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A Stranger Feast
Copyright 2008 by Melissa Kesead
Smashwords Edition
Prologue
She walks in beauty like the night-
Lord Byron
William Bennington smiled as Stasha approached him, his eyes sparkling with delight at the sight of his companion, his lover. “The night suits you so well,” he growled as he pulled her close, feeling every curve of her body mould to his.
“I know,” she said haughtily and tore herself from him, her crimson silk dress swishing around her ankles as she walked swiftly away, not bothering to see if he was following.
“So you want to play, do you?” his disembodied voice whispered, never in the same place for more than a moment. “Well then, let’s do.” William’s laughter grew louder, she felt his breath on her neck and then he was gone.
Stasha walked on, past the closed greasy spoons and pawn shops, alone except for the occasional tourist who, if lucky, caught a fleeting glimpse of an extraordinarily beautiful woman with flowing auburn tresses and ivory skin. Otherwise, the night belonged to her.
She soon arrived at their destination, a club called The Conquest. The pink neon lights gave her skin a strange glow as she passed through the black double doors. The music’s rhythm coursed through her body and her lips curled into a smile of anticipation as to what the evening could bring.
Walking into the main bar she felt eyes upon her, among them William’s. She glided toward him, a seductive smile on her face, but at the last moment caught the eye of a beautiful man in black and so turned away in one swift movement.
William watched her go, his awareness heightening, knowing that The Game had begun. Before him stood a young girl, perhaps twenty-four, her blonde hair a match to his own. His hazel eyes stared fixedly on her and he cocked his head slightly toward her, pretending to be intently interested in what she was saying. He smiled at her and she returned it, her painted pink lips parting just far enough for him to see the tip of her tongue. He could feel her heart quicken and relished the thump, thump of its rhythm. “Your move,” he whispered, his eyes turning to Stasha.
She swayed on the dance floor, her arms clasped tightly around the neck of the man in black, her body pressed against his. She shut her eyes and gasped, hand pressed against his jugular vein, feeling the life-giving blood pumping faster and faster.
“Take me home,” she whispered, looking into the large brown eyes of the stranger.
“Certainly,” he replied, a hint of excitement in his voice.
William saw them leave and persuaded the girl to come to his apartment for a cocktail. They left immediately, William intent on reaching the flat at the same time Stasha did.
She arrived home moments before he and as he walked through the door heard her call from the dining room. “Won’t you join us?”
William led the girl through the candlelit hallway until they stood next to Stasha and her handsome companion.
“What shall we drink to,” the man said, his eyes roaming over Stasha.
She turned toward William and raised her glass. “Pleasure, what else.”
After they had finished their token drink, they walked slowly down the hallway, each holding the hand of their companion, leading them to the spacious room they shared. They entered by different doorways, the large room having been divided by a wall of mirrored glass. It ran down the middle, splitting the empress-size bed in half and creating two separate areas.
William and Stasha moved as one, their bodies in harmony, and their thoughts flowing fluidly from one to the other. They undressed themselves and then their companions, clothes falling like whispers. As they lay their victims down, each playing the dominant role, they could feel the hunger building, yearning to be set free. Stasha straddled the stranger, moving fluidly upon him, her back arched and her hands clasped in his. William thrust inside the girl; each thrust a mirror image to Stasha’s. As each felt the hunger reaching a crescendo, a cry of “Wall” could be hard from both sides. As the mirrored glass rose, their inhuman eyes met and they descended upon their startled victims with fangs bared and drank greedily upon the blood, both still coupling with the strangers, still lost in the act, until life departed like a fleeing thief.
Stasha turned toward William, blood gleaming crimson on her milky white breasts, and they crawled toward each other, lust reflected in their eyes, eager to quench the fire of passion that still burned within.
CHAPTER ONE
The night engulfed her, embraced her like a lover, enfolding her in its velvet arms as she walked the empty streets. Swings squeaked in the playground on her left as if invisible children sat in them, their legs pumping furiously toward the stars. She thought back to when she used to swing as a child in her frilly dresses and black patent leather shoes. She would swing all day long, higher and higher, the sun making her auburn hair glow with fiery tints. But that was long ago; very long. Now she could barely remember how the sun felt on her upturned face, or how happy she used to be when she was lucky enough to see a rainbow stretched across the sky, a gateway to the elusive pot of gold. It’s best not to try and remember. There is only pain in remembering.
“It’s a beautiful day here at WCRX 97.3, Franksburg, South Carolina. Temperature’s at a steady 80 degrees and there’s just the slightest breeze coning in from the north. Weather is going to be pleasant for the rest of the day with the low tonight getting down to about 71. As for Friday...” The radio droned on as thirteen year-old Stasha and her little brother Geoffrey played tag around the weeping willows and through the colorful rose garden, being careful not to step on any of Momma’s prize-winning flowers.
“I’m still faster than you, Geoffrey Bene’” Stasha yelled as she jumped over the yellow Tonka truck her brother had left in the middle of the yard. She looked back over her shoulder to see if he was close behind her and didn’t see Hurricane sprawled out on the lawn, sleeping. Landing face down in the soft, pungent grass, Stasha turned over just in time to see Geoffrey flying through the air before he landed on her. Hurricane thought it was a good idea too and joined in, slobbering on both of them.
“Get your mangy mutt off of me,” she cried in disgust, throwing her hands over her face for protection.
“He’s your dog too!” Geoffrey spouted.
“Is not. I wanted a Dalmatian but, no, we had to get a stupid black lab. What Geoffrey wants, Geoffrey gets.” She angrily stalked off toward the house, wiping her face and dress where Hurricane had slobbered.
