The Vampire's Resolve

by Martha Woods

  A lump forms in my throat and though I try to swallow it away, it grows until the tears well in my eyes and overflow onto my cheeks. “Damon,” I choke out. “I am so sorry. I’m so sorry for making you feel like you have to fight for the scraps. Like you always have to compete with him. I’m sorry.”

  He reaches out and we hold hands across the table. He meets my eyes. “Amy, it wasn’t you. You gave me what you could. I just couldn’t accept that you could love him, too. But I don’t care about that anymore. Love him if you must. I mean…you are bonded to him and maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe it means that you’re protected. He will never let someone hurt you, if he can help it. I can’t hate him for that.”

  “I don’t deserve you,” I say. I clear my throat. “Alexis, she’s…she’s into you. Maybe you should…”

  “Amy,” he says. “No. She’s not…I don’t feel that way about her. I love you. I want you. Even if I have to share you.”

  I sniffle for a while, finally saying, “I had this really vivid dream last night. That we talked and made love…”

  He smiles at this. “I remember it. I came back because of it.”

  “I’m glad you did,” I say.

  “Also…I…I could sense how powerful you are. Amy, you are holding yourself back. I don’t have the sight in this plane, but there, away from the real world, I could see it. You are bursting with power. And when you tap into it…well, I’m not sure that there is anyone who will be able to stop you.”

  “I sure wish I could tap into this vast power everyone thinks I have,” I say. “So far, not much action in that department. However, I have a new warlock friend – this guy Tariq who’s been holding down the fort for Faye this week – and he says that the bond between Vincent and me should sharpen both of our abilities. I’m just not sure what that means, or how it will manifest. Or how to tap into it. The last time I tried to get help, it didn’t work out so well.”

  “This Tariq…he’s a warlock, you say? How does he know about bonding?” Damon asks.

  “He was bonded with a werewolf but she died,” I say. “He is self-trained and can control the elements. He got us both out of quite a situation the other night.”

  I tell him about the rally, about Quick. We start talking about the case and what I now know about the two Quicks, about the plan, and about the two ultimatums I have received.

  “I know you came home wanting us to run away together,” I say. “And I would but…”

  “But nothing,” Damon says. “You need to stay and fight. I know this is who you are, that you can’t just walk away and leave things to unfold into chaos. You care about people too much to do that. I know that now.”

  “To fight him, though…” I say, shaking my head. “I have no plan, Damon. And I have Rick on my case. The werewolves are ready to kill witches on sight. The vampires simply can’t be trusted not to play games. I can’t see a clear path to uniting everyone to work together. And if they agreed to work together, how could we tell which witches are on our side, and which ones are on Quick’s? It’s not like they’re wearing special t-shirts or something.”

  “Well, we will have to work together and figure this out. No one wants a war and no one wants to be exterminated in a mass genocide. So let’s start with that.”

  “Do you think there is any way we can get the Hunters on board?” I ask.

  “Not really,” he says. “Most of them would retire to the Caribbean if all of the creatures got wiped out. They would probably fight on Quick’s side just to help it all happen faster.”

  “But they would be okay with some new breed of witch out there?” I ask.

  “Not sure. Witches have never really posed a problem in our world,” he says.

  “I guess we just need to keep thinking. Maybe make some inquiries and see if we can get the heads of the dens and covens together to talk about working together?”

  “Sure, sounds like a plan.”

  I give him a weak smile. “I have missed you.”

  “Me too,” he says.

  I stand and make my way to his side of the table. I sit on his lap and he pulls me to his chest. He looks around the room and says, “You know, this room makes you look a little bit crazy. It’s like something you’d find in a serial killer’s closet or something in the movies.”

  I laugh. “Yes, I am aware of the level of crazy this shows. But I needed to put my thoughts down somewhere. I needed to look at them and try to make sense of them.”

  “It’s okay. I like your crazy,” he says.

