Chapter One

I took a deep, steadying breath, the thick black of the apartment filling me with cold. It didn’t steady me as much as I’d been hoping. I let it out in a sigh and examined my situation again, continuing to procrastinate.

The room was dark, so dark it hurt, and the moon had waned so the only light that filtered through the cracks under the doors was that meager shine of stars and distant streetlights. It didn’t improve what had already been turned into a depressing environment. The windows had been painted black, curtains plastered over them threefold to block any chance of sunlight from entering. On one of the windows, the one missing its glass that he sometimes used to fly, the curtains were left unattached on two sides. It left a faint cool draft to flutter in around me. From memory I knew the décor of the place was scarce, only the necessities and what was left behind when he’d “vacated” the apartment of its previous tenant. I wondered why there were any furnishings at all; the coffin was all that he really needed, and it certainly wasn’t because he wanted people to think he lived a normal life— I mean, he had a coffin in the middle of his living room. Through an open door to my right, there lay a double bed, no pillows, covered with a black sheet, on a worn bed frame. It was the only object in the room. Those windows, too, had covers plastered on.

The room I stood in contained an old, tired armchair, but it was dusty like it hadn’t been used in years. It was obvious after speaking with him for a few minutes at most that he barely used this apartment. In front of that sat a smashed-in television of the ancient knobbed variety, with no remote, its only controls located on one side of the screen. One knob was ripped off, lying a few feet away on the black carpet. The walls and ceiling were black as well, but it was a messy paint job, leaving streaks of gray where the black gave way to the white underneath. The odd, somewhat crunchy texture of the carpet revealed that he probably had used black paint to stain it.

The only room in the apartment that might have seemed normal would be the bathroom; or the shower, at least. Although, he’d also painted it black, and whatever paint he used didn’t take well to tile, so it was more of a streaked gray than it was black. Still, it was almost completely ordinary. Apparently everyone bathed, regardless of their current state of humanity.

Looking around wasn’t getting me anywhere. But when I reluctantly turned back to the coffin in front of me, I wasn’t ready to see him yet. The mahogany was stained so dark it was also black in this light, sitting closed atop a little pedestal of crates. Everything in this apartment was so black I felt like I was drowning, suffocating. The faintly lingering scent of house paint seemed to be forming into some kind of black smoke that coated my lungs. I stepped towards the coffin finally and I noticed something marred the shiny wood, gleaming oddly. Approaching, I touched the hand print curiously, my finger sticking slightly in the drying blood.

I retreated quickly, just not ready to see him, wiping my finger off on my pants. I backed up and into the doorframe of the bathroom, bruising my spine nicely. Even the smeared tiles were a salvation after the complete and total blackness of the apartment, so I looked gratefully in. It looked dirty, now that I noticed, and I wondered why he had ever thought black paint would evenly coat porcelain. Only the upper walls and ceiling were successfully black. I didn’t look up.

I stepped inside, numbly. The medicine chest’s mirror had been broken by one sudden impact. A blood-stained impact, I noticed. I used one finger to squeamishly touch the corner and opened it another few inches. The shelf that wasn’t broken held about two hundred sleeping pills. More were scattered about outside their bottles. I blinked, didn’t comprehend it, and left again.

Back to the coffin and its mysterious handprint. I wondered if it was his blood, since it was obviously his print, considerably larger than mine. There was no good reason for him to be still dead after ten o’clock unless he’d been wounded. I hadn’t ever seen his blood spilled; maybe someday soon. But I wouldn’t be seeing it the way he always saw mine— as he sucked it from my throat. Half-smiling at this sick joke, I pushed the lid open.

The lining of the coffin was stark white, painfully bright in the darkness. My first response on looking in was, as such, a strange wincing expression.

I wasn’t sure where everyone got the rumors of such amazing creatures as vampires. He looked pretty normal to me. He was dressed in bloodstained blue jeans and black t shirt; hands, folded on his chest, stained with the dark reddish brown. I knew definitely why he still wasn’t awake. He’d been out late the last night killing something— or someone, I should say —and hadn’t had time to clean up before dawn; hence the blood. Or maybe he’d had a messy dinner. His hair, a variety of shades of red and blonde that was growing out to show brown roots, was shaved into a mohawk but now it didn’t look as rock-star-ish as it normally did, combed down into his eyes and unevenly around his face.