The next year it was the same. And the next. It wasn’t that Stasha wasn’t given the best; on the contrary. She was given the best clothing, best education, and the best personal servants; the best that money can buy. It may have been all right for her mother and father when they were growing up. They seemed to thrive in the money soaked atmosphere with the fancy cars and doting servants. Geoffrey didn’t seem to mind it either, but she did. They had her life all planned out for her already and it seemed that she didn’t have a say. Of course all the Bene’ girls went to Wellington Academy as well as all the boys going to the military academy in Charleston. It was the same with the Devereaux’, her mothers family. That’s where her mother and father met, at one of the many functions the schools threw. If she recalled correctly, it was the Spring Formal. Their theme that year had been One Enchanted Evening.
Her father had gone to the dance with every intention of not enjoying himself. Even his friends thought of the dance as an obligation rather than an opportunity for fun. But Jimmy McMillan, his best friend and roommate, had spotted his girlfriend across the dance floor and had dragged her father over to meet her. And next to Jimmy’s girlfriend had been her mother. He had shyly asked her to dance and the rest was history. Their romance had lasted through their last two years of school and one blustery summer night he had proposed to her under the stars. Etc....etc.... She had heard the story told so many times she knew every detail by heart, and that was more than she ever had wanted to know. And here she was, having to follow in their footsteps. Whoopee. She wanted to go to Wellington about as much as a pig wants to go to the slaughterhouse.
It really wasn’t fair. Didn’t she have a say as to how she was going to spend the rest of her life? Did her parents really think that all she wanted to do was mingle with the other wealthy children and then fall in love with some rich idiot whose sole ambition is to become a politician?
Not likely. Anastasha Brigetta Bene’ was a child of adventure and love. She had a hunger for life growing within her that could not be controlled by the posh plantation house or the pretty dresses or the servants. She wanted real life experience; danger, excitement, adventure; and she was determined to have it.
CHAPTER TWO
It was the night of her sixteenth birthday that she finally left. Her parents had invited all the relatives that they were able to reach and the house was jammed with aunts and uncles, nieces, nephews, cousins, grandparents and so forth. And let’s not forget Geoffrey. He acted as if this soiree was in his honor, sucking up to his father’s friends, especially Senator McMillan with whom Father wanted the promise of a position on his campaign board this summer.
Stasha sighed as she slipped into the strapless powder blue formal her dear mother had purchased just for her birthday.
“Why do they have to go all out to celebrate every damn occasion that happens to this family, Leda? Why couldn’t I have a normal birthday party like everyone else?” She whirled around to face Leda, her combination servant and nanny all rolled into one, who stood there with a look of exasperation on her face.
“I don’t know, Stasha,” she answered with barely a hint of her German accent. “That’s the way your family is. Why not enjoy it while you’re young, eh? Besides, pretty soon you’ll be at an age where you won’t have to attend unless you want to. Cheer up! It’s not the end of the world.”
Stasha barely heard her. Her answers were all the same. She knew Leda meant well, had always meant well, but it wasn’t enough. She sat there, silently thinking about her escape as Leda twined a thick braid down her back with midnight blue ribbons to match her eyes.
“You look beautiful,” her mother gushed as she came down the stairs, making her birthday entrance. The compliment fell on deaf ears.
Stasha stopped for a moment and glanced over the crowd that had gathered to watch her descent, lingering from time to time upon favorite relatives and friends.
“After tonight this will all be behind me,” she thought to herself and was surprised to find tears welling in her eyes.
The evening seemed endless, dragging further with each kiss, each hello, and each gift. Of course she had to greet all two hundred guests personally. And then there was the obligatory comment about their family, their daughter in preschool, their dog. Her mother flitted about, the ever-present social butterfly, twittering to anyone and everyone.
“There’s something I won’t miss,” Stasha sneered as she watched her mingle.
She couldn’t wait for the moment when she could slip from the party, change into some nondescript clothes and slip out into the twilight and away from this life.
The moment arrived minutes after the last gift was opened. The orchestra struck up with a syrupy-sweet Sixteen Candles, she danced with her father, holding him to her for the last time, and then slipped through the crowd.
Twilight. What a perfect time to begin her journey. Stasha looked up to the sky and smiled at the crescent moon.
“Hello Mr. Moon. Guide my way ‘til morning light. Guardian stars, keep me safe and happy with your merry twinkling.”
She walked the back roads endlessly, her jubilation keeping her light on her feet and full of energy. She was sorry that she had to leave her convertible behind (one of her many gifts from mom and dad), but it would be too easy for her parents to track her if she had been driving it. Oh well, traveling on foot would give her more character and would be more of an adventure than being able to drive wherever she wanted. Occasionally, in the first few hours, a car would come by and she would duck behind a tree for fear her parents were looking for her already. She was pretty sure they weren’t, though. They would be too caught up in the party to notice until morning. By then she would be long gone. It was just her and the night now, walking in harmony.
CHAPTER THREE
The traveler must be born again on the road, and earn a passport from the elements-
Henry David Thoreau
Sixteen-year-old Stasha traveled through South Carolina by way of the coast, staying at out-of -the-way inns with the money from her substantial savings. She had stashed away her allowances without either of her parents knowing, only keeping out the bare minimum she needed to get a soda now and then after school. Not even Leda knew where she kept it. On her twelfth birthday she had been given a giant panda and for three years she had stuffed money into a hole she had made in the back of its neck. She just lifted up its head and shoved the money down inside. Once in a while she would have to remove more stuffing, but otherwise it was the perfect hiding place.
