Chapter Nine
It was full dark when Ramsey awoke. It was something he hadn't gotten used to yet, the sudden lethargy that engulfed him at the sun's rising, the sense of disorientation when he first woke from the Dark Sleep. How long would it take before he got used to it? Months? Years? He knew that Chiavari was able to move about for short periods after the sun's rising, that he woke before sunset. Something to look forward to, he mused grimly. A benefit of growing older as a vampire.
He showered and dressed, the urge to feed driving him out of the house and into the darkness. . .
The darkness. He had never realized how much he would miss the sun - the feel of it on his skin, the warmth of it, the brightness. Like most people, he had always equated light with goodness, dark with evil. Was he evil now? Candlelight, electric light, firelight: none of them could compare to the natural heat and beauty of the sun. So many things he had once taken for granted: a brisk morning walk, a cup of strong black coffee, the sound of birds singing. Chiavari had stolen them from him just as he had stolen his life, and in return, the vampire had given him an eternity of darkness, inside and out.
He paused at the corner, perusing the front page of a newspaper in one of the vending machines while he waited for the light to change. The headline hit him like a blow to the gut.
They had found the woman he had preyed upon late last night. The fact that her body had been almost drained of blood was related in lurid detail. It was the kind of story that would have fired his instinct to track down and destroy the monster whose pathetic leavings now resided in the city morgue.
Only this time he was the monster.
He swore softly, his guilt rising up to haunt him. He had not meant for her to die, had not meant to take so much, but she had been so sweet, so sweet. Perhaps, if he had taken her to her home and warmed her, offered her something to drink, she would have lived. But the flashing lights of a passing police car had filled him with a sudden panic and he had fled into the shadows. Left alone in the cold, the woman had died. With grim determination, he read the details of her family and life. A life cut all too short. He had not intended to kill her, but she was dead just the same. No matter how long he survived, he would never forget the look of fear in her eyes, the sudden silence when her heart beat its last. No more. He would not kill again. No matter what the cost, no matter if his accursed hunger went unfed and he endured the pains of hell, he would not kill again. He thought of Kelly. Perhaps he could atone for his sin by seeing that she was returned to vigorous health.
He laughed softly, bitterly, at his rationalization. The hunter had become that which he had once hunted.
He had never hesitated to destroy the creatures of the night when he found them. Why had he not destroyed himself? He was no better than those he had hunted. What made him think he deserved to live? Sadly he admitted that he lacked the courage to take his own life. He was ashamed to ask Chiavari for help. But what about Khira?
He dismissed the idea as soon as it formed. She intrigued him even as she filled him with a growing sense of unease. She was an ancient vampire, her powers without compare. Would he become like Khira in time? Indifferent to mortals, incapable of caring whether they lived or died? Once, he would have viewed Khira as the ultimate trophy for the last of the Ramseys - a difficult quarry to be hunted down, staked, beheaded. He would have been as indifferent to her fears as she was to the hapless mortals she hunted. Was he already changing? Would his rationalizations become fewer with each victim until he saw them as nothing more than a ready source of food? Them. In his mind, he had already separated himself from mankind. He was no longer a part of their world, no longer human.
"Edward. "
He swore as Khira materialized beside him. "Damn it," he exclaimed irritably, "don't do that. "
"Aren't you happy to see me?" she asked, pouting prettily.
"Yes, of course. What are you doing here?"
She smiled up at him, her eyes glowing like sapphires. She was outrageously beautiful. The moonlight shimmered in her hair like liquid silver. Her hand was warm on his arm, her skin flushed, her cheeks almost rosy. She had fed recently, he mused, and fed well.
"I felt your thoughts," she said, her voice low and sultry.
"Did you?"
"Indeed. " She tilted her head to one side, her gaze fixed on his. "You've not yet fed. "
An image of the woman lying in his bed at home flashed through his mind. "No. "
Her predatory grin revealed perfect white teeth. "Let us go, then. " She slipped her arm through his. "I find I still have room for dessert. "
Ramsey grunted softly. She had already fed, yet she was eager for more. Chiavari had told him that vampires required less nourishment as they aged. It was not hunger that drove Khira, he thought, but the love of the hunt, the chase. The kill.
