by Eden Bradley
She took a step back, shook her head once more, then turned and ran from the club.
Confused and curious, he followed her, hunted her silently as she ran through the darkening streets and disappeared down an alley. He watched as she paused there, furtively looking around her. Her gaze caught his and she looked panicked.
“Please,” she whispered before she lifted a heavy metal grate in the ground, and slipped in, pulling the grate over her.
“Fuck me,” he whispered, realizing with a shock that the rumors were true. “She’s a damn Daywalker.”
Ramsey tore his mouth from Rogue. The young vampire blinked, looking dazed. He’d taken too much blood, but he’d been stunned by the images. He held Rogue’s jaw in his hand. “Rogue, look at me. Talk to me. This is important”
“Ah, you saw it, then.”
“You didn’t want me to. Why?”
“They are rebels. Like me. Who am I to betray their existence?”
“They are nothing like you, Rogue, if what little we know of them is true. Do you understand what this means? How this can impact our entire race?” Rogue shrugged, and Ramsey almost envied him his youth, his apparent ignorance. “Of course you don’t. But you will. I still cannot get over that you have actually seen a Daywalker.”
“Maybe. They’ve been nothing more than myth, from what little I’ve gathered. Maybe that wasn’t what I saw at all.”
“You were in Moscow.”
“Yes. I’ve traveled all over—I told you that, Ramsey.”
“But Moscow. You know the rumor. The whispers that the first Daywalkers were created when Chernobyl melted down in 1986. That they are mutations, vampires of a new race.”
“Yes, but humans had strange rumors about Chernobyl, too, about things like five-headed dogs. I never thought any of it actually meant anything. And mutant vampires? Aren’t we already mutations?”
“You express doubt and yet you knew what she was. I felt it when you recognized her. I heard you say the words. Wherever they came from, you know they exist.” Ramsey shook his head. “You realize this is the first spotting of one I’ve been able to verify—that any Council member has been able to verify. And you of all vampires are the one to confirm this.” He pushed off the bed and got to his feet. “Tell me what you know, Rogue. Everything. The Daywalkers are thought to be stronger than us. You sensed that.”
“She was. Stronger than I am despite being newly Turned.”
“How much so?” Ramsey demanded.
“As strong as a vampire ten times her age.”
This was not good. Not good. The idea of so much power in hands not under their control. The question was who, then, was controlling them? If anyone, which was perhaps an even more terrifying idea.
“So it is true. I must go talk to the Council immediately.”
“But Ramsey—”
He couldn’t consider his own feelings right now, nor what he’d started with Rogue. He had to think about his responsibilities.
“You are to stay here, Rogue.”
“But I—”
Ramsey grasped his face between his palms. “Look at me. I know what I’ve done, delving into your blood, that I may have opened some doors. If you can just…hang onto it until I get back, I promise you we will work this through together. I mean it—wait here for me.”
Inexplicably—even to himself—he bent down and quickly kissed Rogue’s lovely mouth before pulling back and moving toward the doors.
Julian!” he called, “gather the Council.”
By the time he reached his sitting room all the Council members in residence were there. Chiara wore her usual gorgeous scarlet pout. The rest simply waited to see why they had been summoned.
Ramsey sat in one of the high-backed chairs. He nodded to Adriana, who poured wine for him. He accepted the cup from her before dismissing her.
“I have important news.”
“What could possibly be important enough to have pulled me away from my evening with Dane and a certain lovely pair of human males?” Chiara asked impatiently.
“Shh, darling,” Dane murmured, stroking her dark hair. “They’re still chained in the dungeon waiting for us.”
“I understand there are times when nothing seems more important than our pleasure—”
“That’s all the time for our dear Chiara, mistress of unending appetites” Bastien joked.
“As if you have not taken your pleasure with me, Bastien,” she shot back.
“Council,” Ramsey said in such a way that they all immediately turned to him. “I have news. A Daywalker has been spotted.”
“More rumors?” Storm murmured, unconcerned. “We have heard them before.”
“An actual sighting. Rogue saw her.”
“Your precious young Rogue? The rebel? The thief?” Chiara scoffed. “He would tell you anything to curry your favor. He owes you his life, after all.”
“He would not bother to curry anyone’s favor,” Ramsey corrected her. “I saw it myself in his blood.”
Aleron leaned forward in his chair, placing a hand on Ramsey’s arm. “You saw it? Tell us, my friend.”
“A female. She was afraid of the setting of the sun. Newly Turned and yet she was impossibly strong. He followed her until she went underground before nightfall. It seemed she begged him for his silence.”
“And he kept his silence,” Chiara said sharply. “This is what rebels do. I told you we should have drowned him.”
“Silence, Chiara,” Ramsey demanded. “You are a guest under my roof, and Rogue is mine. My lover, as I am sure you all realize by now. I will not hear another word about drowning him. You wonder why such knowledge would be kept from us if this is our response? He had no reason to trust us.”
Chiara lifted her chin and settled back against Dane, knowing better than to defy him.
