New Title 3

by H. T. Night

  BOOKS BY AIDEN JAMES

  Cades Cove Series

  Cades Cove

  The Raven Mocker

  The Talisman Chronicles

  The Forgotten Eden

  The Devil’s Paradise

  Ghost Hunter 101 Series

  Deadly Night

  The Ungrateful Dead (coming soon)

  The Dying of the Dark Series

  The Vampires’ Last Lover

  The Scarlet Birthright (coming soon)

  Blood Princesses (coming soon)

  With J.R. Rain

  Plague of Coins (coming soon)

  COLLECTIONS

  Deadly Lover: Two Novels

  Terror: Two Novels

  Dark Legacy: Two Noverls

  Vampires: Three Novels (with J.R. Rain and H.T. Night)

  THE VAMPIRES’ LAST LOVER

  Copyright © 2010 by Aiden James

  Published by Amazon Kindle

  The Vampires’ Last Lover

  Chapter 1

  Consider this a diary of sorts. I’m not an English major, so forgive the occasional grammatical errors. I haven’t got time to take a class to further hone my writing. They’ve told me that it all could end very soon...unless the experiment to save my blood earlier this morning works. If it does, then we can outlast the ‘others’. But in case it doesn’t, I’m writing as much as I can about what has happened during the past ten days and what it all means to the survival of our world.

  To get it down on paper…this warning for others.

  For if this experiment doesn’t work, they’ll soon be coming for everyone else. They’ll feed enough to stay immortal, and many of you will die. Ridiculous, I know. But what I tell you is the truth. You may have already seen the beginnings of what I’ll tell you on the latest television news reports.

  Throughout my nineteen years on earth—my entire life—they’ve watched me. They’ve studied and hunted me and other females in my family, feeding at will. And I found out just this week that it’s been going on for many centuries.

  Hidden voyeurs in the shadows. All quiet…all hungry.

  All vampire.

  My name is Txema, which is pronounced ‘Chema’. Txema Ybarra. I grew up in Richmond, Virginia. Part of a proud Basque lineage, although my immediate family is like most American families of immigrant descent. My father and brothers cheer for the Redskins, and only my mother still adheres to the tenets of our Roman Catholic heritage. I grew up in an affluent neighborhood, where I enjoyed all the benefits of a privileged education. This later afforded me the opportunity to attend college on a full-ride athletic scholarship. But I want to be a veterinarian. Or, at least I wanted to be a veterinarian.

  It’s what brought me to Tennessee, where I enrolled at the University of Tennessee in Knoxville. It was to be the start of my medical career, while playing basketball for the legendary Pat Summit.

  But I will never do either one.

  A fall down a stairwell in September that resulted in a partial tear to the ligaments in my right ankle took care of my freshman basketball aspirations, and my present circumstances have ensured my pursuit of a veterinarian career—or any other—won’t happen either.

  Ironically, that accident may have set much of what has happened since in motion. I met my boyfriend, Peter Worley, while lounging in the lobby of Massey Hall. Tall, dark, and great looking, he had caught my eye at orientation, and we shared the same biology lab. But we never had a chance to talk beyond basic pleasantries until he saw me struggling to balance my laptop while trying to stand up holding my crutches. I’ve seen other girls glare with envy, and he could have his pick, I’m sure. He’s not intimidated by the fact I’m as tall as he at six foot-two. He says he likes my smile and the way my hazel eyes shimmer when I’m laughing, and how my dark hair hangs in curled waves upon my shoulders. I think it’s more my other curves and the fact I lack nothing up top…although I’d like to believe what he tells me. At least he would have that in common with the vampire boys that soon came to call on me.

  Am I in love? No…not yet, although Peter and I seemed destined for something special between us. On up until my cast was removed from my left foot, a few days before Halloween, we spent almost every waking moment together. They say initial passion can smother you if you’re not careful, and at times it has seemed too much. But when apart, I’ve often thought of nothing else but being with him. His smile, and the way his deep brown eyes turn brighter when he tells me he loves me, has made it near impossible for me to complete my studies with the steadfast focus I’ve always had for my schoolwork.