She kept close to the sea as she roamed because it was full of the life and beauty she so desperately sought. Often she would sleep on a secluded stretch of beach underneath her guardians. Steadily rolling in, the waves would lull her to sleep, reassuring her that things would be all right.
The Fourth of July crept up on her when she was in the small town of Gladwin, Kentucky. She had deviated from her course, remembering that her mother had told her about the rolling hills and beautiful horses. Mother was right.
She celebrated Independence Day in the heart of Gladwin, reveling in the excitement and energy that flowed around her. So much life and so many free spirits. She was so glad to be away from the pettiness and jealousy that seemed to surround families like hers. Someone was always stabbing someone else in the back. But not here. These people were real. She almost decided to settle here but it didn’t feel just right. There was a place that would call to her. She knew it.
Stasha remained a week, soaking up the friendliness and hospitality before she had to move on. And sadly, she did. She moved on, a year passing before finally deciding to settle down in Williamsburg, West Virginia. The quaintness of the town appealed to her and she walked through the old shops daily, watching the blacksmiths do their work or eating her lunch by the old jail. Endlessly she would roam the beautiful gardens that seemed to flourish everywhere. Tulips of every size and shape proudly displayed their colors, each daintily boasting their differences. Irises, lilies and rose bushes beautified the walkways, windowsills and yards of nearly every home. Stasha was lost in the charm and tranquility. Here was a place she could call home.
CHAPTER FOUR
Clouds loomed in the blue sky, casting gloom and a foreboding of rain as Stasha set out in search of a job. She left her new apartment, a huge studio she had found a few weeks after she came to town. It was in an old brownstone just down the street from The Sweet Shoppe, an ice cream parlor which she frequented, although not an ounce of fat ever found its way to her waist. Stasha walked briskly down the street, passing Johnson Hardware before catching a glimpse of a HELP WANTED sign in the window of McDougal’s, an Irish Pub/Restaurant only three blocks from her apartment.
“Here goes nothing,” she whispered, gathering up courage and bravado she desperately needed.
She opened the heavy wooden door and looked inside. The walkway and door were of identical design, intricately carved oak with images of castles, meadows and wee little leprechauns with their pots o’ gold. Someone was singing the final chorus of some bawdy drinking song in the pub and so she walked into the restaurant, hoping to find a manager with whom she could talk. Patiently she waited, drinking in the curiously carved wooden booths and old black and white pictures that blanketed the walls. She also read of the history of Williamsburg and the descriptions of all the little shops she so dearly loved.
“May I help you,” a voice said, startling her out of the past.
Stasha turned and there before her stood a peculiar looking man in his mid-forties. He had the brightest green eyes she had ever seen, contrasting sharply with an unruly thatch of thick black hair.
“I’ve come to apply for the job you have advertised,” she replied, looking the man in the eyes.
He appreciatively studied her face, smiling at her beauty and somewhat haughty manner. “How old are you, my dear?”
Stasha spoke quickly, knowing that to falter would uncover her lie. “Eighteen, sir.”
“Have you ever waited tables before?”
“No, sir, but I’m a quick study. I’m sure you would benefit by hiring me.”
He stared at her for a moment, his eyes roaming over her, from her auburn tresses down to the sandal-clad feet. He grinned. “Why should I hire you?”
She thought briefly, and then looked him in the eye. “Because you like me,” she replied matter-of-factly, a look of triumph in her face.
The man erupted in laughter, his green eyes sparkling with delight at this creature, and his mouth drew up in the widest of grins. “Welcome to the pub, me quick-witted lass. I’m the owner, Robert McDougal. And who might you be?”
“Anastasha Bene’, but you can call me Stasha,” she beamed happily.
Stasha was true to her word and did learn quickly, to the delight of Mr. McDougal. She became a pet project for him, taking her into his care and teaching her all the tricks of the trade. The other waitresses were jealous at first; envious of all the attention she received. But that didn’t last long. She seemed tireless, always doing something extra so the others didn’t have to.
Brenda, her closest friend and fellow waitress, thought she was a wonder. They would sit up for hours after work and Stasha would tell her about the plantation: how the hundreds of lanterns on the grounds gave off a glow that one could see for miles; how the house would be filled with gentlemen in tuxedos and ladies in formals almost every weekend; how Leda used to help her dress and undress and do her hair. Brenda would sit and stare, her blue eyes open wide in fascination, even though she had heard the story at least ten times. Brenda, in turn, would tell her about growing up on a farm in Tennessee. She described the wonder and pride at seeing a foal being born and the delight in watching it take its first steps. She told her about getting up at the crack of dawn and milking the cows, drinking that fresh warm milk directly from the cow’s udder. Many things were told to one another. They both wished they could have experienced the other’s life, and in a way, they did.
CHAPTER FIVE
Three years went by like a whirlwind. Stasha moved from her brownstone into a two bedroom Victorian home with Brenda and also became the proud parent of a six-month-old cinnamon colored Chow. It was her first pet, since Geoffrey always had the last word. Stash named her Chelsea and took her for long walks through the gardens and shops, introducing her to all of the friends that she had made.
May lay just ahead and with it Stasha’s 21st birthday. On the 5th Robert threw a surprise party after work at McDougal’s and then she and Brenda hurried home to change for their night on the town. When Stasha entered her bedroom she saw a large, foil-covered box on her bed.
“What’s this?” she called to Brenda who peeked through the door with an ear to ear grin.
“Just open it.”
She sat on the bed and slowly took the cover off the box. Folding back the tissue paper she gasped. Inside was a tank-style black dress that looked as if it would fit like a glove. “I can’t wear that!” she whispered, a look of shock on her face.
