SHADOWLOVE--STALKERS

by Claudy Conn

  He made a decision and began the process of carrying out his divine plan—to eliminate all but the most humble and lowly of vampire clans.

  To that end, they had been successfully working. Vampires are solitary creatures and did not at first realize what was happening in the darkest hours. They were slow to surmise that they were being hunted by one of their own. And then it was too late. What was left of the smaller clans had gone into hiding; others were on the run.

  And then without warning, Pentim came across one young and pretty vamp who begged to be spared. Normally, he would not have listened, but this one caught his interest.

  Her name was Clara, and although her years numbered over one hundred, she was trapped in the body of a nineteen-year-old woman.

  He had quickly decided to indoctrinate her to his clan because he believed that one day soon she might prove useful to his goals. Remembering now how she had begged for her life, he felt a wave of delicious satisfaction dissipate some of his boredom.

  “Spare me, prince…I can be of service,” she had whimpered.

  Pentim’s fangs came into view as he sneered at her. “And how can you be of service to me?” he asked as he scanned her lovely white face. He looked into her dark eyes and made a low sound in his throat. She was, in fact, quite desirable.

  “I have information you might wish to know.”

  “Tell me, and perhaps I may let you enter Rawley.” He had meant to toy with her, tease her, use her and burn her—literally.

  “I recently came across a scent of a human—a female human, not quite human.”

  “Absurd—do you wish to die at once?” he snapped.

  Her hand flew upwards as though to ward the blow, but it didn’t come.

  Instead, he took her chin and quietly said, “Tell me.”

  She licked her full, red-painted lips, “I was at a distance from her, but as I said, she had an interesting scent, my prince. My special ability is the power of scent. I can pick up scents that are perhaps weeks…even a month old. At any rate, she intrigued me and I tried to follow her, but she knew at once that I was there. A human would not have known, but she did.”

  “And what then was she—a shape shifter?” Pentim was, in fact, interested in spite of himself.

  “No, I don’t think she was, but I did get enough of a whiff to know without a doubt that she shares a common scent with you. She carries some of your essence in her delicate aroma.”

  “What the hell are you saying?”

  Clara’s hair was black that day, long and silky and streaked with blue. She had adopted the Gothic look so popular with many of her age—or at least the age she appeared to be. She smoothed the tresses around her pert young face and eyed him speculatively. “Prince…when I looked into her eyes, I saw you…” She shook her head. “I don’t get visions, but I have…very strong instincts, and my instinct tells me she is somehow connected to you.”

  “Be careful now, little Clara. I shall not tolerate much more of this.” He studied her and realized at once that although she was adding some flamboyancy to her tale, it was not far from the truth.

  “Prince…spare me…I can be useful to you. It is why I came all this way. I want to be one of yours—and I think I know who this woman is.”

  “You think you know? And what do you think you know?”

  “She is your daughter.” Clara crouched down, ready for the blow.

  His first instinct was to raise his hand, but even as he held it high, ready to strike, he stopped himself. She looked up at him, and his eyes narrowed tentatively. He believed her. “What is her name?” Pentim demanded.

  The young vampire shook her pretty head, inclined her pale face, and gazed at his feet. “I don’t know, but I will try and locate her for you, if you like.”

  “Where was it that you came across her?”

  “In New York—months ago…I think she was a student there…”

  “Would you know her if you saw her again?”

  “I would.”

  “Then you may be useful to me.” He turned to some of the members of his clan who had stood at his back awaiting the outcome of this encounter. “Clara is now one of us. Welcome her and teach her the rules of Rawley.”

  He had sent Clara and two of his own more trusted clan members to New York to search out the human and bring her to him, but she was nowhere to be found.

  And then, suddenly Clara got her faint scent in Seattle, but it had been too late. He had been furious. To date, he had no name, and no general location…

  Pentim Rawley would not be deterred. He had quite made up his mind to find this creature and investigate her.

  He had begun to remember things from a not so distant past and rather thought he knew who her mother had been. His daughter’s mother—oddly enough, he liked the sound of the words his daughter. He had not been so amused in years.

  Her mother would have had to have been very special to have both survived him and survived the birth of his child. There was only one woman who had left his bed and then vanished. It had to have been the beautiful little Rachel he had too quickly grown fond of and never saw again. Feelings were things he didn’t have patience for, but desire? Yes, he allowed himself desire, and he had desired her…

  Now, he had a burning desire to see his daughter—to know her powers and to make her his own. The notion that he had a daughter was a novelty that piqued his interest. He wasn’t sure what he would do with her once he had her, but she had already annoyed him by running from him. It was obvious that she knew he would be intent on finding her—was she afraid? He smiled to himself. “Clever little thing…”

  However, now he could not allow this to go on. What had started as curiosity had turned into obsession. He would find her, and she would join him—or die!

  * * *

  Shawna had often wondered why her mother had been so taken with Pentim Rawley. She had been, after all, a white witch just coming into her full powers. She supposed her mother, Rachel, had been blinded by ‘love’ or infatuation. She would never allow herself to be so blinded.

