The Comanche Vampire

by The Comanche Vampire [Evernight] (mobi)

  As soon as he said it, Ned wanted to take it back. He’d been thinking of sunshine and how he’d look on a bright day but Anne nodded. “Oh, you mean because of hunting. I understand, but you’ll have all week to go out with Gary.”

  “Yeah, I know. I’ll be there, Anne.”

  The way she beamed at him warmed his cold blood, but within Ned still regretted he’d missed another chance to tell her the truth.

  ***

  Heavy rain beat against the tin roof of Ned’s house on Thursday. By the time he’d fed the horses and climbed into the pickup, the wind picked up enough to blow sheets of rain across the road all the way into Lawton. At the college, Ned maneuvered into a parking space and slogged through the downpour to the blood drive. He wasn’t very familiar with the campus, but Anne sketched him out a crude map. He’d committed it to memory so he found the place easily. A lot of people filled the halls and space, some there to donate, others on their way to classes. Although he encountered many people nightly at the casino, he met them in a dim, often dark environment. Fluorescent lights illuminated every corner, brighter than he liked. Before Ned spotted Anne he caught the unmistakable scent of fresh blood.

  He hadn’t taken any blood for several days and the aroma made him ravenous. He craved it with an awful hunger, as tempted as a hardcore alcoholic might be if enticed with good bourbon. To combat it, he focused on Anne and when he saw her, he headed toward her with speed. She welcomed him with a smile and Ned leaned down to greet her with a kiss. “Hi, honey.”

  “I’m glad you’re here. Come sit down.” Anne patted the seat of the chair beside her so he sank onto it, more than a little ill at ease. He glanced around, and saw numerous people giving blood. The bright red liquid flowed into the bags, but Ned vowed he could hear it.

  A dozen heartbeats thumped into his consciousness. On top of it, he still smelled fresh blood and damned if he didn’t almost taste it. To cover his agitation, he asked, “What’s your job?”

  “This is registration. Once I’ve greeted the donors, I hand them a medical form to complete, help them if they need it, then send them to the next table.” Anne sketched out each step of the procedure. Ned half-listened but when she described what happened to the pints of blood once the donor finished, he paid close attention. He studied the activities and watched. Once the bags were removed, a volunteer sealed them, then someone else labeled them with blood type and placed them in coolers. Once full, another helper carried the containers away. On the way in, Ned had noticed a truck outside and speculated the blood must end up there. It probably went to a blood bank or hospital afterward.

  The idea of a fresh supply of blood fascinated him. If he could keep a bag or two on hand, he’d be well-fixed. I wonder how long it keeps and if it turns bad. Ned interrupted Anne with his question, “How long does the blood last?”

  Surprise widened her eyes. “What?”

  “I wondered how long the donated blood lasts, how long it’s still good.”

  Anne stared at him, her mouth tight. “Uh, I don’t know right off, but I saw it on one of the brochures.” She flipped through a stack of papers and pulled out a flyer. Ned watched as she perused it until she found an answer. “Well, it depends. Looks like about seven days on average if nothing’s done to it, no additives or anything separated out and that’s if it’s kept refrigerated. Once it’s been processed fully, somewhere around 40 days. Why?”

  Too late, Ned realized he’d asked a strange question. He tried to make his interest plausible. “Just curious,” he said. “It seems like a lot of people are donating and I just hoped none of it would be wasted.”

  “I doubt it will be. There are a lot of reasons why people get transfusions, not just blood loss. I would suppose most of it gets used before it expires.”

  “I hope so,” he said.

  Anne stared at him then shrugged her shoulders. “Sometimes you’re interested in the weirdest things, Ned.”

  He couldn’t think of any response so he nodded. Ned watched Anne all morning but by eleven-thirty, he couldn’t focus on anything but blood. He fidgeted with restless energy. Ned tried to figure out how he might snag a pint or trail a donor to some secluded spot without witnesses, as his craving became urgent need. About the time he started to feel punk, Anne leaned over and put her hand on his knee. “Hey, are you okay? You don’t look so hot.”