“You can and you will,” Brenda firmly replied. “With your figure you could wear anything you wanted. Besides,” she chuckled, “it’ll be fun. I have one too!” She pulled a short-sleeved green one from her closet. “Ready?” she asked.
“Ready.”
They entered Flamingo’s and all heads turned, their eyes riveted on the pair of seductresses. The rest of the gang from McDougal’s was already there and they joined them. Brenda and Stasha made a striking contrast when next to each other; one day, the other night. Brenda’s blonde hair was cropped close to her head and her blue eyes were the color of the sky. Stasha’s auburn hair cascaded around her shoulders and her blue eyes were dark as midnight.
“Stasha,” Brenda whispered after they sat down. “Look across the bar. There’s a beautiful blonde man over there who’s been staring at you since we walked in.”
Stasha slowly turned her head and saw him, an Adonis with golden hair and perfect lips. She turned away, a blush slowly turning her face red. Looking back, she found him gone and sighed, wondering where he had disappeared to.
“May I have this dance,” a voice whispered, so close to her ear that she could feel his breath.
She whirled around and came face to face with the blonde man. “My name is William Bennington. And yours?”
“Anastasha Bene’. Stasha.” She looked up and was held by his eyes, lost in the flecks of gold, green and amber.
“May I have this dance?” he repeated, gently pulling her to her feet.
She murmured yes as they walked onto the dance floor, her arms immediately twining about his neck.
William felt her heart thundering within her chest like that of a frightened kitten. He ran his fingers slowly through her hair, feeling its silken weight. Hunger coursed through him, heightening his senses and making him aware of every curve of her body. But there was something else. Coursing through him was also the hint of a feeling he’d once felt before, and for the second time in almost a century he was afraid.
CHAPTER SIX
God! That men should put an enemy in their mouths to steal away their brains; that we should, with joy, pleasance, revel, and applause, transform ourselves into beasts-
William Shakespeare
William had just turned twenty-six when he was turned. The year was 1910 and he had just finished his journey on board the majestic Seaquest bound for Europe. The Benningtons were a rather wealthy family from Georgia and were sending William to London to visit his cousins and learn etiquette. He never made it.
The ship docked after dark in Weymouth and William decided to find an inn and get a room for the night. Tomorrow would be soon enough to hire a coach to London. Being the young, adventurous man that he was, William felt confident that he could find his way to a suitable inn and set off at a jaunty pace, glad to be away from the stifling politeness of his family and the stifling quarters aboard ship.
The alleyways were dark and shadows lurked in even the brightest corners. Mugginess permeated the air and his clothes clung to his tall frame as he briskly walked. His mind was caught up in imagining the possibilities there were going to be in London when the unexpected whisper of garments behind him caused him to stop. Spinning around he searched the alley, finding only a sheet of newspaper gently rolling in a barely perceptible breeze. He turned back around and continued on, keeping his brisk pace.
“Come to me,” a seductive voice called, meant for him and him alone. William stopped once again, his heart thumping madly, pivoting around and searching for the source of the voice. Emptiness greeted him. Suddenly there was a gust of wind and the thing attacked him, clamping his mouth to William’s neck in a vice-like grip, thirstily drinking out his life. William never knew what hit him. He felt himself plummeting toward a black hole, lost to everything around him. Unceremoniously a spurting wrist was thrust into his mouth and the command to drink was forced into his mind. Using all his remaining strength he nursed at the wrist and then, when a flow of new life rushed into him, began to suck greedily, ignoring the gentle pushing away of the being before him.
“Stop or you’ll kill me!” the thing screamed, yanking its wrist from out of William’s mouth.
William looked about in bewilderment. Sounds were magnified all around him. He could hear the captain talking in the boat he just came from. He could hear the faint scurrying of a mouse in the ropes along the waterfront. He could hear a couple making love in an apartment two blocks away, but above all else he could hear his heart thundering in his ears.
He looked at the creature that attacked him and studied him. He was dirty, his unkempt, oily hair hanging about his face, making a jagged frame. Grey eyes burned with insanity and torn fingernails adorned unwashed hands. His clothing was the cleanest thing about him; black trousers and a tailored white shirt. Judging by the fit, William assumed they were stolen. The being studied William while he was being observed, finding the 6’2” blonde man a very satisfactory companion. He smiled. He had been alone for so long.
“What have you done to me?” William asked at long last, staring at his hands as if seeing them for the first time.
“Me friend,” he said at last, “I ‘ave just made you immortal.”
William looked at him as if he were daft. “Immortal?” he chuckled. “Truly you must be joking.” Then he remembered what just had happened and felt the wound on his neck and knew that he was not.
“Lad, I’ve been goin’ strong since the early 1800’s. I’ve seen fashions change, kings come and go, and wars take place. It’s been a long an’ lonely life. I finally decided I needed me a companion, and ‘ere you are.” Gazing at William he saw that things were slowly sinking in.
“Immortal,” he whispered at last. “I will never die. I will never grow old.” Joy overcame his fear. “Ha! Ha!” he shouted at the world. “I am truly free!” He ran about, spinning around until he looked back at the vampire who was wearing a somber face.
“You must feed,” was all that he said. He turned and started down the alley.
“Yes, but I can survive on animals, can’t I?” Hope lingered in his voice as he fell into step behind his mentor.
“Unfortunately not. You need the human soul to sustain you. Nothing else will fulfill that urgent need.” The creature’s voice dripped with sadness and William followed, the joy of his new beginning tinged with regret.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The dance ended with Stasha breathless and William wary. He looked deep into her eyes with an intensity that made her blush, and then slipped out of her arms and disappeared into the crowd. Stasha stared after him, confusion on her face. Slowly she made her way back to her table of friends.