  Her mother had been just eighteen, so that alone excused her in Shawna’s wise eyes. She had herself been so wildly curious about everything at eighteen. Rachel had written in her diary that she had not been able to look away from Pentim’s bright amber eyes when she first met him.

  Rachel wrote and asked her daughter to forgive her, because she had fancied herself hopelessly in love with Pentim. She hadn’t known how far her interest in him would lead—at least, not in the beginning. Night after night, he would walk into the restaurant where she worked, he would order a glass of wine at the bar, and—without drinking it—he would leave.

  And then on that fateful Friday night, she went to a club with her friends. He arrived only a moment afterwards. He had stealthily walked through the throng of people and taken her hand. His was cold. He never asked her what her name was, because he hadn’t cared what she called herself. He swirled her around the dance floor. Everyone else was dancing to the beat, but he was waltzing her, holding her, seducing her—and in that last moment before she went with him, she actually knew what he was.

  Rachel again wrote, “Forgive me, Shawna. I knew what he was—where he was taking me…”

  She went on to explain that she thought herself powerful enough to withstand what was about to happen to her. She told herself she had to be with him, just once.

  She knew better of course—but she was young, and she believed she could withstand what would surely come to pass.

  She wanted him, and at that moment, nothing else seemed to matter.

  Later, Rachel would tell her parents she had been enthralled with his physical beauty and with the wonder of what he might yet be if she helped him. She had been a young woman thinking she could cure Pentim of his diseased blood. She believed what she wanted to believe. However, in her heart, she knew from the start what he was, where it was going, and that her lust for him would be her undoing.

  She wro
te that Pentim had told her he wanted to keep her for his own. It was in that moment that she realized she would never have the chance to ‘fix-cure’ him. He was going to turn her, and in that moment it was too late. He drained her life’s blood. Then he and stopped himself abruptly, and he began the process of cutting himself and feeding his own blood to her.

  He told her she amused him and awakened a need in him to have her always. She should have died and reawakened as a vampire, but something went wrong.

  Rachel didn’t die. She was supposed to, but the white magic in her DNA kept her alive. In the morning, in the darkness of the curtained room as he lay hidden and asleep beneath his covers, she discovered she had just enough strength to gather herself together, and she ran.

  It took all her will power and strength, but she got herself to the Long Island railroad and headed out to West Hampton. She had her cell phone, and just before she passed out she called her parents.

  They were only minutes away, and when they found her on the bench, they took her home and lovingly nursed her for weeks.

  Rachel confessed the whole to her parents, and they shuddered over the tale. They had reason to believe her story, as they were not without their own secrets. Rachel went to her room, white of face and weak of body.

  Some months later she discovered that she was pregnant, and that pregnancy turned out to be seven months of ‘unusual’ mother/child experiences. All three adults—mother, grandfather, and grandmother—adored Shawna before ever she was born.

  Shawna arrived early, but she was full term of body and soul. She was born a full seven pounds of joy. Her mother, however, was gravely ill. Rachel refused medical help because she knew her condition was beyond a doctor’s capabilities. She knew she was dying.

  Shawna drank formula, but she too soon became ill and began wailing for something more, something else.

  One afternoon Rachel had Shawna in a beautiful basket on the kitchen table while she carved meat to cook up for dinner. Some of the blood from the meat spilled on her apron. Shawna was whimpering, and when Rachel bent over her the apron happened near Shawna’s lips. She was just a newborn, but she began lapping the blood off the apron; all at once Rachel knew.

  She called for her parents ,and they watched as she gathered the blood from the raw roast and spooned it into Shawna’s mouth. Her baby girl glowed.

  Rachel and her parents stared at one another as with some dismay they realized what the problem was with their lovely Shawna.

  They acquired a ready supply of pig’s blood, and Shawna thrived. Unlike vampires who die and return undead, Shawna had not died—she was not one of them. She could eat and drink and enjoy food, but she required animal blood to survive. Her father’s DNA had somehow managed to make a compromise with her mother’s, and Shawna went on very well.

  Eventually, Rachel’s body gave up the fight.

  Shawna’s grandparents later told Shawna how her mother had bravely fought the disease ravaging her body, and when she was old enough they put Rachel’s diary into her hands.

  Rachel had been fed a vampire’s blood. Her body rejected it, but it was poisoned by it. Rachel’s inherit magic helped her survive, but the diseased blood began destroying Rachel’s organs.

  Five months after Rachel’s child was born, her body gave in to the murderous venom in her blood and she died.

  Rachel had asked her parents to kill her if she turned after her death, but they were spared, as she did not turn.

  Shawna, daughter of a woman and an alpha male vampire, went on and thrived under her grandparents’ diligent care. They adored her and kept her close.

  As soon as she was old enough to understand, they sat her down and explained why she had exceptional abilities and why she had to keep them secret.

