by Sky Winters
Miranda felt an orgasm draw near, and by the sight of sweat forming on Roman’s body and the sounds of his grunts, she could tell that he was coming close as well. Closing her eyes, she let herself sink into the soft, cool sheets of the bed, letting the feeling of him pounding her overwhelm every other sense. Then, after a succession of steady thrusts, she felt her orgasm rip loose, rushing through her body and into her limbs. With a final grunt, Roman came as well, slowing the pace of his thrusts as he came. Miranda felt his cum shoot into her, and she savored the feeling of him unloading himself into her.
With slowing breaths, Roman finishing his orgasm just as the last waves of her own ebbed through Miranda’s body. Roman slid out of her, and she felt his cum drip own her thigh as he withdrew.
They said nothing for several moments before Roman broke the silence.
“As much as I would love to stay like this, we do have business to attend to.”
“Oh, yeah, sure,” said Miranda, the events of the last ten minutes already surreal and dreamlike.
“And I did just clean up. Now I’m all dirty again,” he said with a sly smile as he pulled a clean pair of underwear from his drawer and stepped into them.
“Getting dirty again is almost as good as getting clean,” replied Miranda, getting up and throwing her clothes on. “You want something to drink?” she said, an after-sex cocktail sounding very good to her.
“Sure,” said Roman, finishing putting on his clothes.
Miranda jogged downstairs and made a pair of drinks. After pouring, she stood for a moment, taking small swigs of her drink and admiring the tasteful, expensive-looking décor of Roman’s apartment. Spotting the TV remote on the black coffee table, she picked it up, flicked on the TV, and dialed in one of the local stations.
“-rime suspect in the Upper West Side slayings that have held the community in a grip of terror for the last few months. Detective Miranda Walker, a resident of Woodside in Queens, was last seen at the 24th precinct in the Upper West Side area.”
Miranda’s eyes went wide as a picture of her in officer formal dress appeared on the screen. Seeing herself on the TV was something she wasn’t prepared for, and she brought the drink up to her mouth with a shaking hand. Then, to her shock, the corpulent image of Michael appeared on the screen, a banner under him displaying his full name.
“It’s crazy. Everyone at the station just doesn’t know what to do with themselves. She seemed like such a good kid, and to hear that there’s a chance she’s the killer, it’s just, I dunno.”
With that, they cut back to the studio, where the anchors made a few final comments before transitioning to the weather.
Miranda let herself fall back into the couch, her eyes wide, her hand still wrapped around the smooth, cool shape of her now-empty glass. She sat still like that for a minute before reaching without looking into her pocket, pulling out her cigarettes and lighter and flicking one ablaze. Taking a drag, she walked over the alcohol, poured herself another drink, and alternated between sipping and smoking.
“You know, in New York it’s a pretty safe bet to assume any house is non-smoking.”
Miranda jolted in place, the booming voice of Roman calling out to her from the top of the stairs pulling her out of her reverie.
“They think I did it,” she said, pointing to the now-mute TV with a limp finger. “They think I’m the killer.”
She turned, looking up at Roman, who was now wearing a crisp, immaculate suit that hung with perfection on the angles of his body, his hair wet and slicked back behind his ears. He stopped in place and looked at the screen.
“The NYPD’s in cover-up mode; this is worse than I thought.”
“What do you mean?” Miranda asked, bringing the rim of her drink up to her full, red lips.
“I mean, they’re trying to hide any truth to what’s actually going on with the murders. They figure that if they can pin it on some cop-gone-psycho that they can distract people from what’s really going on.”
“And what’s really going on?”
Roman threw on his coat, grabbed his keys, and headed towards the door.
“I’ll explain in the car. But we need to go, now.”
Tossing back the rest of her whiskey with a shaking hand, Miranda set the glass down and followed Roman out of the door, her mind swimming with both worry and questions.
Chapter 8
They were in the silver car this time, and Miranda rested her head on the cool glass of the window as they drove through the Manhattan streets, the lights of the city became long blurs as they passed them.
She turned to face Roman as he drove, and she felt the sense of frustration at him for not telling her anything about what was going on return, boiling in her stomach.
“Tell me what’s going on,” she said, crossing her arms under her breasts. “And I swear to God, if you say that you’ll tell me later one more time I’ll kick your head through the window.”
“I’m a vampire,” he said, not taking his eyes from the road.
Miranda stopped short. She considered the circumstances that she was in- the attack the other night, the blood drained from the victims, the bizarre deaths of them men who Roman killed. She knew that there was something going on that wasn’t within the normal spectrum of things, that something almost not of this earth was the reason behind the strange events that she had been thrust into, but even her analytical mind would’ve never come to the conclusion that it was something supernatural. But now that the word had been said, that what was going on had a name, it was able to find a place in her mind.
Miranda looked over to Roman, the lights of the city strobing past, backlighting his face in a white glow.
“Vampire,” she said, letting the word breathe from her lips, into the air, becoming real.
She settled into her seat, looking straight ahead at the rows of towers along the streets as they drove past them, her eyes drifting upwards occasionally to the tops of the buildings, their rectangular forms jutting upwards into the inky night sky.