  He pulls me into a tight hug, a hug I wasn’t aware I needed until just this moment. It feels so good that I let myself melt into him, tears leaking from my eyes.

  “Why are you crying?” he asks softly.

  “I missed you,” I say.

  “Oh, well, I missed you too,” he says.

  “And this is all very overwhelming. I miss the days when life felt normal.”

  “As normal as life gets for a person who looks at dead bodies for a living,” he says, trying to lighten the mood.

  “Says the guy who kills creatures for a living,” I say, pulling away.

  Damon’s smirk fades into a look of pure love and caring. He wipes an errant tear away from my cheek with his thumb. Suddenly, my face and his face are very close, and then his lips are on mine and I forget that I was hungry. I forget that I was sad, or angry. Everything melts away as Damon kisses me.

  “I missed this mouth,” he says, leaning in for another deep kiss, his tongue finding mine.

  One of his hands finds my ass and he gives a squeeze. “I miss this ass,” he says.

  “Keep it up, buster,” I joke, a little breathlessly.

  “Gladly.” He grins against my mouth.

  We kiss some more. It feels like we are teenagers, just learning and exploring each other. It feels like we are meeting for the first time again, the butterflies in my stomach just as strong as the first time we kissed. How is it that he does this to me?

  At some point, I move so that I am straddling him, his hard-on grinding against my crotch as I move my hips. My breasts rub against his chest, only the thin fabric of my sports bra and workout top between us. I feel like an animal as the desire unfurls, grunts and groans escaping the back of my throat as we continue to make out there on the kitchen chair. It’s almost better than the actual deed, so hot and sensuous.

  Damon stands and puts me on the table, pulling desperately at my pants, at his pants. I grasp desperately at my sports bra to pull it up, over my shoulders and head, my breasts freed, my nipples hardening in the air. I reach out and wrap a hand around his throbbing cock, pushing up and down the shaft as he moans. His mouth covers my nipple, bites a little, and I arch into him, wanting more.

  I’m so wet as he pushes his fingers inside of me. This alone could make me come. I want to come. I’m so close…

  And then the pain is blinding. My head feels like it might crack in two and I cry out, my hands going to my temples. I crawl onto my side, gasping for breath as Damon says my name, asks what’s wrong.

  I have no idea how much time passes, but eventually, the pain dulls, leaving only a throbbing on my finger, where the bond’s mark resides.

  It takes a moment for my vision to clear as I sit up. I look at Damon, pain etched on my face, and I say, “I think it’s the bond,” I say. “I think we can’t…”

  Chapter 12

  Damon and I end up taking a shower together. He insists, even though I know he just took one. I enjoy being physically close to him, and decide that just because we can’t have sex, doesn’t mean we can’t get off.

  I end up using the shower spray as a vibrator, spreading my pussy lips with my hands, letting the spray hit my clit as Damon jacks off. It doesn’t take me long to get off, and as soon as I do, he follows. It’s not as good as the real thing, but we’ll take it.

  After we finish and dry off, my hunger gets the best of me, so I make a sandwich and we sit on the couch watching a movie. It is such
a normal, easy thing to do. And it is unlike me to sit and watch a movie while there is work to do – important work since I now have only forty-three hours to make a decision about Rick and about Quick. But I need normal for just a moment. I need to breathe and take advantage of a moment of quiet.

  * * *

  A moment of quiet that lasts only until Vincent shows up.

  There is a knock on the door. A very human, normal knock. When I open it, I expect Alexis, but no, it is Vincent. His eyes are dark with desire.

  “Um,” I say awkwardly, looking back over my shoulder at Damon, who sits forward on the couch, ready to fight as his lifelong distrust of creatures rears its head. “Hi?”

  “I felt your arousal, Amy,” he says. His eyes move from my face, over my shoulder, settling on Damon. “I believe we need to talk.”

  “Let’s step outside,” I say.

  “I think he means me,” Damon says.