I’d never thought it would come this far. Somehow I’d always figured he’d kill me, I think. I remembered when first I’d seen him, months ago, wiping blood off his hands as he left a dark alley. I could still see the wolfish grin he’d given me, fangs bloody, before he knocked me out with his aura. I’d woken up on the roof of some building like he’d grown tired of the idea of lugging me around any further since I obviously wasn’t coming around. He’d left a glass of water. That still struck me as odd and ironically funny; but I supposed he had no reason to kill me yet, having just eaten, so he’d wanted me to be comfortable. I can’t really justify that action. Or maybe he had come up with plans for me even then. As it is with most of my unanswered questions, I will doubtless never know.

As I was leaving the building this fat old woman had caught my arm, rambling on about how I was “marked” and she could “see” his “evil taint” on my “pure soul.” Which meant precisely nothing to me. After abducting me back to her little cave of a home she nearly drowned me in holy water and insisted I kill this man who touched me. I thought she was crazy. Actually, the more I think about it, the more likely it seems that she really was crazy. At least I was right in some of my presumptions.

Next night, he found me again. This time he was waiting for me in the window of my apartment. Thinking of it again, I figured he’d only come to wipe my memory so I couldn’t turn him in for murder, but the holy water still clung to my hair and it had, apparently, deeply offended him. I didn’t see him again for a week and I thought I never would.

Then he started sending me stuff.

God only knows why; at least it wasn’t like severed hands or eyeballs or anything. First he sent me Dracula by Bram Stoker and the bloody fingerprints on the pages somehow seemed appropriate. In the margins of the pages he’d penciled in corrections like Stoker had gotten some details wrong. I didn’t read it, I just thought it was weird. In another few days I threw it out when a friend would be coming over. What was the point in keeping something that creepy? After all, I hadn’t really seen fangs on him. It had been dark, you know. And I was just human. My eyes had lied.

Naturally, I believed he was a vampire after he bit me. It took him a while to convince me that I wasn’t crazy, however. I thought I must’ve been having a bad trip or that he’d slipped something into my drink. He was in my apartment again, and this time I had no holy water to offend him with. It wasn’t an unpleasant experience, that’s why I didn’t think he was a vampire. I mean, someone has creepy eyes with a slit pupil or no pupil or whatnot, you don’t think, oh, that’s a werewolf, you think, oh, he’s got contacts. I remember part of it very well, right before I blacked out.

I blinked at him, in shock for a moment. “Are you stalking me?” was my initial thought. I wasn’t scared for some reason, just curious — maybe it was his power, deluding me.

“I don’t have to,” he said softly, sitting on the windowsill like he’d just climbed in. “You keep finding me.”

It somehow didn’t occur to me to mention that I couldn’t accidentally find him if he was in my apartment. But again, it was probably his power doing that. I stared at him and didn’t care that he’d broken in— no, flown in, excuse me. I stared at him another moment then continued into my apartment, putting down my bags and stuff, taking off my jacket. It was like he was an old friend who was supposed to be there, with me. It was, in hindsight, disturbing.

He said my name and I looked at him involuntarily. “Come here,” he said softly, more than a little sinister. I went slowly up to him and wondered if he could fall out the open window. He smiled at me when I obeyed and it thrilled me. I noticed, at this point, that his hair was orange at the roots, fading to Crayola-marker red at the ends, separated into spikes that he had gelled down the sides of his head, the longest coming just past his ear. Maybe it was too hard to maintain a mohawk when flying. Whatever the reason, I liked it better like this.

I blinked up at him, a little lethargic from his aura pounding so close. He slid his left hand into my hair, brushing it off my neck, eyes sliding down to watch my pulse. “Aren’t you going to invite me in?” he asked softly.

I think it’s cheating to use power to convince someone to invite you in so you can bite them, really I do. But I just smiled. “Sorry, of course, come in,” I said. Again, I wonder why it didn’t occur to me that he was climbing in a sixth story window.

He smiled wider and slid off the windowsill, hand still on my shoulder holding me near him. I thought then that it would be so nice if he would just stay with me, just keep touching me. His touch made me feel safer, like there was someone always going to watch over me now. He cocked his head, frowning slightly. “What?”

I hesitantly put my hands on his chest, unable to think straight. My head hurt. “I have a headache,” I whispered.