  Maybe it’s the fact we’ve only known each other for just a few months. Regardless, I’ve not been able to fully commit myself to him, and yet I cherish his touch, and how the Ralph Lauren cologne mingles with his skin when I’ve kissed his chest. He is like a drug I can’t get enough of. But, each time he says he loves me something inside me tightens up. And as October gave way to November, I’ve sensed how my hesitation to commit in return has begun to really bother him. Patient, he is. But it’s hard for such a catch to remain that way when other girls are more than willing to give him more than closeness—and I mean something more than just sex. My soul is not ready.

  This torment upon my heart…this desire to be close to him along with the need for distance was the main conflict in my life, until the night of my nineteenth birthday, just a little over a week ago. Tuesday, November 9th. While getting ready for a dinner and movie date with Peter, a sudden chill entered my dorm room. My roommate, Tyreen Davenport, had already left that night to be with her man, Johnny Ayers. Being on the fourth floor gives us both a sense of security, but it felt like a window was open and the cold Smoky Mountain air had been allowed to rush in. But the window was closed, and when I turned to look at the door to my room, it remained shut.

  A young man stood in front of it, staring intently at me. The man’s paleness and presence immediately announced he wasn’t from around here. As it turned out, he wasn’t even from this world.

  A vampire.

  Chapter 2

  “You are getting ready to go out tonight?” he asked, his husky voice almost musical in its timbre, and the accent European, the richness genteel. Long golden hair partially covered his eyes, which glowed iridescent around constricted pupils. “Beware, and be forewarned. Those who want to end your life have come. They are outside…waiting.”

  Staring at him, incredulous, my heart raced faster than I ever recalled before that moment. Not even while driving for a game-winning layup.

  “Who are you?” I demanded. “And, how in the hell did you get in here??”

  “I am Garvan de Sang,” he replied while stepping casually toward me. Dressed in dark jeans and a burgundy sweater his riding boots were muted by the plush carpet. His ashen skin looked garishly death-like beneath my room’s fluorescent light. Like every inch of his skin was covered in pancake makeup.

  I instinctively retreated to my dresser, where I kept a Tazer gun given to me for protection by my older brother the day I moved into my dorm room this past August. But before I touched the drawer’s handle, my visitor appeared next to me, somehow traveling silently across the room in the blink of an eye. I gasped in surprise while chills traveled up and down my spine. I considered the absurdity of what I just witnessed, and for a moment wondered if this were some waking dream I had fallen into. But the air around me grew colder—a frigid dose of reality. I could feel Garvan’s iciness siphon the heat from my very essence as his penetrating gaze studied me.

  “Don’t be afraid,” he said, gently pushing my fingers away from the dresser. The coolness in his touch deepened, embracing my entire being. I couldn’t move. “We won’t hurt you, Txema.”

  “Who’s we?” I demanded, surprised by the anger easily coming through despite my unease. “And how do you know my name?”

  He started to answer me, and then suddenly jerked his head toward my door, as if he heard someone lurking outside my room in the hallway. It coul
d’ve been anyone, really, since when does a dorm floor ‘rest’ anyway? But the look on his face reflected intense concentration. I also strained to listen, unable to hear much beyond my own nervous breaths.

  Now, I can certainly understand, dear reader, if you are wondering why I didn’t just simply scream for help. It wasn’t because this Garvan stated someone was waiting to harm me outside. Rather something else…something inside my heart told me to trust this stranger. At least for the moment. So absurd and yet compelling. Trust this pasty man whose frozen touch both repulsed and exhilarated me.

  He remained focused on the door, which gave me a chance to study him more. And though I’ve stated he is a vampire, all I readily understood were his eerie talents and boyish good looks, despite such paleness. Not much older than me, his strong brow gave his eyes a glowering look that belied his delicate features. His profile revealed gorgeous cheekbones and a sleek nose that accentuated supple lips, tinted blue. If not for his powerful build that stretched the fabric of his cashmere sweater and tight-fitted jeans, I suppose most people would assume Garvan was a far cry from the nocturnal warrior that he is.

