New Title 3

by H. T. Night

  “Yes…you already know, Txema," he said, the smooth warmth in his voice giving way to a slight iciness. “All you’re doing by running is prolonging the inevitable.”

  “Running?” I couldn’t believe how he’d say such a thing, since we sat together in the room with no obvious route for escape. I noticed then that two more cloaked figures stood just outside the shadows near the room’s doorway. For the moment, what looked like a heavy wooden door was closed behind them.

  “Yes, running,” he repeated, his tone much softer…thoughtful. “It saddens me that the last of any race on earth must perish. Yet, the sooner it ends for you, the sooner we can get on with usurping our rightful place in the world!”

  A chill crept down my spine and the soft hairs on my arms rose to full attention. How quickly his delivery went from the edge of compassion to such a sinister musing. Like he desired the deeper contempt within his heart to travel across the room and tear its way into me—to destroy me where I sat. I latched onto the absurd notion that perhaps for some reason he couldn’t touch me physically—that somehow I could still elude his long sharp fingers’ grasp despite my close proximity to this inhuman giant.

  He sat down and studied me where I sat, his hostile gaze continuing to bore into me. For a moment, he said nothing, allowing his pursed lips to open slightly. Wide enough to where I could see a row of long sharp teeth kept hidden until that moment.

  “Yes, not much longer will I have to endure my enemies’ celebration, their jubilation at finding the last of the Vampire Lovers, their precious ‘Les Amants de Vampire’!”

  Ralu’s charms knew no bounds, and with each snide threat I grew more and more uncomfortable. Hard to know how to respond to any of this, but apparently my blank expression wasn’t what he hoped for. In a nanosecond, he crossed the table and was in my face, the stench of decaying flesh filling my nostrils.

  That certainly got my attention. Like I’ve said before, I really hate it when they do that sort of thing.

  “Mark my words, Txema. The imposters who call themselves your ‘friends’ will not save you in the end—regardless of the elaborate tales they will concoct, and no matter what immortality ceremony they come up with!” he warned, getting angrier by the second. I tried to scoot back in my chair, but there was no escaping Ralu’s contempt and aggression. “The only way you’ll survive is through our version of the Dark Gift—the one true ‘Salut de sang’!

  I took Spanish in high school, and the only French I understood was the few phrases spoken by my paternal grandmother. Odd as it may seem, I had heard this ‘Salut de sang’ mentioned before. Though I couldn’t be completely sure on the translation, I knew that ‘sang’ meant blood in most of the Romance languages, and Grandma Terese used the word ‘salut’ during many of her Catholic prayers—especially the ones her family brought to America from France. She said it meant salvation.

  So, this was about ‘blood salvation’, which had something to do with a ‘dark gift’?

  Ralu’s widening leer confirmed my basic understanding of what he said, as well as the likelihood that he enjoyed full disclosure of my thoughts and growing terror. His next actions reinforced that his words would stay locked in my head forever more.

  “Surrender your blood and be one with us…become our princess—our queen in waiting!”

  “Hell, no!!”

  Perhaps my response came out faster than it should have, before I could censor how it might affect my captor and my fate. Again, that’s always been a problem with me. Incensed, his eyes narrowed and he brought up his left hand, armed with long sharp fingernails. His fingers suddenly splayed open. Armed and dangerous.

  “Very well,” he sneered, snickering again in contempt.

  Before I could apologize and utter a plea for my life, he raked those nails across my throat. Deep enough to sever my esophagus, vocal chords, and my jugulars. A crimson river washed down my parka, spilling through the zipper onto my sweatshirt. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t move, and worst of all, I couldn’t scream….

  ***

  …I awoke with a start in bed. It had been a dream after all.

  The worst frigging nightmare I’d ever experienced!