Bastien waved a hand. “This is neither here nor there at this point. The important thing is that there has been a witness, and you yourself have seen the truth. Where did this happen?”
“Moscow.”
The others were silent as they took in his words.
“We must contact Konstantine and Luka,” Aleron said. “There is no Midnight Playground in Moscow—they are the closest connection we have. Does anyone know if they have returned from America?”
Storm said, “I will find them. My club in Prague is the closest to Moscow.”
Ramsey thanked him with a glance. “Aleron, please alert Ever in London. I will contact Xavier and Laurent in Paris. We must all make an effort to discover what we can. Where there is one there will be more. This is no longer merely rumor. They exist. We must know more.”
Chiara’s feline gaze narrowed. “If they are as strong as we have heard…”
Ramsey nodded. “Then they are a threat to us, yes. We do not know what their intentions are, if they are organized, how many there might be.”
“But they hide from the night,” Storm put in, “helpless as they sleep. We do not sleep at all. Surely that must give us an advantage if that part of the rumor is true. That and our sheer numbers, the weapons we have at our disposal. They may be abominations but I see no threat to us.”
Storm was too old to believe anything could pose mush of a threat, but Ramsey could feel it like something tangible in the air. He could see the others did, as well.
“If they have been living underground all these years,” Ramsey said, “who knows how they might have multiplied? Even if their kind began in Chernobyl they could have spread across the continent in more than eighty years. We have no idea how quickly they can multiply, or if the way they Turn a human is any different than it is for us. What Rogue did verify is that she had the strength of a hundred years when newly Turned. How strong might a fifty-year-old Daywalker be? An eighty-year old? ”
“There is far too much we do not know,” Storm conceded. “I…will admit to curiosity.”
“I will admit to curiosity, as well.” Chiara sneered. ‘What I want to know is what it wil
l take to kill therm.”
“Perhaps they mean us no harm at all,” Dane suggested. “Perhaps they simply want to be left alone.”
“That is a possibility,” Ramsey said. “But we know almost nothing about them and surely they know everything about us since we have become common knowledge in the world. A distinct disadvantage. We must all alert our most trusted contacts in each region. And we must be careful that this information does not get out. We do not want to cause a panic, among humans or among our own kind.”
Storm stroked his chin. “No, the last thing we need is panic.”
Dane stepped forward, his usual relaxed demeanor and focus on easing Chiara’s fits of temper surprisingly absent. “Ramsey, will you please have your assistants unchain the lovely males Chiara and I left in your dungeon?” Dane asked. “I believe we should all leave as quickly as possible to return to our own regions and begin an information search immediately.”
Once his guests had gone Ramsey made his way back to his rooms—and Rogue. He tried to convince himself he wasn’t hurrying. But as he opened the doors to his bedroom suite he couldn’t help the racing of his heart, or the long-forgotten sensation of eagerness to see someone that went beyond mere desire.
Rogue.
“Rogue!”
He lay on the white marble floor that was nearly as pale as his flawless skin, his golden hair spread around his face, his eyes closed. His beauty remained unmarred even in this condition—the condition Ramsey recognized right away as the trance state that sometimes came over a vampire who had been through trauma. He could lie there for a day, a week. Or for a century.
But what could possibly have happened to him while he was away?
He knelt on the floor, laid his hand on Rogue’s cool cheek.
“Wake up,” he told him—told him without it being an order. It was more a plea than he cared to admit.
He shook him, then shook his head at the lack of response. “Rogue,” he whispered, “come back to me.”
Still nothing.
He lifted the young vampire’s palm to his mouth and bit into the sleek flesh, but there was no response. He had never felt so helpless. Not since…
No.
He was not Benjamin. He was not human—he would not die of this. Still, he needed to do something. He couldn’t bear to look at his lover like this—and yes, Rogue was his lover, he had admitted that much to the members of the Council, and in doing so, himself. He could not stand this. Another loss. Not again. Never again.
He picked him up and laid him gently on the bed, bent and bit into his hand once more, hoping to bring him out of it. When Rogue continued to lie there still as a statue, he bit him again, then again—his arm, his wrist. Finally he drank.
The flavor of Rogue’s blood melted on his tongue— iron and silver, grief and regret. The flavors dissolved into images. He saw a worn London flat, a flash of red hair. Felt a searing pain that wanted to come howling out from the very center of his being.
Yes. This was it. This was where Rogue was caught, somewhere in the shrouded web of his past.
He must go in and find him. Into his memories. Into his mind. Somehow…
Chapter Eight
A London flat with dingy walls. There was music playing, a raspy, female voice full of pain. Incense burned somewhere, sandalwood drifting in the air. Blankets were piled making a soft palett in the middle of the room. His head was pillowed on the softer belly of a woman.
“Come on, how can you not love Janis Joplin?” came the soft, feminine tone. “She’s part of the revolution, love. Women and rock and roll music are as much a part of what’s happening as the marches and the pot.” She laughed.
“She’s too sad for me, Violet. If you’re going to listen to her I’m going out.”
“Stay here with me and be happy, love.” She pushed him off her and rolled to her knees, her long red hair sweeping nearly to her waist as she reached to pull a wooden box with brass hinges from a table next to the palett.