He leaned in and kissed me softly, and I put my arms around his neck. It never occurred to me that I hadn’t even asked his name yet, only that it seemed to feel comforting. He kissed my jaw, down to my neck, then harder, and I thought for a minute he was going to give me a hickey before I passed out.

In the morning, the sun hurt my eyes so I shut all the blinds and took a shower. In the mirror I noticed that a spot on my neck, just over my pulse, was red and a little painful, but I could see no bite marks. I shrugged it off. He must’ve given me a hickey. In all honesty, it was pretty hard for me to remember the incident clearly, or to pin down if I was upset or glad for what he’d done.

I saw him again that night, but this time he used the front door, like he didn’t need to fly in anymore. I was home when he arrived because I’d felt too ill to go anywhere, dizzy and a bit nauseous. I answered the door and felt a million times better when I saw him. His hair was spiked up now, same colors — he had a tendency to change them, I later discovered. He looked genuinely worried that I had to lean heavily on the door, blinking up at him. Now I was bone tired, though no longer dizzy. He came inside and helped me shut the door, putting his arms around my stomach to support my weight, so he was holding me intimately against him. Then he pulled me over to the couch, falling onto me to hold me down. I blinked up at him, surprised, and he kissed me hard, drawing blood with his two delicate fangs.

Then he broke off, looking away, like he’d forgotten to act human. “What...” I said, wiping blood off my mouth with the back of my hand. That caught his eye and he took my wrist and sucked it away, his eyes holding a weird gleam. For some reason the look was appealing and my eyes widened with the odd feeling it gave me. He grinned down at me again, reminiscent of the first time I’d seen him, and then he bit me a second time.

This time, the feeling was incredible. It didn’t hurt at all; I was flying through a void, but always aware that he was above me, holding me down; I wasn’t breathing but my heart beat hard enough to suffocate me. Suddenly the world was crashing down around me, and I gasped when it did, everywhere in my body hurting horribly, then I blacked out again.

When the world faded back in again he was holding me to him, my back to his chest, still sitting on the couch with his legs around me. I thought first that the hold he had on my shoulders, arms under mine, was incredibly strong, like he was afraid I’d run away. But I didn’t want to run away. I became aware of him whispering things into my ear right as he stopped. Then he was silent, watching, waiting to see what I’d do.

Now I knew he was a vampire, and not just because it was fairly obvious. I knew so many strange things like he’d told them to me subconsciously, random scattered bits of information about things like how long he’d been dead, when he’d killed the fat balding man who had occupied what he’d converted to his refuge, the guy he’d had for dinner last night, that he’d almost been killed by a werewolf once a few months ago. I slowly tried to move, just lift my head up off his shoulder, somewhere aware that he was watching my pulse beat in my throat and that it was turning him on.

I couldn’t move at all, the pain shooting through my skull when I tried. I shut my eyes again, fighting vomiting, the world spinning wildly with the hurting. I moaned and touched my forehead with one hand.

He laughed softly, almost nervously. “Sorry,” he said, kissing my temple. After a moment the pain dissipated, and I could move. But now I didn’t want to, now that the pain was gone and I could think of something other than my brain exploding. I didn’t want him to leave.

I thought for a second, just leaning on him, overwhelmed, before I came up with anything decent to say. “You never told me your name,” I said softly.

He laughed again like it was a stupid question. “It doesn’t matter,” he said, almost to himself. I turned my head and hid my face against his neck, one hand sliding to the other side, like I was embarrassed to make him laugh at me. I guess I was, too. Then he sobered at this, like I’d surprised him, and he didn’t say anything for a long time. Finally he sighed softly. “Names are something that people call you,” he said, like he felt he had to answer the question. “It doesn’t matter what you call me.”

For some reason this made an incredible, shocking amount of sense, all things considered, and I nodded against him. “How come I know what you’re feeling,” I mumbled, curious but tired. He tensed like he hadn’t known I could, and I noticed he wasn’t breathing. He did, however, have a pulse. It was beating hard. He didn’t say anything and after a moment I made a guess. “Am I one of you now?”

He laughed again. “No, nothing like that,” he said. The laugh was, again, like he thought it was a stupid question, but also he seemed relieved. “It’s only fair, I know what you’re feeling,” he shrugged it off.

