightly less rude. “Namae wa nan ka?”

  The girl only blinked. Asta listened with all of her focus waiting for something, anything to float to the surface of her mind. There was nothing, utter emptiness. She spoke again, sticking with Japanese. “Well? Do you not know your name? I cannot call you child or girl.”

  The girl stared silently, unmoved. Not a glimmer of thought. And it broke Asta’s undead heart. She knew now why Malik left this girl alive when he’d killed so many others. The vampire managed to break this child so utterly as to leave just an empty shell of a being. Always the tactile learner, Malik wanted to see what the girl would do, what Asta would do.

  “Fine,” she said sharply only to hide the turmoil on her heart. “We shall call you Haruka. Is that acceptable?” Haruka, meaning far off or distant. Asta couldn’t think of any more suitable name.

  To Asta’s relief, the child nodded.

  “Good. You have no reason to fear me, understand?” Asta said, then stiffened when Haruka wrapped her arms wistfully about her neck. The touch of others did not come without pain, intent to harm. But what harm could this little girl do?

  Asta relaxed. What harm, indeed.

  She left the ruined room behind, carrying Haruka in her arms. In the living room, she seated the girl on a clean chair. “Stay here for a moment,” she said, wrapping a blanket around her. “I shall return. Do you understand?”

  Haruka nodded the same moment Asta heard the answered whisper in her mind, yes. She went to turn away and a display across the room drew Asta’s attention. The wakizashi was missing but the longer katana was resting in its place on the top rack. The sheath was newer, a lovely high-gloss black lacquer with inlaid pearlescent dragonflies. There were hints of purple and green but the paint was starting to show wear. The sword inside, it needed a new tsuka, leaving the tang exposed. She smiled to herself, recognizing the signature of its craftsman.

  The blade was sharp and wel
l cared for, an heirloom, this treasure, she guessed from the Shinto era. The sword was older than she was. Never want to let something so precious be lost to the bureaucracy of the human world, she claimed it for herself. She was no thief, but would respect the weapon in the way its long dead wielders had.

  Moving quickly and with focused purpose as she tied the sword to her side, Asta returned to the crimson room, Malik’s playground and proceeded to remove the bodies. She took what remained of the parents and the dog into the rear yard and found a nice flat landscape to work her special power. The gift of tsuchi. Earth.

  Palms out, hands at her sides and slightly away from her body, she shut her eyes to concentrate. She was terrible at keeping her energy up and wondered if she had to go as far as cutting herself to get the answer she desired. With a trepidatious swallow, she reached deep inside herself. She accidently brushed the part of her that begged to be fed and with a practiced ease pushed that sinful urge aside to find her center, the source of her power, her seikonō.

  With a satisfied smile and a moan of pleasure, she pulled it up and out of her body, into her hands. Her stomach clenched, her blood boiled; her skin ached and burned with the fury of a thousand angry bees. It was marvelously sinful to her unnatural body.

  The ground shuddered underfoot. The scent of fresh earth was like a balm to Asta’s tortured psyche. She failed these people but would see that at least their remains would have peace. The earth groaned all around her, struggling to open the void she saw in her mind.

  When she opened her eyes again, there was a hole before her and she let out the breath she had been holding in a soft sigh. The mother and father were placed at the bottom of the fresh grave, into the cold earth. But when she lifted the dog into her arms to place with the couple, she stopped short as a thought occurred to her. Head cocked to the side, lost in thought for a moment, she wondered if it could really work. Well, there was only one way to find out.

  Her wellspring of earthen energy was low and as she lowered to her knees with the animal in her lap, she bit into her own wrist, tearing open her artery. She forced her bleeding wrist into the animal’s muzzle and let the blood flow down its throat, directing her will and energy into her life’s elixir.

  A little light headed and unsteady, Asta pushed the dog away, righting herself upon her feet to cover the hole again. The dog was placed within the grave, but just below the surface… just in case her little plan actually worked.

  When she tried to return to the house, she tripped over her own feet. “By the Goddess…,” she whispered into the night. She hadn’t drained herself this utterly in a very long time and hoped that she could make it someplace secure before dawn.

  With a hand to her brow, head hung before her, she stumbled her way back to the living room feeling dizzy and nauseous. The girl, Haruka, was exactly where she’d been left, how she’d been left. Hadn’t even moved a single inch, not even with the heavy shivering, so obviously out of her control. The child was suffering mentally and Asta didn’t know what to do with her. She knew what the humane answer was, but it violated her principles. Principles, hard rules she had to stick by, no matter what, or become a true monster like Malik too.

  Asta’s vision blurred suddenly and her knees gave out, tumbling her to the floor before the child. She really did push herself too hard. “Shall we go?” she asked in a soft voice, fighting unconsciousness.

  The girl tilted her head to one side and blinked slowly, almost considerate. Perhaps there was a spark of something living left in her mind. “Where are we going?” Haruka asked in her delicate little girl voice. Ah, the sound of it, the innocence it should have held, it broke Asta’s cold heart.

  She answered without thinking the response through. “Home.”

  “Okay.” There was no hesitation from the child.

  Asta smiled, a true smile. There was something so terribly charming about the child, despite the emptiness Asta felt from her.

  Haruka made a noise of surprise and pushed to her knees before Asta on the chair. Asta straightened, rolling her shoulders back and gazing into the suddenly emotion filled eyes of the little girl. She knew what she had done to surprise Haruka.