“Vampire,” he said, confirming.
“And who are you? What’s with your accent?”
“I’m Ukrainian,” he said, “brought here when I was very young, and introduced to the world of the living dead decades ago.”
“And the rest of you, those other vampires-, they were Ukrainian too?”
He nodded, his eyes still fixed forward.
“Yes. But those are only some of the vampires in this city. Over a century ago, vampires from different nations came to New York to start new lives, to escape from the stifling decadence of the old world- not to mention to escape the guilds of vampire hunters who lived for nothing other than to drive steaks through our hearts.”
“And the city was fine with this?” she asked, her voice sharp with incredulity.
“More or less. After a decade or so of poaching humans in the city, we were finally uncovered by the authorities. But they knew that short of exposing us and driving us back to Europe, there was nothing they could do. Not to mention, many of our ranks had already risen to positions of prominence in the city. Money goes a long way, even with things of this nature. So all of us, the Ukrainians, the Irish, the Polish, and the Italians, all went to different neighborhoods. Our agreement with the city was that we could only take humans certain times each year.”
Roman weaved around car in front of him, a long, white limousine with dark, opaque windows.
“The city just gives you humans to…to kill? That’s horrible!”
“It beats the alternative,” he said, slicking his glistening hair behind his right ear with the crook between his thumb and his index finger of his right hand.
“So the NYPD knows about all of this?”
Roman chuckled.
“Know? Yes, you could definitely say that. And you would know, too, should you rise to a high enough rank. It’s one of the best-kept secrets in the city.”
Miranda reeled at this information, shocked that the institut
ion that she devoted her life to could be hiding such a secret.
“And me?” Miranda asked, her voice eager. She was surprised that she had gone so long without asking about the changes her own body had gone through over the last day.
“It’s complicated. The man who attacked you was a vampire, as I’m sure you’ve guessed by now. And when I stopped him, he was in process of draining you of your blood. But when the process is interrupted, the human victim can go through certain…changes. Changes similar to what our own bodies are capable of.”
“Then I’m part vampire now?” Miranda asked.
“Something like that. You have enhanced reflexes, and I’m sure you’ve encountered the thoughts of others drifting into your own mind.”
“Yeah, and it’s been a goddamn pain in my ass.”
“You’ll be able to control it, in time. And not everyone who is bitten gains these powers; there’s something unique about certain humans that allows them to gain our strengths. Other women, like yourself, have been…uncovered in the last few months. Many vampires in the city wish to use you as pawns in their own power games. And what’s even stranger is that some of these women have gained these powers without being bitten.”
“And that’s why the vampires from the Europe are here?”
“Yes. Some vampires from the old world are breaking the informal agreement to stay out of our affairs. The one you saw, Madame Moroz, is one of the oldest vampires in the Ukrainian Society. Some say she was turned during the Black Plague.”
Miranda’s head swam at the idea of being hundreds of years old. Part of her wanted to reject what she was hearing, to demand Roman stop the car and let her out, in hopes that she could simply walk away from this strange world that she was now a part of.
Roman turned the car, and Miranda saw that they were now driving through the towering, gleaming residential apartments of the expensive Tribeca area, the dizzyingly-tall, angled form of the World Trade Building looming in the distance.
“And where we going now?”
“A meeting,” he said. “Vampires from the other societies are meeting. This is a turbulent time for us- the usurpers every society seems to be dealing with, the invasion of the old-world vampires, and the women like you. All of these are threatening to rip the New York societies apart.”
Miranda felt a bristling within her at what was going on, that she was expected to just involve herself in the power games of the vampire world.
“And what if I don’t want to be a part of this? What if I just want to go back to my old life?”
Roman snorted.
“You’ve seen the news; they’re going to pin whatever murders they can on you and throw you under the bus. The city has a lot of money to throw around to keep all of this under wraps, and would think nothing of greasing a few palms and tossing a rookie detective to the wolves, so to speak.”
She was right. Miranda thought of Michael, how he spoke against her on the news, seemingly convinced that she was the murderer, and she wondered if they had gotten to him somehow. The thought that her partner would turn on her like that made her sick to her stomach, but nothing was too difficult for her to believe anymore.
Miranda sat in silence, listening to revving of the engine as Roman shifted gears.
“And I suppose you have a plan, right?” she asked.
“Hopefully. We’re going to meet with some members of the other societies and try and come up with a course of action, maybe figure out how to get you out of this whole ‘being-framed-for-murder’ situation. I was hoping open conflict could be avoided, but it’s appearing to be inevitable.”
The car sped on taking one more corner before coming to a halt in the road in front of a tower that Miranda guessed was four-dozen stories high. Roman killed the engine, and the two stepped out of the car, the air cool on Miranda’s face. The front of the building was all glass, and through it Miranda could see the lobby, which was decorated in the standard modern-appointments that all of these luxury condo buildings seemed to have.