  “Your man…Peter? He is coming,” said Garvan, turning again to face me, the glow in his eyes brighter, as if on fire. “Is he always this punctual, to be so early?”

  True, Peter was never one to be late for anything, and as such would often show up fifteen minutes early for our dates. Normally I would be in the finishing touches of my makeup, which sometimes irritated him. But tonight could prove even more interesting if he arrived and my uninvited guest decided to extend his visit.

  “Yes, he is,” I agreed, feeling increasingly frantic about what to do. Should I try to hide this man? Where could I do that in a cramped dormitory room? And if I couldn’t, what lame excuse would come pouring out of my mouth when I sought to explain his presence—highly unwanted, by the way—to my boyfriend? If things turned violent, I seriously doubted Peter’s athleticism would save him against Garvan’s unusual speed and quickness. “You should leave…leave now!”

  “And I will, before he gets here,” said Garvan, chuckling as he regarded my panicked expression. His fiery eyes so clearly revealed his arrogant amusement. “But not before you promise to stay here all night. You must make sure you do. If he decides he cannot abide by this, then he leaves alone. Am I clear?”

  His face flushed as he said this, as if whatever blood he carried in his veins suddenly rushed to his cheeks, sending also a surge of anger to further ignite his eyes. I could scarcely concentrate enough to formulate an answer, shaking my head to avert the spell of his words infecting my thoughts.

  “I-I don’t know if I can promise that,” I told him, feeling my defiance rise up against the threat of subservience over my will to resist. “It’s my birthday, and we’ve been planning tonight’s dinner date since last week. Peter’s gone to a great deal of trouble—”

  “We are out of time!” he interrupted me, glancing at the door again. “So, you leave me no choice.”

  In the instant following these words, he suddenly disappeared. At least it seemed like he did. I felt something warm on the left side of my neck. The warmth soon became painful, two pinpricks that felt like little knives digging into my jugular vein. Then I heard the window’s latch unclick and click shut again in rapid succession.

  Surprised, I gasped and reached up to where my neck throbbed, like a little girl who just got stung by a wasp or venomous spider. Wetness grazed my fingers, and when I brought my shaking hand before my eyes there was blood. It dripped down my fingers.

  Just then, Peter’s familiar knock rapped upon my door.

  “I’m coming!” I called to him, trying to sound as unalarmed as possible.

  Garvan was nowhere to be found, though the slight sway in the curtains wasn’t enough to prevent me from checking under the bed and in my closet. I began to feel weak and woozy, and the fact I was alone in my dorm room brought little comfort. Feeling a wave of sudden nausea, I worried our dinner date was really going to suck!

  “I’ll be there in a minute….just getting my shoes on!” I said, more plaintive after Peter’s second knock, the loudness revealing his irritation. But I had to look…to see what caused the pain and my blood to drip down my neck.

  I stumbled over to the mirror Tyreen and I share. Two small streams trickled down the left side of my neck, threatening to spill onto my dress. Luckily, the black wool would keep it from being immediately noticeable—even to Peter’s keen eyes. But what happened when I wiped a Kleenex over the twin wounds astonished me even more.

  There were no punctures in the skin. No seepage, just fiery redness. And the redness was brightest above a pair of birthmarks. ‘Little pink teardrops’ is what my Grandmother often called them. Like the tears tattooed beneath the eyes of the gang leaders in Richmond’s low-rent district, though not as dark in color. Now they were inflamed, tender to the touch.

  But still no blood.

  I looked back at the deep crimson streaks in the tissue I held, trying to make sense of what just happened, while Peter’s urgent knocks grew faint….distant. Then the world around me went black.

  Chapter 3

  I’m not sure how long I was out. When I gradually came to, I heard Peter’s voice…getting gradually louder.