“Well?” said Brenda, leaning toward her to soak up all the juicy details.
“Well what?” she answered snappily. “You saw what happened. He left without saying a word.” Sadness eventually clouded her eyes. “I felt something, Brenda. The whole time when he looked into my eyes, every thing was so intimate, like he could see into my soul.”
Arriving home Stasha changed out of her skintight dress into a loose fitting sweat suit and a baseball jacket. She leashed Chelsea and together they roamed the night-colored streets. The walked not only for Chelsea’s benefit but her own as well. Her encounter with Mr. William Bennington troubled her. It was more than just a dance; it had to be. She could still feel his eyes as they burned into hers, causing all barriers to drop and her naked soul to be exposed. She stood in the middle of the road, lost in that moment when Chelsea barked and she opened her eyes just in time to see a flash of blonde hair round the corner. “It was him,” she murmured, her pulse racing with fear and desire. She started after him but thought better of it, spinning around and running home with Chelsea in the lead.
William watched them go, but a mere shadow in a doorway. He ached for this girl, not with the hunger to feed but with a craving to be with her and care for her. Everything was so new to him in this aspect. He wished Centel were with him.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“Now when I was a boy,” Centel would often begin, “we didn’t ‘ave all the fancy stuffs you ‘ave now. Oh, no.” He would then go on and on about the quality of clothing in 1823 or some such year, and rare jewels from unknown countries and dozens of other things that William heard more times than he can remember. Aside from his constant rambling, Centel was an adequate mentor. He taught William many things: to stalk by becoming a shadow among shadows; to move swift as the wind and quiet as a whisper; to smell a desperate soul in need of release.
“Use all the willpower in your being, William,” Centel would drill into him over and over again. “You’re just not trying ‘ard enough.”
William felt like a child being reprimanded by the nuns at St. Francis. “I am trying,” he would insist as he melted into a doorway with excruciating slowness.
“Better. We’ll try again tomorrow.”
Of course. There would always be tomorrow. Endless tomorrow’s. The nights slipped through his fingers like water through a sieve until not only did he not know what day it was, he didn’t want to know. Night after night he would roam the streets, drinking in the moonlight and the scurrying of tiny animals that were audible only to his ears.
Footsteps. Their slow and steady rhythm was music to William’s ears. It was time to feed.
CHAPTER NINE
Saturday both Brenda and Stasha worked the 5:00 shift, coming in to work already eager for it to be over. Robert was there, hosting as he usually did on weekends, and wearing his green jacket he looked like a leprechaun himself. His green eyes sparkled as he approached Stasha, always aware of her rare beauty.
“So, Stasha, what happened with that handsome young man on your birthday? Have you seen him since?”
Stasha’s brow furrowed for a moment as if she were concentrating fiercely upon something, then she bore a quizzical expression. “You know, Robert, I can’t figure it out. Thursday he left me on the dance floor in utter confusion, but afterwards I saw him spying on me when I walked Chelsea. And last night I thought I glimpsed him on my way home from work.”
“I don’t know, lass. He may be dangerous. You better be careful, him following you around and such.” He put his hand lovingly on her shoulder.
“I’ll be careful,” she said at last, knowing he wouldn’t be satisfied until she acknowledged his concern. “But somehow,” she murmured to herself, “I’m not afraid.
The restaurant closed at 10:00 and, after finishing their side work, they made it out by 10:45; plenty of time to go home and change for a night on the town.
Flamingo’s was packed by the time she and Brenda arrived, people milling about in the aisles around the island-like bar. Managing to find two seats near the end of it they sat down and ordered drinks.
“Lookit what we have here,” purred Brenda as she stared seductively across the dance floor. Stasha immediately looked in the same direction, only to find two dark-haired men staring back at her. Not William. “Mm-hmm,” Stasha murmured, turning back to her Mai-Tai.
“Don’t tell me you’re not interested?! You’re not waiting for that guy from Thursday night to show up, are you?”
Brenda’s look of incredulity was enough, Stasha didn’t have to answer. Unexpectedly she heard her name, soft as a caress, in her mind. Raising her head slowly she met his, the same eyes that had bored into her heart and made a home there; the same eyes that ignited the passion that lay dormant within her, awaiting his touch.
“What’s the matter with you?” Brenda asked, seeing Stasha’s far away stare. Then she saw him, the blonde Adonis with chiseled features like a Greek statue. “Well, I’ll be damned. Don’t just sit there girl, go to it!” She gently nudged Stasha off her stool and gave her a push in the general direction.
Stasha walked as if in a dream, caught by the intensity of his gaze. When she reached his side he gently took her hand and led her out into the darkness.
The night seemed to welcome her with open arms, folding her within its star-spangled limbs. William appeared to melt into it, become one with it, each a vital part of the other. She had never felt so alive in the darkness before, so comfortable.
William came to her side and slid his arm about her waist. “Do you feel it?” he asked, a look of anticipation on his face.
“Feel what?” Stasha answered, snuggling up to her new found security.
He spread his arms and held them high over his head. “The night,” William announced, awe filling his very being.
CHAPTER TEN
Centel laughed at William, his thin face rippling with creases. “Love!” he spat. “’Ere is no love when you’re a creature o’ the night. No love a’tall.” He sighed as he walked, the docks echoing with sighs of their own. “Afore I was changed I ‘ad a wife, I did. Coo, she was a pretty thing. Couldn’t bear the thought of goin’ back to ‘er like this, though. I would have scared her to death, the superstitious twit.” He sighed once more and then was gone, his presence but a whisper.