Hunt. Chase. Kill. It was easy to get caught up in the excitement of it all. Khira made it seem like fun, hunting the dark streets, chasing her prey. She was the perfect predator. She was not troubled by matters of conscience, didn't worry about right and wrong. Her eyes glowed a clear, bright blue during the chase, glittered a hellish red as she sank her fangs into her prey.
Her eyes blazed like sapphires in the lovemaking that came later, a fierce and tumultuous coupling that burned between them when a different kind of hunger claimed them. . .
Later, when their passion had cooled, she smiled at him, rather like a well-satisfied cat.
"You were as hungry as I," she said softly. "You must have been a long time without a woman. Though not as long as I have been without a man!"
"I will not discuss that with you," he said flatly as, unheeded, an image of Katherine rose in his mind. Katherine, young and innocent, a victim of the kind of monster he himself had become. . .
"Shh. . . " Khira placed a finger gently against his lips, and he knew she was reading his thoughts. "We have all had losses, mi amour . The Dark Gift never comes without its price. "
Her gaze turned inward, and something like regret crossed her flawless features. Then she smiled again, and he wondered if he she was capable of feeling anything other than a lust for blood. And flesh.
And then she fixed him with her glowing gaze. "The first thing a vampire must learn is to dispose of the remains. You were careless with that kill. The one reported in the press. Did you learn anything from tonight?"
Ramsey met her harsh gaze with one of his own. "Far more than I ever wanted to," he said grimly.
"Ahh. . . " A long sigh escaped her lips. "Do not spoil this moment for us. Who knows when, if ever, it will come again?" She stared at him, her expression speculative. "While you struggle with your quite active conscience, pay attention to what I say. A careless vampire is a danger to us all, Edward. " She ran a long, blood-red nail down the side of his neck, the implied threat very clear. "Do you understand?"
Ramsey nodded. "It won't happen again. "
She kissed him lightly on the lips, then rose from the bed, graceful as a cat, to slip into her carelessly discarded clothing. "See that it doesn't," she whispered - and vanished from his sight.
The girl, Kelly, was awake when he got back to his house. Though it had grieved him to do so, he had tied her hands to the bedpost to ensure that she would be there when he returned.
She stared at him through frightened green eyes when he entered the bedroom. "Where am I?" she asked, her voice weak. "Who are you? What are you going to do with me?"
"You have nothing to fear. "
She tugged on the rope binding her wrist. "Don't I?"
Moving to the bed, he released her hands, knew a moment of guilt as she massaged her wrists. The skin was red and slightly swollen.
"I'm sorry," he murmured.
"You're not an angel, are you?"
"A dark angel, perhaps," he remarked, his gaze meeting hers. "Are you strong enough to stand
? I've brought you something to eat. "
"Who are you?"
"Edward. "
She looked at him warily when he offered her his hand.
"You have nothing to fear, Kelly," he said, and hoped it was true.
She hesitated a moment more, then placed her hand in his and let him draw her to her feet. He led her down a dark hallway, through a living room furnished with a black leather couch and matching chair. The end tables were also black. There was no light in the room save that provided by the fire burning in the hearth. The kitchen was painted white. The appliances were mirrored black and looked new. A covered tray waited on a small round table.
She sat down, her stomach growling as he uncovered the tray to reveal a bowl of vegetable soup. There was a thick steak, rare, and mashed potatoes, beets, a slice of corn bread dripping with butter and honey. And a large piece of apple pie for dessert.
"I did not know if you preferred coffee or milk," he said, "so I ordered both. "
Kelly nodded. "Thank you. Aren't you going to eat?" She felt a chill slide down her spine as his gaze moved to her throat.
"Perhaps later," he said with an ambiguous smile.
She felt uncomfortable eating while he watched. He hovered over her, reminding her of a vulture. The steak was very rare, thick, and juicy. He licked his lips as she cut into it.