  Ned managed a weak smile and used the excuse he’d given her before more than once. “I’ve got another headache.” “Aw,” she told him. Anne’s sympathy for his lie cut his spirit sharper than a knife. “I’m sorry. I think I’ve got some aspirin in my purse.”

  “Thanks but I think I’ll walk outside, clear my head a little.” He’d watched the proceedings long enough he figured he’d offer to carry out one of the little coolers packed with blood pints. Then Ned planned to grab one on the sly, drink what he could, and ditch it. He’d be fine after that. Anne scrutinized him in silence.

  “All right but if you need anything, let me know or if you want to go home, tell me.”

  “I will, honey.” His fingers brushed against her cheek but before he could say anything more, two donors approached. Anne turned to them and he headed across the room. After a glance back to make sure Anne’s attention wasn’t on him, Ned paused and asked the volunteer closing down a full cooler if he could carry it out. The slender student beamed. “That’d be great. Thanks. The truck’s right out the rear doors and to the left.”

  “I saw it on my way in.” Ned hefted the container and moved with speed down the hallway. Although unfamiliar with the building’s layout, he located the exit. Outside, he stepped into the rain and ducked around a corner into a cinderblock trash corral. Ned lifted the lid, seized a pint of blood and tucked it beneath his jacket. Then he shut the cooler and delivered it to the truck.

  Despite the sleet mixing with the heavy rain showers, Ned darted out to his truck. He climbed into the cab and used his pocket knife to open one of the tubes. As the aroma wafted into his face, Ned drank from the container. Still warm, a bit salty, and full-bodied, the blood sent tingles through his veins. He shuddered with the life force it provided and he drank over half before he stopped. That’s easier than biting someone but it doesn’t feel right. It’s unnatural, somehow. Then Ned paused. Being undead was unnatural and a need to feed on blood was wrong, but he’d been quibbling about sipping donated Type O. Ironic and more than a little silly, he thought.

  He considered drinking the rest but he lacked capacity. The bag’s faint lingering warmth repulsed him and made him uneasy. Ned lit a smoke to calm down and after he smoked half, he crushed out the butt. The rain had become all sleet by the time he stepped down from the cab, half-drained pint in his hands. He couldn’t carry it back into the building and he didn’t see a trash basket so he tossed it into the bed of his truck for now. It lay beside other junk, a few aluminum cans, empty plastic bags, a toolbox and some driftwood. He shifted a sack over to cover it and decided it’d do. No one would notice with the weather anyway.

  Ned slipped back into the building and sat down near Anne. When she glanced up, she smiled. “How’s your head?”

  He smiled at her. “Better, now.”

  “That’s good,” she said and then grimaced. “You’re soaking wet. Is it raining?”

  “It’s changed over to sleet now.” He shivered, the warmth of the blood he’d drank fading once it spread through his body. “And it’s turned colder too.”

  Anne touched his braid. “Even your hair’s wet. Ned, you need to get into something dry.”

  “I’m good.” He’d ridden many miles in worse weather and been far more drenched. Nor would he catch cold or get sick. Being undead had a few advantages.

  “No, you’re not. If you don’t want to go home, head over to my apartment and dry off. Take a shower and warm up, toss your wet things in the dryer. I’ll be here a couple more hours and then home.”

  He protested, but she fussed until he agreed. She handed him her key and whe
n he reached out to take it, Anne gasped. “You’re bleeding. Did you cut your hand?”

  Ned glanced down to see crimson smears along his left hand. He’d managed to slop some of the blood from the bag onto his hand. “I don’t know,” he said as he jerked it back. “It’s just a little blood. It’ll wash off.”

  When he rose, she did too. Anne faced him and touched the corner of his mouth with her little finger. “There’s blood on your mouth, too. Are you all right, Ned?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  “You don’t act like yourself. Maybe I’ll see if I can get someone else to take over here so I’ll go with you.”

  “You don’t have to do that, Anne.” He’d rather she didn’t at the moment.

  “I know.” Her fingers stroked his cheek. “But I want to. Go on to my place and I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  “All right, honey.”

  He brushed his lips across hers in a half-assed kiss, the best he dared in front of her fellow faculty members and students. At her place, he shucked off his wet clothes, tossed them in the dryer, and took a long, steamy shower. Ned thought he’d make coffee when he finished and wait for Anne, and then maybe they’d make love.