  Relieved, I sat up, gasping for air while I reached for my throat. My hands felt clammy. The room dark, at least the air was warm. Reasonably assured no one else was there with me, I stepped out of my bed, surprised by the cool wooden floor beneath my feet. This certainly didn’t feel anything like the worn carpet in my dorm room. Add to that fact my ankle hurt like a mother….

  Where the hell am I?

  Light seeped through the bottom of a small round window near my bed, and in the dimness I could make out the outlines of a desk and a dresser in the room. I limped over to the window and lifted the shade.

  Imagine my shock to see nothing but blue for as far as my eyes could see! Somehow, I ended up in the middle of some enormous lake or a damned ocean.

  Panicked, I scurried over to the door, fearing it would be locked. It wasn’t. I threw it open and craned my head to look down both sides of a deserted hallway. An ornate carper runner covered the floor, and a row of polished brass light fixtures lined the wall. I envisioned that the room I just stepped out of might be lined with the same expensive grade of cherry paneling.

  This had to be a ship, and a luxurious one at that.

  In my excitement to find out where I was, I ignored the fact I only had on a pair of panties and the T-shirt I wore beneath my sweatshirt. But once I saw my reflection in the room’s mirrored door, I hobbled back inside. I found my jeans and sweatshirt hanging on a dark leather chair next to the bed, and when dressed more appropriately I ventured back into the hallway.

  “Hello?.... Is anybody here??”

  Maybe it wasn’t the wisest thing to do, especially without knowing who else shared this vessel with me. But there was no response, other than the steady hum from the ship’s engines.

  I suddenly thought of Tyreen, worrying about her welfare as well as Peter and Johnny’s. I offered a fervent prayer for their safety, trying not to think of the devastation I’d experience if they hadn’t survived the attack on Massey Hall.

  I had to find a way to contact them. My cherished iPhone was missing from my coat pocket, which brought immediate remorse, remembering I left it in my backpack in my dorm room.

  Shit!

  That left me little choice but to explore my surroundings, all the while praying the monster named Ralu or his guardians didn’t jump out from some shadowed hiding place. I decided to explore the right side of the hallway. It could’ve been my superstition to avoid the left, like the silly hopscotch games I played with the kids in my neighborhood growing up. Or, maybe it was because the engine drone sounded louder to my left, which told me the engine room was in that direction. Aside from being in the back of the ship, it would be a great place to get ambushed, without much chance to hear an attacker sneaking up on me.

  Not that it would matter when dealing with a supernatural miscreant.

  Creeping quietly down the hall, I soon heard voices and footsteps moving across the ceiling above. Near the end of the hallway was a spiral stairway that would take me up to the next level. I cautiously approached, while the voices grew louder. The voices were male and all spoke French.

  Great. It would be hit or miss for me at best, in trying to decipher their conversations. I quietly climbed the stairs, careful to not aggravate my ankle any more than necessary. A waiter dashed by the stairway carrying a large tray loaded with pastries. Luckily, he didn’t see me. The aroma of cinnamon and chocolate kindled my hunger.

  “Bonjour, Mademoiselle Ybarra!” a young man’s voice boomed from a bar located not far from where I huddled near a short gate that opened up to this level, which I assumed was the main one. I had also assumed the bartender couldn’t see me, but as I peered through the gate rails I saw a handsome blond with slicked back hair smiling at me from the other side of a long bar. He was dressed in a formal black tuxedo with
a red cummerbund. The bar’s ornate decor rivaled any I’d ever seen before, even in the more ritzy taverns in downtown Richmond or anywhere in Knoxville. Amid the expensive glasswork were rows of bottles featuring the finest liquor brands in the world, many up until then I had only heard of and never actually seen before.

  More embarrassed than wary, since I was dressed most inappropriately, I stood up and smiled shyly. Understanding just enough French to be dangerous, I offered a demur ‘bonjour’ in response. Blue-eyed with a boyish complexion, the bartender nodded and then looked up beyond my line of vision. For a moment he carried on a conversation in an unfamiliar French dialect with someone else, unseen by me on the next floor up, perhaps on a balcony.