“Violet. You do too much of that stuff.”
“But it makes me feel good. So good.” She blinked at him with her enormous, round green eyes. Even now, with her about to do a hit of smack, her pixie face looked utterly innocent. Sweet. “Come feel good with me.”
He grabbed her and pulled her down into his lap. “I’ll make you feel good, babe.”
She laughed as he pulled her gauze shirt over her head. His gaze swept from her eyes down to her lovely, smiling mouth, then to the small, perfectly made breasts.
“Do a good job and maybe I’ll lay off the dope for a bit,” she taunted him.
If only.
He pushed her onto her back on the blankets and smoothed his hands over her thighs, pushing the hem of her long skirt up until it was bunched around her waist.
He smiled down at her. God, he loved her so damn much. She was so beautiful, even now, with her red hair tangled, the swell of needle marks and scratches on her arms.
If he just looked into her eyes he could ignore the rest…
He bent and kissed her breasts, smiled as she sighed, then moved lower, kissing her belly.
“Oh, that’s good.”
Her hands went into his hair.
There was a knock at the door.
He looked up.
“Don’t answer it,” she said, pulling his head back down.
“Fuck. I have to, babe. I told them I’d go to that march.”
She sat up with a huff, pushing him away, and reached for her box. “You and your causes. Always ready to fight authority. That group of blokes doesn’t even know what they’re marching against half the time. But whatever. You do your thing. And I’ll do mine. I’ll be here, getting happy without you.”
He paused, wanting to ask her not to get high. But he knew it was useless.
“I’ll be back in a few hours.”
She shrugged.
He bent to kiss her lips, and she let go of the box to wrap her arms around his neck. He pulled back and told her, “I love you, Violet.”
“Love you, too, babe. Don’t do anything too stupid. Don’t get busted.”
Don’t do anything too stupid, Violet.
But he couldn’t say it. It only made it worse.
The march had turned out to be more of a small gathering of restless youth—only a dozen or so. They’d smoked some weed together, bitched about the American government and their own, then they’d split up. Violet had been right. But he felt he had to do something about this fucked-up world.
The streets were dark as he made his way home. He was hungry—hopefully there was some food in the flat. If not, maybe he would get a little high with Violet after all and drift off in her arms. He didn’t do it often, but when she was high it was a way to be with her.
Lucy in the Sky with Violet. Only the heroin messed her up so much.
He walked faster, eager to get home to her. Worried. Simply wanting to see her.
He was on the ground before he knew what had hit him, his heel scraping the pavement as someone dragged him into an alley.
“What the fuck?”
He kicked, but caught nothing but air. Strong hands pulled him up, slammed him into a wall, and the breath was knocked from his body.
I’m going to fucking die.
Violet.
He tried to kick again at the dark male figure he could barely make out.
How could anyone be so damn strong?
The figure lifted him until his feet dangled helplessly. He felt the man’s cold breath whisper past his cheek before something razor sharp—teeth!—pierced his throat.
He didn’t know how much time had passed when he sat up. The man was gone. He’d done such hideous things to him he could hardly believe it. He’d bitten him, torn at his body until he thought he was dying—until he’d wanted to. Had he? But then the man had forced his own bleeding wrist into his mouth, and made him drink. His blood!
Jesus, he was losing his mind.
He’d been dying—he�
�d felt it—and then…
He staggered to his feet, clutching his head.
Have to get back to Violet. Have to get home.
He made it there, somehow. She was right where he’d left her, her eyes heavy with the dope.
“Love, where have you been? I’ve been waiting for you.”
He fell to his knees next to her.
“What…? Oh my God. There’s blood all over you! What happened, babe? What happened to you?”
“I don’t know. Just…help me get cleaned up.”
She helped him to the bathroom and ran the water in the tub. He climbed in with his clothes still on. Violet knelt next to the tub washing his hair, singing softly—some half-remembered lullaby. He’d always loved when she washed his hair, but now it felt different. Even the water felt different—almost sharp on his skin.
“Violet… I feel…odd. Everything is cold. Fucking freezing.”
She helped him from the tub, peeled the wet clothes from his shivering body and took him to their bed on the floor, twined her body around his, but he couldn’t stop shivering.
“Babe, let’s make you feel better.”
“No. I don’t want it.”
“Come on. Get happy with me. Please, babe. I don’t know how else to make you better.”
He didn’t want to. But he couldn’t stand the strange things happening in his body—an aching, yearning weirdness he couldn’t explain. It was as if his skin were too tight for him. As if he could feel everything so keenly the air against his flesh was painful. And yet he craved the warmth of Violet’s body against him.
And if it would make him forget what had happened to him…
“Alright. But don’t set up too big a hit. I’m not used to it the way you are.”
“I know that, love. Don’t worry. Mama Violet will take good care of you.”
She sat up and hummed as she cooked the dope in an old silver spoon. The acrid scent in the air nearly made him gag. She placed a small cotton ball in the spoon, pulled the dope up through the cotton with the needle.