  Vincent nods, still staring a hole into Damon.

  I roll my eyes. “Fine,” I say.

  Damon doesn’t make a move to get up, so Vincent walks in and sits down on the couch beside him. They look very awkward together that it almost makes me laugh. Almost. I can feel that my face has twisted into an expression of some sort. I’m not sure if it’s one of amusement or concern, though I certainly feel both.

  “I guess you win,” Damon says after a few heavy moments of silence.

  “I win?” Vincent asks. “What does that mean?”

  “I tried to make love to my girlfriend, but that bond you talked her into kept me from it. So I guess you win.”

  Vincent tilts his head. “I am bonded for eternity to Amy,” Vincent says. “And yet she chose to be close to another man. She found pleasure with another man. How is that a win, to use your expression?”

  “Maybe you should just stay out of her head,” Damon suggests. “You know, let her have some privacy.”

  “Maybe you should honor the fact that she made a choice to bond with me, and that she knew that bond was permanent and irrevocable,” Vincent counters.

  “Maybe you two should stop talking about me like I am not here,” I say.

  Vincent shoots me a sharp look. “You have betrayed our bond,” he says.

  “Well, it’s not like there was fine print to read,” I say. “It’s not like you told me I could never have sex with another man again.”

  “I would have thought that would have been implied,” he says.

  I level him with a stare. He has the decency to look down at his lap. When he looks back up he says, “Perhaps our expectations of what this bond means were not clearly communicated on either side.”

  “Ya think?” I ask sharply.

  “All I’ve got to say is ‘Welcome to the club, buddy.’ Every time I’m not around, she runs to you. I’d say turnabout is fair play,” Damon says, sitting back on the couch, putting his hands behind his head. He looks relaxed and comfortable but I know better. He could strike at any moment.

  “Vincent,” I say. “I chose to bond with you because you told me it would keep me safe from other vampires who might try to use me for my abilities.”

  “And that is true,” Vincent answers. “I did not lie.”

  “Well, that may be the case, but you certainly omitted the truth a bit, I say. “You just forgot to mention that you can’t enter the bond without love, and that my entering the bond prevents me from having sex with anyone but you. Pretty big things to leave out of the contract, don’t you think?”

  “Wait,” Damon says, narrowing his eyes at Vincent, “You love her?”

  Vincent says, “I do.”

  Damon laughs maniacally at this. “That’s rich,” he says between heaving laughter, “The vampire thinks he’s in love?”

  “And what do you know of love, human?” Vincent asks. “You nearly killed the woman you claim to love and instead of staying to assure her safety and care, you fled. You left.”

  “Don’t act like you know a thing about me or why I do things, vampire,” Damon says, baring his teeth.

  “I would ask the same,” Vincent says. “All you know is hate. Hate for my kind. Hate for anyone not like you. It’s a wonder you do not hate Amy, as she is also a creature.”

  “Witches are human,” Vincent says.

  “Hmm,” is Vincent’s only response to the comment. Somehow this makes me feel incredibly unsettled. Anxious. Enough so that I decide I need to let these boys work out their junk without me.

  I wander to the bedroom and pull on running gear. It’s late but I don’t care. I have got to get out of this house, away from this pissing match.

  As I head to the door, both men look at me expectantly.

  “Work it out for yourselves,” I say. “I care about you both but neither of you are perfect and I won’t sit here listening to you talk about me as if you’re working out a custody arrangement. I do what I want and neither of you controls me. So figure out how to work together if you want to be in my life.”

  At that, I slam the door and take off running.

  I run hard, pushing myself to the limit for about three miles, and then turning around for home. It’s only the pushing, making one foot go in front of the other, pushing my legs to pump harder, forcing my breath to stay steady, that keeps my anxiety at bay. There is too much going on right now. Too many things to worry about, and these men being territorial is at the bottom of the list.

  I hear screams as I get within a mile or so of home. I veer toward sounds of screaming and growling.