She turned her attention to the meal, always aware of the man standing nearby.
Ramsey took a deep breath. Needing a distraction, he went into the living room and turned on the television. Sitting in the easy chair, he flipped through the channels, pausing when he heard the name Dracul. A female reporter stood outside the gates of a mansion, informing the public that Prince Dracul, well-known rock star, had disappeared.
He frowned. Dracul was a young vampire masquerading as a human. Had someone discovered the singer's true identity and destroyed him? Was there another accomplished vampire hunter in the area? Or was it merely some sort of ploy to gain media attention?
Thoughts of Dracul faded, overshadowed by the enticing scent of the girl in the next room. Her heartbeat echoed in his ears, he felt his own heart begin to beat in rhythm with hers, felt his fangs lengthen as the hunger stirred to life within him.
He had just fed; he had no need to do so again. And yet he rose to his feet, unable to resist the siren call of her blood. Khira's facetious remark about having room for dessert crossed his mind.
The girl looked up at him, fear reflected in her eyes. "No! No, don't. "
But he was past hearing, past caring about anything but the need roaring through him. The pain. . .
She ran for the door, but he caught her easily. He gathered her into his arms, his mind seeking to calm hers. She fought him, her nails raking his cheek, until he bent her will to his.
When she lay pliant in his embrace, reason asserted itself above blood hunger. The woman had just eaten; there had been no time for her metabolism to have converted the food to life-giving strength. She was still weak. He had vowed just this night to exercise restraint. . . and failed. Had witnessed the extinction of yet another human life, had shared in its extinction.
Khira had said if he wanted to keep his "little human" alive he needed to treat her well, feed her well, ensure she was strong enough for his purpose. It was time for him to prove he was strong enough to do so. No more killing. It was time to make good on his vow.
Gently he carried her to her bed and tucked her in.
He stalked the dark streets, his mind filled with the memory of the horror in the girl's eyes as he had bent over her. He had seen enough bloodthirsty vampires to know how he must have looked to her, his skin taut, as pale as old parchment, his eyes glowing hellishly red and hungry. She had screamed when she saw his fangs, struggled against him until he took control of her thoughts.
He lifted a hand to his face. She had raked her nails across his cheek hard enough, deep enough, to draw blood, yet the scratches were already healed.
He had no need to hunt, but he prowled the night restlessly. He wasn't surprised when he found himself standing in front of Chiavari's house. Taking a deep breath, he climbed the steps, knocked on the door.
"Edward. " Marisa smiled, surprised to see him.
"Is Chiavari home?"
"No, but he'll be back in a few minutes. "
"Do you mind if I wait?"
"Of course not. " She stepped back. "Come in. I was just fixing myself something to eat. "
He followed her into the kitchen. It was a large room, painted a pale, pale yellow. White curtains covered the windows. There was a small table for two in one corner.
She gestured at a chair. "Sit down. "
His vampire senses automatically separated and cataloged the domestic odors of the kitchen: frying chicken, flour and cooking oil, potatoes and corn, soap and cleanser. And, over all, the warm, womanly, mortal scent of Marisa herself.
She slid a pan of biscuits in the oven, then took the chair across from him. "How've you been, Edward?"
He shrugged. Only a few weeks a vampire, yet it seemed like centuries since he had tasted solid food.
"Fried chicken used to be one of my favorites," he said wistfully. ' 'Now just the smell of it makes me sick to my stomach. "
She laid a hand on his arm. "I'm sorry. "
He gazed down at her hand on his arm, saying nothing.
"Edward? Is something wrong?"
He blew out a deep breath. "Are you happy with him?"
"Is that why you came here?" she exclaimed softly. "To find out if I was happy?"
"I don't know. Are you?"