  “Txema!? So she is awake?”

  The rich, mellow voice traveled easily to me from where this unseen male was, almost directly above me. The use of my native tongue instead of the secretive French surprised me.

  “Yes, I am!” I called out to this man, hoping he was as unthreatening and approachable as he sounded. “Who are you?”

  Silence followed, which heightened my anxiety. I almost spoke again in an effort to clarify my words and intent, but decided not to. The bartender smiled at me again, and I took that as a good thing while sending forth a silent prayer I was right about him.

  “Why don’t you come up here?” said the owner of the voice, closer, as if he leaned over the balcony I pictured in my mind. His English was clear, concise, with just a slight trace of an eastern European accent. “You must be famished, and we have a wonderful array of delicacies for you to choose from. Mercel will show you the way.”

  The man told the bartender in French to come get me and bring me upstairs, based on my loose translation of the words I could pick out. The bartender, who I assumed was Mercel, smiled and came up to me and opened the gate, and I stepped through it, surprised at how weak my legs felt.

  A glance around me confirmed more of the same exquisite workmanship on the cabinetry, paneling, and floors although the ship was not as big as I initially thought. The ship’s bow was a mere thirty feet from where I stood, and I assumed the engines I heard marked where the stern sat. So, maybe it was one hundred and twenty feet in length? That would be a fair estimate. A yacht, it would still be considered large by that standard.

  Mercel led me over to another circular staircase, and once we climbed up to the next level, the mysterious man I had conversed with a minute or so earlier appeared before us. Strikingly handsome, with mirthful blue eyes and dimpled cheeks when he smiled, his jet black hair was laced with thin white streaks along the temples. Seemingly older than anyone I’d met lately, excluding the garish Ralu, his presence exuded strongly from where he stood. No doubt heads turned whenever this person entered a room, and I’m sure the swoon of women would be a tiresome event for such a man. Just enough facial lines to indicate maturity, his full hairline told me he couldn’t be any older than forty.

  Any female, regardless of age, would find him desirable. Especially if he addressed them like he spoke to me right after Mercel and I stepped into the yacht’s large dining area.

  “Txema, it is indeed a pleasure to finally meet the girl who has caused such a ruckus in the vampire world!”

  He chuckled warmly, and then motioned for me to join him at a large table in the center of the room. Surrounded by windows, the view of endless miles of deep water and the sun behind us confirmed we were headed east. On the great Atlantic. To France? That was the logical assumption.

  “If you prefer, Mercel or myself will gladly prepare a plate for you, or you may help yourself,” he advised. “It appears you have an injury to your right foot. Would you like for me to look at it? I have some medical knowledge that may help.”

  He pulled a chair out for me to sit down in at the table when I waved off his offer about my foot. I couldn’t even remember the last time a male had done that for me, certain it would’ve been my father when I was a young girl.

  “Thank you, I will help myself,” I told him, thinking forthright confidence on my part could only enhance my position. “My ankle will be all right…I just need to go easy with it.”

  I decided right then to guard myself against his copious charms. He carried himself with such regality, and seeing Mercel’s similar infatuation to my own told me this man must either be the owner of this vessel or its captain. Still, I found it hard to picture a captain dressed like a jet-setting playboy, wearing an expensive burgundy sweater and tan slacks. I didn’t think the man’s Gucci shoes would be considered standard naval fare either.

  “Who are you?” I asked again, deciding the mystery to this man’s identity had prolonged far enough.

  “I am Raccczis de Saint Germain,” he advised, while filling a plate with shrimp and caviar, along with a handful of crackers. “I am pleased to be your host, and you may call me Racco. Did you enjoy a good rest in the room that Chanson picked out for you? If not, I can arrange for better accommodations on my ship.”

  “I guess it was all right…is she the one who brought me here?”

  “Yes, she and Garvan carried you on board back in Charleston, South Carolina,” he confirmed. “We should reach our destination sometime Tuesday morning.”