  But when he came out of the bedroom naked, Anne waited. In her hand, she held the half-drained pint of blood he’d taken, the one from the back of his truck and Ned halted.

  “Do you want to explain this to me?” Her harsh tone made her sound hoarse. “Ned, what’s going on?”

  Like any man in trouble, he stalled for time. “Let me get dressed, Anne, and I’ll tell you.”

  “No,” Anne said, spitting out the word like a bad piece of meat. “I want to hear it now.”

  Ned straightened his back. The time he dreaded had come and he’d tell her the truth.

  Chapter Eight

  He faced her, bare ass naked, without weapon or defense. Love provided Anne all the power in this encounter. She thrust the half empty container at him again. “Well? Why is this in your truck and why’s it half empty? Did you take it?”

  “I did.”

  Anne’s features crumpled. “Why, Ned? I don’t understand. And what happened to the blood?”

  The moment he’d avoided for months had arrived and so, without any more efforts to tell tales, Ned spoke the truth. “I drank it because I’m a vampire.”

  Color ebbed out of her face. Her eyes widened with surprise then narrowed. Something sparkled in their depths and Ned thought he recognized both anger and fear. “This isn’t a time to joke. That’s not funny.”

  “It’s not supposed to be.” He summoned up a quiet dignity from deep inside and hung onto it to stay calm. “It’s the truth, Anne.”

  “Bullshit.” Her voice snapped like cheap gum. He’d never heard her use the phrase before. “Vampires don’t exist. I don’t know what’s gotten into you today, Ned. Why did you take this?”

  “I needed the blood.”

  Her eyes glittered like brown ice, hard and cold. “So, because you’re a vampire, you stole a bag of donated blood from the American Red Cross. Why didn’t you drink it all, then?”

  “It’s more than I needed.” Her anger flared between them, a living force with the force of summer lightning so he tried to deflect it with calm words. “Anne, I’m Pea’hocso. I’m a Comanche warrior, or I was, before.”

  “Don’t, Ned. Just don’t. I can’t listen to this nonsense.” Her hands convulsed into fists and she squeezed the bag. Blood spurted from the open end and splattered her fingers. Anne dropped the back and stared at her skin with horror. Then she began to weep aloud, her sobs strong enough to wrack her body. As Ned watched, she dropped to her knees, hands outstretched. Blood oozed onto her carpet from the discarded container and when she noticed, she cried harder.

  He acted on instinct. Ned stepped to the kitchen, wet a clean towel and knelt before Anne. He dabbed at the streaks of blood and although he thought she might try to fight him, Anne didn’t resist. She kept crying, though. He talked to her the way he would gentle an untamed mare, his voice level and low. Until she interrupted him in English, Ned hadn’t noticed he spoke Comanche. “Ned, please.”

  “Please what?”

  “I can’t follow what you’re saying.” Anne’s voice broke and she buried her face in her hands to sob. “I don’t understand.”

  Ned tossed aside the towel and hauled her into his arms. He carried her over to the sofa and sat down. “Anne, I’m sorry. I know you’re angry with me…”

  “Only because you’re talking crazy,” she wept. “I don’t know what to think. Either you’re out of your mind and need help or you’re trying to be funny, but it’s not amusing. If you really think you’re a vampire, you have some serious issues. And if you’re playing a joke on me, you’re mean. I don’t know which would be worse, mean or insane.”

  “I’m neither one, honey.”

  Anne blubbered against his shoulder, her face pressed to his skin. She mumbled something he couldn’t make out as he stroked her back. He whispered to her in English and after a long time, she calmed. Anne rested against him, quiet until she said, “Ned?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I don’t think you’re crazy.”

  “I’m not.”

  “But I don’t think you’re a vampire, either.”

  Ned said nothing. Anne lifted her tear-swollen eyes to his. “I don’t because it’s not possible. I don’t know why you said you were or why you took the blood and I’d rather not. But, I know you’re not a vampire. I’ve seen you in the daytime and you don’t sleep in a coffin. And you eat and you’re not creepy.”