William sighed himself and wished that he had known the love of a woman before he was turned. “There must be a way,” he implored the night. “There must be.”
He questioned Centel the next night, hoping to find some answers. “Why can’t we find love?” he asked. “With someone who never knew us before, why couldn’t we find happiness?”
Centel looked at the boy as if he had just said the earth was flat. “Boy, don’t you ‘ave a brain in that ‘ead o’yours? You said you’ve given this some thought, but ‘ave you really? Imagine the hunger upon you.” He closed his eyes and licked his lips, hands clenching and unclenching. “Feel your veins ache with the need to be filled with hot, new blood.” He grimaced and his voice deepened as the change took hold of him. “Feel your desire for the woman you love and know that it matches that of the hunger. And when you turn to express your love to that woman she sees this!”
Suddenly Centel’s face was in front of William’s and he stared into eyes that glowed without light; at incisors that had grown an inch and were razor sharp; at hands tipped with nails like daggers; at an expression that portrayed demonic desire, immense hunger and a madness that tore at your very soul. “This” he growled, “is what your pretty will see, and if she’s not crazy to begin with, seeing this will turn her into a raving madwoman. It’s an expression only the dead see.” He turned his back on William and sought his escape. When he turned back around he was once again calm, but the hint of madness remained, and always would.
“You see the dangers, son. You could only ‘urt yourself by killin’ the woman you love. You can’t win,” he whispered as he vanished into the darkness, his echo bearing the weight of sadness and loneliness that lay upon its master’s soul.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Love and soul, only head and heart,
only the sun and moon keeping us apart-
Tuesday Blue
William remembered what Centel had said about love after he had kissed Stasha goodnight and vowed to see her the following night. He could feel both hunger and desire rise in him like a tide, rushing up hot and insistent only to recede, leaving a feeling of something missing, incomplete. He knew he was taking a risk; he had before.
Maria. Her beautiful black hair cut straight at her shoulders, her brown eyes soft and inviting. It was 1953 and she wore knee-length skirts that twirled as she spun, and tight fitting sweaters that showed off her God-given gifts. He had been entranced by her, following her until their first meeting on the pier in Miami. From that first meeting they were inseparable, rendezvousing nightly on the pier, walking hand in hand along the beach. Then the time came when there was more than discreet kisses and barely perceptible caresses. Under the pier they professed their needs and as he took her in his arms he was certain his hunger was in check, his need for her filling him with an intensity he had never known. But as he thrust within her and reveled in her cries of pleasure, the hunger washed over him in an undeniable wave and took possession of him, throwing aside the love he felt for Maria; gripping him so tightly that he no longer had concern for the being beneath him other than as a source for nourishment. He bent his head and her cries of pleasure turned to terror as the life was sucked from her body. When the need passed he looked down at her pale body and shouted out in anguish. He wished he could cry, to sob out all the anger and hurt that welled up inside of him but, alas, he could not. He covered her body tenderly with sand and fled into the night, never to return to the place that filled his soul with dread.
“That will not happen again,” he vowed to the moon and stars that only twinkled merrily, oblivious to his torment.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The only true gift is a portion of yourself-
Ralph Waldo Emerson
It seemed to take forever until the hour of their appointed meeting, time flowing slower than a river of molasses in January. Stasha remembered fondly their moments together the night before and the electricity between them as they were held in the arms of the night. William was such a unique individual, with the face of an innocent and the eyes of an ancient. The same eyes that held her spellbound whenever she looked into them. She had never met anyone like him; nor, she thought, would she encounter another who was even similar.
William watched her from a distance, drinking in her beauty. How vulnerable she looked as she sat on the porch, engulfed by the oversized wicker chair. His heart went out to her and without thinking he raced to her side and knelt there, his head on her lap and arms wrapped tightly about her legs.
Stasha had no time to be startled as her need for him promptly overcame all and she raised his head from her lap to her lips. Passion coursed through both their bodies and before he could be overwhelmed, William pulled away.
“There are things you need to know about me,” he stated, gripping her hand tightly.
“All I need to know is what my heart tells me, and it tells me that I always want to be with you.” Stasha looked into his eyes and he knew that what she said came from the depths of her soul.
He probed a moment longer then whispered, “Are you sure?” with quiet authority.
She lay back on the porch and smiled at him, a smile that shone her answer even before she said “Yes.”
Quickly he was on her and sunk his teeth into her neck, sucking away her past to fill her with the future. As she went limp in his arms he sliced his wrist and held it to her mouth as Centel had done to him many years ago. When she had consumed enough, she turned her eyes toward him, filled with questions.
“Now you’ll be with me forever. Our kind never die.” He kissed her lips and licked the blood from the corners of her mouth.
“What does ‘Our Kind’ mean” she whispered, uncertainty and fright in her voice.
“We, my dear Stasha,” he proclaimed, “are what people call vampires.” William grasped her hand and pulled her close, knowing she needed to feel secure. “Listen,” he told her, “what do you hear?”
“Just the ordinary sounds of the night,” she replied.
“Really listen,” he urged, “open your senses.”
She sat quietly for a moment before a smile began to curl her lips. “I hear someone riding their bicycle near the river; I hear Brenda rolling over in her sleep; I hear a mouse scurrying beneath the neighbor’s porch; but my heartbeat thunders above all else. Will I always hear it?” Turning toward him she melted in the smile on his face.
“No, Stasha, it will pass. But you will always be able to hear that which others cannot. Every sense is sharpened to a new height.”