  Her tiny brow, spotted in blood, pulled together in wonderment, her gaze fixed solidly on Asta’s mouth. She leaned in close, fingers out and Asta opened her mouth, letting the girl do as she pleased. Those tiny fingers pushed past Asta’s lips and touched her fangs. The taste of blood on the child’s fingers, it was almost too much. Asta swooned. It was a miracle she didn’t bite down.

  Asta yanked her head back. Haruka, sweet little Haruka only blinked blankly at her despite having her wrist nearly broken by Asta’s rash panic.

  She let her fangs show clearly when she spoke. “Do you not fear me?”

  Haruka didn’t even think about her answer and shook her head ever so slightly, her perfect, bloody doll face a blank mask. Asta let out a long breath, feeling a tightness in her chest swell. Pulse raging, she stood and offered Haruka her hand. Without any hesitation the girl took it and Asta stopped to watch the child in silent awe.

  The girl just watched a monster tear her family apart, bled and raped—probably in that order. The same, no doubt, was meant to happen to the girl too. It was pure whimsy that this girl was left alive. But what form could she take now? Her mind so utterly—She was a mound of soft clay, ready to be molded in any form one chose. She just needed the right master, perhaps a mother.

  Asta sighed ruefully at her thoughts and silently guided them out of the house and into the back yard. To her delight, the summons actually worked. Somehow she knew it would, despite all evidence against it and wondered what it meant for her now and in the future. The dog stood, unsteady on her feet and sneezed the earth from her lungs. A hard shake sent fur and dirt into the air like a dust storm.

  Pleased with the dog’s resurrection, Asta turned to Haruka. “Do you know her? What is her name?”

  The child looked up, a slight tilt of her head. “Doggie.”

  Asta sighed, putting her free hand to the bridge of her nose. “No, Haruka. What is her name?”

  She only gave that empty stare and there was no glimmer of thought behind her eyes. Haruka raised her hand and pointed a mangled finger at the small animal. “Doggie,” she said again, a high lilt to her voice as if she was excited.

  Asta sighed and knelt before her. “Does that not hurt?” She motioned with a nod.

  Haruka stared at her finger for a moment, expression blank. Suddenly her mind clicked on and suggested she be horrified. She gave the foreign limb a distressed grimace and let out a shriek.

  “All right,” Asta answered with a sigh. “Give me your hand.”

  Asta took up the hand with the mangled finger. Slowly, carefully, she lifted the finger towards her mouth. When Haruka didn’t pull away, Asta bit into her own tongue, filling her mouth with blood. Eyes fixed on the child, she pushed the finger through her lips, keeping a tight seal. Haruka didn’t make a noise despite the obvious pain Asta sensed from her. The child frowned and her eyes welled when the broken knuckle slipped past Asta’s lips, but still she did not move.

  Resolved now that she’d come this far, Asta pushed a pointed canine into soft flesh and drew forth the girl’s sweet nectar. Haruka’s eyes widened, but she did not pull back. Their blood mixed in Asta’s mouth and penetrated the wound. Asta could feel the bone under thin wrapping of skin mending itself already.

  Her instincts, the unshakable lust for what the child had to offer, pulled on Asta. She swayed on her knees, her pulse increasing to a dangerous rhythm. The frantic heartbeat of the child danced across her tongue, called to her, told her to drink it down. And so, she did. Asta swallowed, taking in their mixed blood. Her ears screamed with white noise, her chest tightened. She wanted to drink this child dry. She could empty her and no one would ever know. No one would ever fault her. It was the right thing to do after all, to end this child’s suffering.

  With a needy moan, Asta pushed her t
eeth into the finger again, reopening the wound her blood healed shut so quickly. Her precious meal whimpered and shifted uneasily, but did not try to flee. There was an inherent trust in this child, even after all she’d seen this night. Another hot mouthful glided down her throat and she was lost to that which ruled her existence.

  Asta wrapped an arm around the child, pulling her against her and swallowed again, a more satisfying mouthful. She saw it then with that taste, the things that Malik had done to the child’s family before her arrival. They were terrible things for a child to have witnessed, cruelty no person, child or adult, should ever have to endure. Things Asta herself was all too accustomed to.

  That was why she must drain the child, to free her of such memories. Yes, ease her pain. And it would be a wondrous gift to them both, this child’s gentle passing.

  Suddenly the pain and fear slammed into Asta from the depths of the child’s mind, a dark serpent rising out of the darkness and it knew her name. Asta gasped, mentally recoiling from the horror lurking in Haruka’s fragile mind. She forced her eyes open, lest she be dragged down into that dark despair. That fear, the overwhelming misery pushed this young mind over the brink into nothingness. That same nothingness had tried to consume Asta time and time again.

  It was a mercy to end this suffering. But alas, Asta could not do it. This child, she deserved a chance. A chance to live, to find normalcy, happiness. Asta would be no different from that monster, her Master, if she killed the child, no matter her intentions. She had to break the cycle of death and chose life.

  With the greatest act of will Asta had, she forced her hunger away for the last time. It curled deep inside but was ready to strike again the moment she let down her careful guard.

  She pulled little Haruka’s finger from her lips. It came out straight and unblemished, completely healed. Knowing just how close she’d just come to submitting, Asta let out a shaky sigh. She let go of Haruka and wiped the back of her hand across her mouth and chin where the girl’s precious life spilled. She wanted to lick the blood away but couldn’t bear to taste another drop, not and let the child live.