  “Txema…Txema? Shit, I think she’s waking up.”

  He looked anxiously at Tyreen and her boyfriend, Johnny, as he said this. He sounded shaken, and the concern in his voice touched me…pulling me out of a dark cold place I’d fallen into. I’m not sure that I landed anywhere, just that I was immersed in a sea of thick blackness. At one point, I felt constricted and unable to move, held fast in close confines—like a coffin too small for my build.

  But then I slowly became aware of whispered voices talking back and forth. It was too hard to understand the words, though the accent and cadence sounded French…and maybe a little Spanish? Several voices, most were male except a pair of females. As they spoke the constriction lifted. Drifting on my back, softness now caressed me, as if I lay upon a lush feather bed. The voices echoed upon one another, soon joined by others and they all sounded alarmed. A cold grimy hand seized my throat and that’s when I began to awake…just a moment before Peter spoke.

  “Where am I?” I uttered weakly, trying to raise my head. Somehow I had moved from the floor near our vanity mirror to Tyreen’s bunk bed, directly below mine. Someone had moved me…maybe Peter? But I did black out, so possibly I stumbled there myself.

  “You’re in our room, baby,” said Tyreen, gently. Her bright green eyes were aglow, perhaps from worry. It made me fear for what I looked like, and I suddenly remembered the miniature crimson rivers trickling down my neck. “It’s okay…it’s okay…Shush-h-h!” She blocked my hand from touching my neck.

  “Babe, you’re going to be just fine,” added Peter. Tyreen deferred to his invasion into my personal space. If not for my disorientation as to what the hell was going on, I wouldn’t have minded his closeness. He was dressed in his favorite tailored suit—mine too, since it accentuated his powerful upper body. Traditional dark blue, and wearing a light blue tie. “Just relax, and lay back…..That’s it. Good girl.”

  Normally, I would bristle at that last remark. But feeling as I did then, I gave in and allowed him to baby me.

  “What happened?” I asked, more to my roommate than my boyfriend, who continued to fuss over me and fix my blanket around my arms.

  “Peter found you lying on the floor by the mirror, and when you wouldn’t wake up, he called me on my cell phone,” she said, glancing over at Johnny, who nodded an endorsement for her explanation.

  “Well, that’s not exactly how it went down, but pretty close,” said Peter, ignoring the sharp look Tyreen shot him. “After you said you were coming to the door, I waited. Then I heard something fall over in your room, and I thought you might’ve tripped on something...a chair, table, hell it could’ve been the shoes you couldn’t find for all I could tell.”

&nb
sp; Definitely, this is one of the things I don’t care for about him…this need of his to over-analyze and over-explain. It can make him seem like an overbearing prick. I think if he’d pay more attention to the reactions of those around him more, he’d figure out when to shut up. Perhaps more of the qualities I do so love about Peter would shine through. More about that later.

  “How long was I out?” I asked, looking for a question that wouldn’t necessarily be my boyfriend’s exclusive domain. “What time is it, anyway?

  “Seven-twenty,” said Johnny, his tone devoid of the compassion of his girl, and even more prick-ish than my guy. But at least he had the good sense to defer quickly once Tyreen glared at him, perturbed. No doubt when Peter called her, it ended up interrupting something going on….something intimate? That seemed likely, as both he and Tyreen were dressed in sweats and matching UT sweatshirts—disheveled, and not what either had on an hour earlier when I last saw them. Besides, they both had that ‘FF’ look in their eyes.

  “You were out for at least an hour,” Tyreen added, still worried though she smiled compassionately at me.

  I’ve rarely seen a smile that can light up a room like hers. Really, when both she and her man turn it on, they look like frigging movie stars. With her big green eyes, long braids, and soft ebony complexion, she could be Beyonce’s younger sister. She possesses the same husky voice and vivacious curves. Johnny’s chiseled face and ripped physique makes him look like any of the young stud rappers these days—especially when he gets a serious look in his soft gray eyes. He’s got a great sense of humor, too…just not so much that night.