Stasha giggled and ran across the lawn, twirling about in her happiness.
“You are so beautiful,” he growled, rushing to her and embracing his new mate. He spun her about until they were both dizzy and then he remembered the hunger and stopped, sitting her down with a look of gravity.
“What is it, William?” she queried, grasping both his hands and looking into his eyes.
“I need to tell you about the hunger,” he started. He again called to mind his own rebirth and the words Centel had used to explain. “You must feed,” he stated simply. “You need the human soul to sustain you. Nothing else will fill that urgent need.” William looked at her face and saw her look of bitter reality.
“What will be, will be,” was all she said as she slipped into his arms, holding him tighter than she ever before dared.
They crept upstairs, the euphoria of her new existence still clinging to her like a newborn child. Silently Stasha opened Brenda’s door and gazed upon her friend for the last time. She wanted to hug her and tell her she loved her but instead she shut the door. Packing quietly she gathered most of her belongings into two suitcases and then went to the kitchen to write Brenda a farewell letter.
They danced into the night, as happy as any mortal lovers, cloaked by the dark and free of the past. William led her to his flat which was furnished quite modestly for a man of his accumulated wealth, and helped her to settle in. When she was comfortable, Stasha pulled him down beside her.
“Make love to me,” she urged, feeling her body quiver at the thought.
William only lowered his head and whispered, “I cannot.”
“But why?” she questioned. “Now that we’re of the same kind, why can’t we be together?”
“You haven’t yet experienced the hunger or you would know. The hunger consumes you just as passion consumes you. In us, it is one and the same. As one of our kind starts to make love to another, the hunger takes over and it cannot be controlled until we are satiated. Whether we are with a human or vampire, it will happen, and the only result is destruction.” He ran his fingers through his hair and cradled his head in his hands.
Stasha thought for a while, pacing back and forth across the hard wood floors. Her mind juggled all the recent information, trying to put together a plausible theory. Finally she stopped pacing and stared at William, a look of triumph on her face.
“You said the hunger overtakes the passion. What if that thirst was already satisfied? What if somehow the kill could go hand in hand with making love? It is possible.”
William glanced at her with a look of awe etched in his finely chiseled face. “So that is the secret,” he thought to himself. “Centel never knew, or maybe he wasn’t ready to know.” He jumped up and embraced her. “There’s no time like the present.” Grasping hands they walked into the night, ready to play the hand that this love had dealt them.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The man stumbled, one foot carelessly caught on the other. “Damn shoes,” he slurred as he dragged himself along the silent filled road. He walked slowly, casually. What was time to him anymore? There was no longer anyone to hurry home to. No home for that matter; money squandered away much the same as his love. “Piss on it all,” he mumbled as he groped for his favorite doorway. He stood for a moment, breathing heavily.
“Who’s there?” he cried suddenly, feeling a feathery caress on his cheek.
“I am death,” William whispered in his ear.
“Then take me for I am weary of this life,” replied the man as he knelt upon the ground.
They drank their fill of him, sharing the tainted blood of the man. They left him in eternal slumber in a doorway and, giddy on the alcohol in the blood, rushed back to William’s flat to test the final theory.
With only slight apprehension he wrapped his arms around her and caressed her bare back. Kissing her lips he felt the passion course through him - but no hunger! Almost a century he had waited to love a woman; to make love to a woman without fear of destroying her, and now the time had come.
They made love until night became day and then slept entwined in each others arms, the trace of a smile lingering on the lips of both lovers.
When they awoke, twilight greeted them and Stasha helped William pack. She was beginning a new life and although she dearly loved Williamsburg, it was not plausible that she could remain without fear of being discovered. Into the night they fled, driving out of the city and into their new life, reveling in their freedom and their togetherness.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Love is the only game that is not called on account of darkness-
Thomas Carlyle
YEARS LATER
Stasha awoke with a feeling of mischief clinging to her like a second skin. She gathered up the dress William had lain out for her and twirled about the room, giggling like a teenager. “Tonight we play the game!” she shouted with glee.
The game had been devised a year after she had been transformed. It was neither her idea nor William’s, it was theirs. They had invented it as a means of spicing up the feeding. Each would go out and pick a suitable partner - one who would satisfy their sexual needs as well as their hunger. They had even constructed a bedroom to accommodate the new situation. Two queen-size beds were pushed together to form one and a mirrored glass wall was installed, splitting the room in half, but could instantly be made whole again by a cry of “Wall”. With that the voice-activated device would raise the glass and store it within the ceiling, leaving them free to gaze upon one another. A separate doorway was made as a separate entrance to the opposite side of the room. Now that it was finished, they were ready to entertain.
Stasha put on the forest green dress that William wanted her to wear, running her hands over her body, loving the way the dress moulded to her shape. She slipped her feet into caramel colored snakeskin pumps, brushed through her auburn tresses and walked out into the night, smiling the smile of the wicked.
William watched her walk past him, knowing full well she felt him there staring at her. She kept walking, ignoring him, making him work at getting her attention. He moved swiftly in front of her, arms encircling her waist as his lips crushed hers, his tongue delving deep into her as if to uncover some hidden secret. He paused, breathless, and Stasha slipped away like a ghost. He laughed and followed her, a mere whisper in the silence.