  Her voice picked up speed as she babbled. Ned listened but didn’t try to admit or deny. Anne slowed down. “I love you and I’ve been so happy. I don’t want it to be ruined, what we have.”

  “Honey, it doesn’t have to be…”

  She put her fingers over his mouth. “Hush. So I don’t want you to say it any more. Don’t say you’re a vampire. We won’t talk about the blood ever again. Promise me, okay? And then we can go back where we were.”

  In all his imagining, he’d never seen this outcome. He’d told the truth and Anne chose to ignore it. Ned released a slow sigh. Maybe in time she’d see what he was and learn to deal with it.

  “All right, Anne. I don’t want to fight. U kamkuto nu.”

  “So we rewind, right?”

  “Yeah, if that’s what you want.”

  “It is, Ned, it is.”

  “So, how about I get dressed?”

  Anne smiled, a little. “I guess that’s a good idea. Do you want to stay?”

  The simple question carried significance. Although Anne often spend the night or weekend at his place, Ned hadn’t slept at her place. Her offer now seemed half olive branch, part demonstration of love. He’d take it, either way. “Sure, honey.”

  She blew air between her lips. “Good. It was getting slick when I came home. I’d worry if you had to drive all the way to your place. I know it’s not evening yet, but I think I’ll take a long, hot bath and then make dinner.”

  “Take your time,” Ned told her. “I’ll make a pot of coffee while I’m waiting.”

  “Thanks.” Anne climbed out of his lap and vanished into the bedroom. Ned sat until he heard the bathroom door shut then retrieved his clothes from the dryer and made coffee. He leaned on the kitchen counter and gazed out at the falling sleet. Anne’s unexpected questions had rattled him more than he liked to admit and the fact she’d rejected the truth concerned him. Sooner or later, something else would happen and she wouldn’t be able to deny the reality. Based on her reaction now, Ned wondered how great the emotional cost would be when she understood he wasn’t delusional or in denial. He’d never felt closer to her or more worried.

  “Ned?”

  At her soft query, he turned to find Anne silhouetted in the doorway, lovely in a dark green pair of flannel pajamas. Her hair made a wild cloud about her head and shoulders then trailed down her back in curls. Ned inhaled the
soft lavender fragrance wafting from her body and sighed with pleasure. Anne’s red eyes were puffy as if she’d cried hard in the tub. Her vulnerable expression squeezed his heart in a vise-like grip. At the moment she seemed as fragile as fine porcelain.

  “Yeah, honey?”

  “When I didn’t find you, I thought maybe you’d gone.”

  “No, I’m still here. Want some coffee?” His thought preoccupied him far longer than he’d thought. What seemed like a couple of minutes had been longer – it had to be when she’d had time to bathe and the coffee was ready.

  “Please.”

  “Sure. You want to drink it at the table or the other room?”

  “Living room’s fine.” Anne took the cup from his hands. Ned poured his own and joined her. He settled into an armchair across from the swivel rocker where she sat. She sipped coffee, silent. He watched her, noting how pale she’d become. Tight lines around her mouth made him think she must hurt somewhere, physical pain… not emotional. After several minutes passed, he said, “You’re awful quiet.”

  She bowed her head as if in prayer. “I don’t feel very well.”

  Guilt twisted a barbed wire knot in his gut. Probably my fault. “What’s the matter?”

  Anne winced and shifted position. “My flow started and I’ve got cramps.”

  For a moment he drew a total blank then made the leap with more than a little dismay. He hadn’t been close enough to one woman to be aware of her monthly cycle and Ned tended to shy away from such things. His wife always absented herself at such times and he knew little about the mechanics of it. He knew what it was and how it worked but little else. His enhanced sense of smell caught a faint whiff, but unlike fresh lifeblood, it lacked appeal. Makes sense, though. It’s more like waste, not viable. All Ned knew was there wouldn’t be any sex for a few days and he felt genuine empathy for Anne’s pain. “I’m sorry, honey,” he told her. “Do you want me to go?”

  “No, I don’t. I’d rather you stay, but just don’t touch me. I don’t think I could stand it right now. I feel like I might break into pieces if you do.”