  When she was still very young Shawna discovered that she was more than human. That ‘more’ as she had left infancy behind had been the reason they had decided to relocate to a more private and rural area in upstate New York. There on their private hundred acres, they kept her close. Her grandparents even home-schooled her. They weren’t sure if she were immortal—only time would tell them that—but they were sure that she had what they told her was ‘magic’. There were things she could do with her mind, and they taught her how to control it, use it, and keep it secret from the outside world.

  Her body did however need and crave blood, but this need was easily met. She didn’t have a need to kill for that blood.

  Shawna discovered that her wounds healed within moments of receiving them, and she also found that she had many stored abilities she classified as ‘magical powers’. Her sight and hearing were exceptional, and she had an extraordinary sixth sense. In addition to all that, Shawna was super fast when she needed to be. However, her childhood, while full with love, lacked the pleasures of being with other children. She grew up quickly, too quickly.

  Shawna’s memories often intruded on her present awful daily life. There was nothing she could do about it. She sighed heavily and shrugged. Only one thing to do: keep moving.

  There was no point dwelling on what was. Oh, but she hated to leave New York. If only she could stay just a while longer. She sucked in air and let it out. This was no good—she couldn’t feel sorry for herself. That way would get her nowhere.

  Her attorney walked in. Smiling warmly at her, he asked what he could do for her that day.

  She didn’t tell him that she would be changing her identity—that had been taken care of already from an acquaintance in the underworld. She was there simply to have him release funds from a trust account and send them on to her next location.

  This took a little more time than she had anticipated. When she finally left his offices, she walked outside to find that the day had gone gray, and there was a mist in the air with the promise of rain. Stepping into the crowd, she weaved her way to the curb, her mind filled with the transactions she had just conducted with her efficient and gentle-mannered lawyer. She had changed attorneys on three different occasions as a precaution and never allowed them to know very much about her private life.

  Everything was good to go. She had some cash in her bag, more in her loft, and now a great deal more waiting for her at her next destination. She had a passport with her new name at home—still Shawna (she couldn’t bear to part with the name her mother had given her),but she would be Shawna MacBay in the very near future.

  Outside, the cool air swept her shiny blond locks around her face as she put up her hand and hailed a cab. She wondered why people complained about not being able to find a cab; she never had a problem. One pulled over immediately, and she jumped in and with a friendly smile gave the driver her address.

  As she relaxed against the aged leather upholstery, she allowed herself to consider the encounter she had earlier with the hunky stranger. He had been devastatingly handsome. He had the kind of looks a girl could get lost in. Dangerous. He oozed sex appeal. Who the hell he was, she couldn’t guess. What he wanted with her was even more of a mystery. But if this stranger had managed to find her, others could as well.

  She knew at once that he was not a vampire, and yet she had sensed an Otherworldly power in his aura. He certainly wasn’t quite human. What did he want? Why would he want to help her? What was in it for him?

  And why had he given up so suddenly and easily?

  A whole lot of whys.

  When the cab stopped, she stuffed a large bill in his hand and smiled as he gave her a warm ‘thanks’. Stepping out of the cab, she looked up at her apartment building and scanned. It was a small, four-story gray brick building. There were only four tenants, and each had a floor. She had picked it for this reason—fewer people to deal with, easier to watch her back. Her loft was on the fourth floor.

  She walked towards the entrance, and the doorman smiled a welcome, “Good afternoon, Shawna.”

  “Hi, Jack. How’s it going?” She had told him almost at once to just call her by her first name. It felt better than Wellsly, which wasn’t really her
surname.

  “Really good—my thirtieth anniversary is today, and the missus has a big night planned. I already have the flowers and chocolate ready to go.” He grinned at her, obviously proud of himself.

  She laughed and pointed a finger at him. “You are the man!”

  A moment later, she sighed as she walked across the marble flooring and wished her life were as simple as that. Would she ever have a man of her own and get to celebrate an anniversary?

  Her boot heels clicked as she made her way across the wide entrance hall to the elevator. Right now, her life was about running. She had to leave. There was nothing she could do about it. Soon too. She would just have to suck it in and go, but oh, she wanted to stay.

  She reached the elevator and pushed the button. When the doors opened, they opened onto a narrow hallway of Italian tile, a wall table, and a brightly upholstered ladies’ chair. She stepped forward to her door and punched in her numbers on the security pad to its right. She changed the numbers everyday. The two-inch metal door slid into its pocket, and she stepped inside her sparsely decorated loft.

  She loved that it was huge and open. She adored her comfortably and brightly upholstered furniture and her throw rug of many colors. Her loft reflected her feelings, large and light and…and what else, she asked herself—unfulfilled passion?

  She moved over to her thoroughly modern kitchen of mahogany cabinets and stainless steel appliances and headed straight for the fridge. She was thirsty.

  There wasn’t much more than a yogurt, a bottle of wine, a couple of bottles of Coke, and what looked like a quart of V8.

  It wasn’t V8 though, but it was what she reached for, and she drank until it was half gone. She put it back and closed the fridge door just as a noise in her outer elevator hallway caught her attention.

  She possessed better than human hearing, and that exceptional sense brought her the sound of fingers on the metal code pad. What? How? Who? No one knew her code. She had just changed it that morning.