Other eyes watched Stasha slip away, and then watched William. They knew their secret, the secret that they had successfully managed to hide. But you can’t hide from your own kind, ones who share your very existence. The eyes watched with malevolence as the lips curled back, exposing razor sharp incisors. Hisses were heard and then only the whisper of garments as the nosferatu followed.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
William and Stasha moved through the crowd effortlessly, the only differences between them and the multitude being the color and temperature of their skin. No one noticed. Eyes were riveted, instead, on the beauty of the strangers and the strange sense of power one felt if their eyes happened to meet yours. They would have no lack of partners tonight. There was a feast of flesh available.
Stasha’s eyes lingered on a tall man with curly brown hair that fell sensuously to his shoulders. Her pulse accelerated as she felt his eyes lock with hers and she held his gaze as she glided over to stand by his side.
William took the hand of a pale beauty with golden hair that sparkled under the lights as they ground against each other on the dance floor. When the next song began, Stasha and her companion joined them, moving against each other so seductively that the couple next to them stood still and watched, their eyes wide in awe. As soon as the song ended, both couples moved off the dance floor and out into the night.
The eyes watched them leave the club and followed them as they walked the near empty streets. The lips snarled in disgust at William and Stasha’s human behavior and carefree laughs. Vampires were supposed to act like vampires, not modified humans! Besides, this was their territory. Theirs! They had been around a thousand years before these children were even born! In a fury Raynor flew at Stasha and William and shrieked by them like a wind, leaving them feeling chilled and surrounded with a death-like stench. Neither one of them said anything until they had reached the condo. There, after they had poured their guests drinks, Stasha pulled William aside.
“I don’t like what happened out there. That was no ordinary wind.”
“I know it wasn’t, but what could it be?”
“I have a hunch and I don’t like it. I think we need reinforcements.”
William looked at her in disbelief. “You don’t mean....”
“Yes, I do. We have to transform these two tonight. Whatever is out there wants to fight.”
Once again the game was played out and the vampires undressed themselves and their soon to be lifelong companions. Their heartbeats matched and then accelerated to match those of the other. Stasha straddled the man as William positioned himself between the thighs of the girl and without a sound moved as one. Stasha glided fluidly up and down, her thigh muscles taut and her hands clenched in the man’s; William thrust into the girl, every movement a match for Stasha’s, his buttocks clenching and unclenching.
The hunger had almost reached its crescendo when they both yelled “Wall” and the voice-activated smoked glass rose, giving them an unobstructed view of each other and their companions. As if they were one, their heads descended and they drank the warm blood as it spurted forth until the hearts of the victims became slow to the point of stopping, and then they slit their wrists with razor sharp nails and fed them, creating in that moment two more of their breed.
Raynor and his group sat on the roof of the condominium like vultures waiting for their meal to die. They listened to the cries of pleasure with disgust, their eyes burning with hatred. His group was populated with a remnant of the Old World Vampyres, the ones of whom legends are made. Raynor himself was reborn in a casket six feet underground in a graveyard in Budapest. Given only enough blood to assure his transformation, he had clawed his way out of the flimsy wooden casket and newly packed earth, the hunger driving him to the point of madness. All the vampires in his small group had been created that way. All but the two youngest. Ahni and Ariana he had transformed in 1746 in Boston, Massachusetts. Ah, what a troubled time that was.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Boston, Massachusetts, 1746
Midnight. “What a delicious time to be on the prowl,” Raynor thought as he crept toward the tower. “Time to check on the condemned,” he whispered as he hooked his claws into a crevice between the stones and began to climb. The previous night he was told that two ‘witches’ had been captured (blonde headed twins no less), and that they were to be burned at the stake two days hence. As soon as he heard he knew that he had to save them and bring them into the fold. Two of its oldest members had been discovered and destroyed while they slept. He grieved at their absence, but knew it was inevitable. He also knew that he must quickly replenish what had been lost.
He reached the tower window with astonishing speed, slipping over the edge quiet as a whisper. He studied the sleeping beauties entwined on the sparse straw, their chains draped casually around them. “So young. So beautiful,” he murmured as his gaze lingered on their innocent forms.
Ariana awoke at the sound of his voice and nudged her sister when she saw the man in black standing before her.
“Shh. It’s all right, my children. I’ve come to set you free.” He knelt down beside them and grasped their hands. “You would like to get out of here, wouldn’t you?”
They nodded.
“You don’t want to die tomorrow, do you? You would rather be free?”
They nodded again.
“Then you must listen to me. You must do whatever I say or I will not be able to save you. Do you agree to obey me?”
“Yes, we agree. Thank you,” they answered.
“Good,” he purred. “I will give you eternal life. You will never die.” With that he bent his head over Ahni and drank of her pure virgin blood. He then slit his wrist and made her drink, but gave her very little. As she lay recovering he repeated the procedure on Ariana who was already limp with shock at seeing the blood drained from her twin. Soon they both recovered, and by the glow in their eyes he could tell that they were hungry. He broke their chains and then guided them down the wall and out into the velvety black.
True, they were different. They hadn’t even begun to experience life when he had transformed them, or the agony of rebirth, but they relished the security that Raynor and his followers gave them. That, though, was changing.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
There is only one kind of love, but
there are a thousand different versions-
Francois de la Rochefouchauld
Ahni and Ariana sat upon the roof with the others and thought about the couple beneath them. They, too, were vampires, yet they lived a life so completely different from their own. They lived like immortals, not like scavengers; they lived like the twins thought they should live. They made up their minds to join them with one glance at each other and waited for the right opportunity to escape.
The moment came when Raynor, in a fit of disgust and rage, fled from the roof and the others followed. In his rush, Raynor didn’t notice that the green-eyed beauties weren’t behind him, and that’s just what they expected. They quickly entered the dwelling and began sniffing, searching for that coppery tang they knew would be in the air near the vampires’ room.