I nodded and looked up at him then, sitting up at last. He stared back at me, and he looked perfectly normal. Frowning slightly, I touched his chin with one finger. “How come I couldn’t see your fangs until tonight?”

“Because I hadn’t bitten you yet,” he sounded slightly exasperated. “Humans can’t comprehend things if they have no proof of it.”

I felt a revulsion at humans, and I wanted to destroy them all in bloody violent deaths. I knew for sure it was what he felt. The anger and hatred that radiated out of him was deep and frightening.

Then I saw something flicker through his eyes, a kind of awareness, and he got up to leave. I glanced at the clock and saw that dawn was two hours away, maybe another half. I got up, like I felt obligated to see him out, and I felt a dark satisfaction at that. He’d started to go to the window, out of habit or something, but instead chose to go out the front door. I stared at him, and I didn’t want him to leave. I felt like something would come to kill me if he left. “You’ll come back tomorrow night, won’t you?” I asked softly.

He grinned at me, wide enough to show his fangs, and kissed me again, cradling my face in his hands. When he broke off I knew again that he wanted me, and that he also wanted my blood. “Of course,” he said.

I felt a moment of crushing pain when he left and then it was like I was back in my own body and I realized how insane I was to ask him back. I didn’t even debate on my sanity; like I said, I knew things he’d told me, and from that second bite on I could tell when someone wasn’t human at a glance. I could see fangs, or identify werewolves by looking at their eyes, or necromancers when they went by with their aura of souls trailing behind that brushed you as a faint breeze of cold you never noticed before. At this point, of course, I hadn’t yet seen any werewolves or necromancers. I realized that his aura overwhelmed me when he was around, and then instantly knew that wasn’t it. I went to have a shower, scrubbing at my skin like I could erase the taint of his touch. I also knew it wouldn’t go away.

It wasn’t that he was deluding me; in fact, the lack of delusion had been what had let me realize the awareness flicking through his eyes and the anger at humans in his tone of voice. If he’d been deluding me I wouldn’t have thought to ask his name. No, I knew that he’d done something to tie me to him. Whenever he was around it awakened the part of me that was his and the first time it overwhelmed me. Even later, though, the next day when I could leave the house, I felt a little bit of sadness, like I missed him. The servant was not gone, but dormant. And I couldn’t even kill myself.

That was a while ago. Exactly how long, I’m not sure. He’s always in my head now, after dark I get so hungry until he eats, or so angry until he kills. But it was his fault that it had come so far, come to this point. It was all his fault. I stared down at him. Wondering how long it’d been since I’d felt anything other than happiness at seeing him, I let the wave of insane anger blow through me. His eyes opened suddenly and he jumped when he saw me like I’d startled him. The anger dissipated instantly.

“Christ, girl, what’re you doing here? I told you not to come here,” he growled, sitting up.

“That creepy witch thinks you’re evil.” I started. He got out of the coffin and went into the bathroom, washing the blood off his hands. I was sort of glad, even as I continued. “I really think she’s nuts, I mean, she gave me a freaking stake. A stake. She says that I have to cleanse my soul or something by ‘killing the one who touched me.’ ”

He laughed at this for a longer moment than I really understood. He pulled another T shirt from the pile of clothes in the corner of the bedroom and dropping the bloodstained one somewhere on the floor. “Right, then. C’mon, let’s go deal with her.”

He pried open that window, halfway out with habit before he remembered he had to bring me. “C’mon, hurry up,” he waved me come closer. I hung back, wishing I wasn’t there. He was suddenly right in front of me, hands on my arms. “Don’t defy me, bitch,” he growled, eyes very close.

“I don’t want to do this—” I stammered.

He forced my head up to look at him. “Don’t you dare defy me!” he said, louder, and I thought my brain would explode.

For one insane second I had to kill him. I had to stab him through the heart or shoot him or something— douse him with holy water, I didn’t care. I had to kill him. I had to get him out of my head, just out of my head again...

Spontaneously I blinked and he was looking at me oddly from the window. Had I imagined that? I couldn’t get my thoughts straight. Half of me wanted to sit down and think out exactly what’d happened to my life, the other half wanted to run along and kill people with him. “Are you all right?” He asked, going up to me.

“I... don’t know, something...” I shook my head. “I just feel really weird.”