  “Where is that?”

  A lump formed in my throat as I asked this question, immediately alarmed that not only was I already far from either Tennessee or Virginia, but moving farther away by the minute. Chanson had asked me to return to France, and made it clear that she and her vampire partners would override my initial decision to stay at the University if it became necessary. An all-out attack by the ‘others’ would definitely count as a qualifying event, I’m sure.

  “We are headed to the south of France,” he said, motioning for Mercel to pour him a glass of red wine. “Would you like something other than water to drink, Txema?”

  He pointed to the Perrier bottle I presently held. So far I had settled on a large cinnamon roll and a slice from a chocolate torte. To make sure I didn’t throw myself into a sugar high followed by a painful crash, I added a few shrimp as well.

  “No…not yet, anyway,” I told him, waving off his offer. “I suppose there’s no way to talk you into taking me back to Virginia, is there?”

  I could only imagine the extreme worry and pain my parents were suffering right then, as surely they had no idea I survived the previous night’s attack. I hadn’t checked my watch until that moment, and it read 1:17 p.m. Eastern time. Judging from the sun’s position, it was a couple of hours later that afternoon in the mid-Atlantic. The fact I slept so long—at least eighteen hours by my calculations—was especially alarming.

  “While I understand your concerns about family and friends in the United States, the decision to turn back is not mine or yours to make,” he advised, his tone compassionate. His expression turned serious as he studied me, and then he sighed. “You are fortunate to be alive, Txema, and after the near-successful extermination of your relatives who bear your rare gift, I am sad to say that it may be quite some time before you can return safely to your home in Virginia, or pursue your education anywhere in America.”

  I nodded quietly, determined to hide the ever-worsening dread ready to seize my heart. But he was right…I didn’t need further evidence to understand the truth of his words. The images of Tyreen’s wounds and Elaine Johnson’s death more than sufficed—not to mention the other girls that had died earlier who bore my likeness.

  “Perhaps when Chanson and the others awake, they will allow you to place a phone call to your parents in Virginia, eh?” he suggested, the infectious warmth from his smile illuminating his countenance and fueling his natural presence. Racco’s persona exuded such sex appeal.

  “That would be nice,” I agreed, trying to not think long on what it would be like to lie naked with this man who surely was old enough to be my father. “So, how bad was it?”

  “How bad was what?”

  “The attack. The one in Tennessee.”

  “I’ve only heard
the initial reports,” he advised, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. “Thirteen deaths in all last night, and another two dozen were injured—most while fleeing the dormitory.”

  “Massey Hall?” Not to be morbid, but I needed to be sure we spoke of the same place.

  “Yes, that is the one,” he confirmed. “Chanson told me it was Garvan who urged her and Armando to stay close to you last night, instead of waiting on your promised call to them for help. I assume you know what she meant by this?”

  “Yes….I tend to be a little on the stubborn side.” I smiled, sheepish.

  “No? You don’t say!” he teased.

  “Okay, I’m known to be quite stubborn,” I confessed, and for the first time that day chuckled. It felt good, even if it only lifted my sadness for a moment.

  “I wish I could tell you more about what happened, but that is all they told me when they arrived at the boat, just before midnight,” he said. He motioned for Mercel to help himself to some of the food. It seemed like an extravagance for just Racco and me, and even after including Mercel. But then Racco called the waiters over and invited them to join us as well. “I hate for all of this to go to waste. Dinner will be in just a few hours, and normally the staff eats earlier.”

  The impish glint in his eyes let me know this was a playful jab at me and my late arousal that afternoon.

  “You all are not vampires…correct?”

  Silly question based on what I’d seen. Moving about in the daylight and eating solid food and non-blood fluids. Even so, I wanted to be sure. Besides, the real questions I wanted to ask, involving the fate of Peter, Tyreen, and Johnny, would have to wait until the sleeping vampires awoke.