  As I skid around the corner to a darkened alleyway, I find a young witch cowering against a brick wall, her arms up over her face as two werewolves have her cornered, their maws open and teeth bared. Her legs are scraped up, one so deeply gashed that I think I can see the white of bone peeking out.

  One lunges, sharp canines scraping at her arms. She screams and he lunges again, putting a deep gouge in her exposed forearm. The smell of blood fills the air and he jumps again, this time trying to knock her arms away, trying to hit the sweet spot of her jugular. It is a vicious sight that turns my stomach. I need to do something before she ends up as dinner for these two.

  “Leave her alone!” I yell.

  The wolves turn, exposing piercing teeth at me, snarling in warning. One shimmers a bit and shifts into human form. He’s big and barrel-chested, with scars all over his naked torso. His hair is long and stringy. He gives me a wolf’s smile.

  “Who are you to tell us what to do?” he asks as they both advance slowly.

  “What reason do you two have to attack someone like this?” I ask.

  “What reason, other than the fact that she’s a filthy witch?”

  “Has she done something to you?” I ask. “Has she threatened you in some way?”

  “Does it matter?” he asks, his head tilted, a placid smile on his face. “Witches are plotting to wipe our kind off the earth. The dens are taking this matter into their own hands. Witches will not be allowed to live, lest they go on to join this genocide.”

  “So you would turn the genocide on witches?” I ask.

  “We’ll kill every witch in California if we have to,” the man says.

  I see the shimmer of change, but I’m still not totally ready when he shifts, the two wolves jumping at me as soon as he is back in animal form. I put up my hands as I fall to my rear, fully expecting to be ravaged by teeth and sheer, brute strength.

  But the attack doesn’t come, in its place a pulse of white power that comes from my palms, a ripple that feels like it nearly shatters our plane of existence. It blasts the wolves back, one knocked out cold, the other struggling to rise and falling back down again, dazed.

  It takes me a moment to figure out what just happened. That blast was like a bomb going off, strong enough to blow over the trash bins in the alley. My ears pop a few times.

  My head is fuzzy so it takes me a minute to get up and look around. I see the wolves and decide that getting the injured witch out of here is more important than
thinking about what this means, this new ability.

  “Can you walk?” I ask. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

  “I…I think so,” she says, her face contorted in pain.

  I wrap an arm around her and shuffle her forward. “Push through it,” I say. “Let’s get you out of here. I have no idea when they will wake up.”

  We go as fast as we can, and as we near my apartment building, I feel fairly certain the wolves aren’t following for now, but they can easily follow our trail. This girl has lost a lot of blood along the way.

  “Who are you?” the young woman asks.

  “My name is Amy McCartney,” I say. “I’m also a witch.”

  “I’ve heard of you,” she says. “You’re the one in the newspapers, investigating those murders.”

  “I am,” I say. “And you are?”

  “Tabitha,” she says.

  “Tabitha,” I say, “Why were they after you? Are you part of Quick’s group?”

  “Who is Quick?” she asks. “I was just…I was testing out my powers. I seem to be able to teleport? It’s something that’s just developing. My – my mom is a witch. She’s like an herbal expert. Makes potions? So I’ve trained with her, but other abilities…I just didn’t think I had any. But then, maybe a few weeks ago, I just blinked out and came to in a whole other place.”

  “So you ended up in that alley by accident?” I ask.

  She nods. “I was practicing at home. I meant to only go one street over but I ended up…where am I exactly?” She looks around, her eyes still slightly unfocused.

  I tell her where we are and she nods. “Wow. Not at all close to where I meant to go. Those two saw me blink into the space. They just attacked on sight. No warning. Not that I would’ve been able to do anything anyway. I’m always a little disoriented right after I move from one place to another.”

  “How old are you?” I ask as we finally make our way into my building.

  “Nineteen,” she says.

  “You’re pretty badly injured,” I say. “I have a healer I can call to help.”