They walked into the building, the glass doors parting for them as they approached. Roman blew past the doorman, who began to speak, but stopped short when he saw whom he was speaking to. Miranda followed behind, struggling to keep up with Roman’s long strides. They stepped into the nearest elevator, and Miranda watched as Roman hit the button marked “PH,” for penthouse. As soon as Roman pressed the button, the doors slid shut and the elevator began its upward ascent. Miranda leaned against the cool, metal doors of the elevator, regarding Roman, noting how he always seemed to be wound tight, geared up for a potential conflict.
Soon after, the elevator stopped and emitted a low beep sounding when they reached their floor. Miranda was waiting for the doors to open, readying herself for whatever was to come next.
Chapter 9
Around a dozen men and women were seated around the table in the apartment. All were dressed in suits and other finery, and most had the same waxy, pale complexion as Roman. Miranda walked into the massive expanse of the apartment behind Roman, her steps hesitant and careful. She didn’t know what to expect. Behind the long table of dark, rich wood was a wall of glass that looked out over the glittering stretch of the north side of Manhattan. Looking past the rows of skyscrapers, Miranda could see parts of the rectangle of Central Park, and Harlem beyond. The night sky was smattered with wisps of grey clouds, and not a star could be seen through the light pollution of the city.
“Roman,” said one of the men at the table, a suited man with a shaved head, a face with wide eyes and a small mouth. “You’re here.”
Miranda scanned the rest of the people seated at the table. It was mostly men, and the women that were there seemed to be paired off. There was a couple seated at the table with matching features, both with copper hair, the man’s short and cropped and the girl’s tied in a thick braid that lay draped over her shoulder like a bulky rope. Both had a pallor that was pale beyond the normal wan complexion of the vampires. Miranda surmised that these were vampires from the Irish society.
Another pair sat on the other side of the table, the man and the woman both with dark, coal-colored hair that seemed as fine and smooth as glossed silk. Their skin was a matching olive color, and both were dressed in impeccable, stylish outfits. Miranda figured these were Italians.
Other vampires sat around the table, and while their looks were unique enough to be able to tell them apart at a glance, each had the same waxen complexion and blood-red lips, and each was dressed in smart, well-made business attire. Miranda wondered if she was the only pure human in the group, though how pure remained to be seen.
“This is Miranda Walker,” said Roman, gesturing to her.
“Ah, the murderer-on-the-loose,” said the red-haired man. “I’m Kieran, and this is Nora.”
“Enchanted,” said the pretty, red-haired girl while giving a slight nod of her heart-shaped face.
“Funny, I thought she’d look a little more…unhinged,” said the Italian man.
“You’ll have to excuse my friends,” said Roman, “what they possess in refinement they make up for by lacking in candor.”
Roman walked to the table and pulled out a chair for Miranda, which she slid into, noticing the softness of the seat’s fabric as soon as her back pressed against it.
“Well, wonderful. The gang’s all here,” said the man with the shaved head, his voice vibrating with impatience. “I suppose we can hear about this plan now, or even what, exactly, is the situation with these Old-World fuckers?”
His fingertips placed on the rim of a glass filled with red liquid, he picked up the glass in a jerking motion and took an eager sip.
“Clam it down, Aron,” said the Italian woman. Her voice had the same champagne-glass chill as the other vampires, but was also youthful, with a touch of impudence.
The shaved-head vampire, who Miranda now knew as Aron, waved his hand in a dismissive gesture.
An older man with short, horse-shoe-shaped balding hair and
a silver goatee rose, leaning forward with both hands on the table. Miranda noticed that while he appeared elderly, a youthful spryness was evident in his motion.
“That’s Alexander Nowak, one of the elders from the Polish society,” said Roman to Miranda, leaning in close and speaking in a low whisper. “He’s the leader of this, resistance, if you might call it that.”
“Everyone, calm down,” he said, his voice low and stentorian, his palms open in a halting gesture, “now that we’re all here, we can begin.”
He turned to Roman.
“Roman, please start by telling us of the events of the last day.”
Roman stood, his posture calm but authoritative.
“As we all are aware, Old World vampires have, well,” here he hesitated, taking care to choose the right word. “I think I’m comfortable in calling this an invasion.”
He went on, informing the table of Miranda, what happened to her, how he protected her from being murdered, how they were attacked, and that she was now wanted for the murders that the Old World vampires were responsible for.
The vampires around the table said nothing when Roman finished, and all seemed to be carefully considering the information that they had just been relayed.
“It’s not surprising,” said Kieran, his face grim as his eyes swept from one face to another. “I saw the beginnings of this months ago, when I fought members of the Italian society who sought to impose their rule on the rest of the vampires in the city.”
“Yes, I barely escaped with my life from you Italians,” added Nora, wrapping her delicate, white hand around her braid.
“Then perhaps you shouldn’t have been so careless as to involve yourself in affairs that you knew nothing about,” said the Italian vampire, his voice edged with impatience.
Nora shot the Italian a scowl.
“It’s not as though I had any say in the matter.”
“Alright, enough of this,” said the older man, making a sweeping motion with his hand as though wiping the brewing argument away. “We have more important issues to address than petty squabbling. But an important point is to be addressed- there are those among the New York societies who wish to overthrow the order we have here.”