He touched my shoulders and lowered his head to stare directly into my eyes. Like a switch had been thrown my mind snapped back into order. I felt normal again.

“How’s that?” he asked softly, and I thought I heard a little bit of relief in his voice.

“I’m fine now, thanks,” I said. Whatever he’d done, it’d left me without even the incentive to get confused at whatever he’d done. Weird thoughts, but they didn’t concern me anymore.

“Now come.” He pulled me gently towards the window, anger gone.

I nodded, putting my arms around his neck so I could fly with him.

I knew what had to be done. I found myself planning just how to do it. The old woman had to die. She could never learn of the things my vampire had done, the things he was capable of. She could hurt him and I couldn’t allow that. I had to kill her, lest he get near that blasted holy water. Evil stuff. I had this memory in my head of what it looked like when a vampire was hit with holy water. It would appear in my mind mysteriously, but whenever I tried to pin down who I was seeing get melted, it would disappear. And this weird woman had gallons from her cult church, and that creepy unshakable faith that meant certain death. But regardless of her recreational activities, she knew what he was. That was never allowed. No one could know. My vampire told me what to do. He left me on the roof of her house, and I knew he’d be watching to see I did it right. He was in my head again, but it was warm and comforting. I gripped the switchblade in my pocket and wondered how much blood he’d shed tonight. More than the foolish old crone had in her whole body, no doubt. I grinned wolfishly and pressed the release on my knife.

My first murder went fairly well. I pulled up some emotion so I could seem shaky and uncertain when she answered the door. “Did you do it?” she asked intensely, once she’d locked the door.

“I... I...” I stammered and she came close to me, peering up at me. My mind faltered, like the effects of whatever he’d done were wearing off. No matter, I still knew what to do.

“Did you kill him?” she shook me meanwhile, hands on my arms, and I brought the knife up into her stomach, ripping it upwards till it hit her ribcage.

I thought, Is it supposed to be so easy?

Her mouth opened in a silent scream, eyes so wide I imagined them falling out. The picture brought a sick smile to my lips and so I laughed at her as she fell slowly to the floor. But I remembered her unshakable faith and so punched the blade back into her heart, in case she had any prayers or spells or whatever to use as a last resort. I didn’t want to die a horrible burning death or be cursed for life or anything, after all. But it was all so easy.

I watched her for a while to see if she was really dead until her eyes glazed over and she hadn’t breathed in several minutes. Then I went back out to the front porch where he was leaning on the wall, waiting for me to appear. It looked kind of like he should be smoking a cigarette. “I felt her die,” he said. “You did well.”

I smiled at him and then he escorted me back inside. I frowned. “I thought all the holy stuff was keeping you out?”

“Once the person’s faith is gone it’s just water, or just two crossed sticks with a guy on them, not holy water or a crucifix.” he said, making a crossing gesture with his fingers. “Besides, you’re not strong enough to carry the body.”

“What are you going to do with it?” I watched him kneel beside her.

“Just watch,” he whispered. He placed one hand on her forehead, one hand on her heart, closing his eyes. There was a pause and I saw the look of concentration on his face before suddenly his power swelled and he grinned up at the shocked look on my face. “Holy people, if killed by the servant of a vampire, can have their life-force absorbed into the master to increase his power and resistance to the church,” he said like he was reciting it.

“Wow,” I said. “But... if you’re stronger then why isn’t your aura knocking me out again like it did before?”

“You get stronger too, dear,” he said distractedly, easily slinging the woman’s body over his shoulder to carry it. “Clean up the blood while I dump the body. If anyone misses the old bitch, then they won’t think she was murdered.”

I nodded. He kissed me on the forehead before he flew away. And no, vampires do not turn into anything when they fly, let alone bats. Think how impractical that would be.

I searched the kitchen until I found cleaning solution and then started mopping up the pool of blood. Luckily she didn’t have carpet, rather hardwood floors, and it didn’t stain. I was just finishing re-waxing the floor in the spot where I’d taken it off when he got back. I noticed that his clothes were bloodstained again.

“Come on,” he sighed, like he was tired. “We have to burn these,” he picked up the rags that now were soaked with blood and soapy water, dropping them into the bucket after dumping out the dirty water I’d used. I got up off the floor and followed him outside again, using the spare key outside to lock the door behind us. Then I went up to him, putting my arms around his neck for support before he took off.