"Yes, very happy. I love him, Edward. "
Her words cut through him like a knife. He wanted to grab her, shake her, make her love him instead. He gazed deep into her eyes, felt the Dark Gift unfold within him, fueled by frustrated love and lust. She loved a vampire, did she? Then why not him? His power flowed through the room, gathering like storm clouds. His vampire senses expanded, filling with the sight of her, the scent of her. Desire welled within him - not a desire for blood, but for the feel of her in his arms. Caught in the web of his power, she was his for the taking. She leaned slowly across the table toward him, her gaze cloudy and unfocused. . .
"That's enough!"
Ramsey jerked backward as Chiavari's voice cut across the thick stillness.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Grigori glared down at Ramsey, his black eyes smoldering with fury.
Marisa blinked up at her husband. "What's wrong? What happened?"
"Nothing. Ramsey was just leaving. "
Ramsey pushed away from the table and stood up, never taking his eyes from Chiavari. Chiavari's rage was a frightful thing to see. He felt his own power rise to the challenge. He had been close to death before, he thought, but never as close as he was now. The tension in the room was palpable.
Confused but sensing the danger, Marisa started to rise, but Chiavari put a hand on her shoulder. "Stay here, cara . I will see him out. "
Without taking his gaze from Chiavari's face, Ramsey made a courtly bow in Marisa's direction. "Forgive me," he murmured, "I must be going. "
He stalked out of the room, with Chiavari close on his heels.
"What the hell was going on in there?" Chiavari demanded when they reached the street.
Ramsey shook his head. "Nothing. I. . . " He ran a hand through his hair. "I loved her, damn it. She should have been mine. "
Fury emanated from Chiavari like heat from a forest fire. When he spoke, his voice was a low growl. "So you came here to seduce her with the Dark Power?"
"No. " Ramsey shook his head. "I came to see you. I don't know what happened in there. I. . . " He began to pace the sidewalk in short, jerky steps. "Sitting there with her, I remembered how much I wanted her, and I knew I could make her
love me. . . knew I could make her forget you. . . Damn! What is happening to me?"
Grigori took a deep, calming breath. "One does not adjust to being Vampyre overnight, Ramsey. Give yourself some time. What did you want to see me about?"
"I can't go on like this. I want you to destroy me. Now. Tonight. "
"What has happened?"
"Happened?" Ramsey repeated. "Happened? You happened! You saw what happened in there! I can't go on like this. Damn it, you did this to me. Now undo it!"
"Calm down, Ramsey, it has been but a few weeks. Give yourself some time. "
"Time. " Ramsey groaned. "I feel it weighing down on me like the earth that should cover my grave. I can't bear an eternity of this. I can't and I won't!"
"Calm down. "
"I am calm! Damn it, you've killed before. Why not me? You made a mistake. I'm not cut out to be a vampire. Now undo it. Release me from this accursed existence!"
"It can be a good life, if you let it. Think of all you will see, experience, as this new century unfolds! And the next one. . . "
"Damn you!" Past reason, past hope, Ramsey lunged at Chiavari, determined either to kill the creature who had bequeathed this curse. . . or be killed.
They struggled in silence. The ancient blood that ran through Ramsey's veins gave him a strength almost equal to Chiavari's. For a moment, he almost believed he would win. But Chiavari had more than physical strength on his side; he had experience and a cool head.
Breathless, Ramsey quickly found himself on the sidewalk, flat on his back, Chiavari's fangs only inches from his throat. "Do it," he urged. "Do it!"
Chiavari's eyes blazed like hell's own fury. Ramsey felt strangely peaceful, awaiting the end. Then, as if someone had banked the fires, the rage faded from Chiavari's gaze.
He stared down at Ramsey with preternatural calm. "Are you ready to listen now?"
"Damn you. "
"Give it some time," Chiavari said. "Six months. Then, if you still want to die, come and see me. "
Ramsey started to speak, but before he could form the words, Chiavari was gone.
Ashamed and humiliated, Ramsey gained his feet. He could not endure this for another six months, not for another six days. He would not!
He was a vampire hunter, a destroyer of the undead. He was now a vampire. And he would do what he had been born and raised to do. Do what he should have done from the beginning.
Destroy the vampire.