Crimson: An Ultimate Power Series Novella (The Ultimate Power Series #1.5) (4 page)

 “Why do you ask that?”

 “Because I can’t understand why a hot shot night club owner would want to spend time with a girl who looks like she hasn’t slept in a year, is wearing her best friend’s clothes that don’t even fit her properly and lives in a shitty area, when there are so many beautiful women in the VIP section of your club who would probably sell their granny for a night with you.”

 God, she really doesn't know how beautiful she is. How beautiful she
smells
. Granted, she does have the look of a sleep deprived emotional train wreck at the moment. It doesn't make her any less stunning. Perhaps even adds to it in a strange way.

 “I find you
interesting
,” I allow my gaze to wander over her body appreciatively. “And your clothes fit perfect as far as I can see.”

 “Did I say how weird I think you are?” There is a slight blush to her cheeks now. It's lovely.

 “Not in so many words.” I chuckle.

 “Ah God, you can come in if you want, but I’ll warn you it’s tiny and cramped and messy in my place, so you won’t be very comfortable.”

 “Let me be the judge of that.”

 I lead her out of the car and to the entrance of the building, where it takes her a moment to find her key card. Once inside, she walks ahead of me up the stairs, which I find slightly odd since I can still smell that I unnerve her.

Why would a person as anxious as Tegan allow me the upper hand like this? She is leaving herself completely open to attack. As I follow her I continue scenting her out, trying to understand the reason for her unusual actions. It doesn't take long for me to come to a stark realisation, the realisation that she is hurting so much she no longer cares for her own wellbeing. I could be a serial killer herding her to her death, but subconsciously she doesn't really care. I don't like this at all.

 She opens the door to a small, cramped apartment space. It's a little untidy with various vintage and antique odds and ends scattered about, indicating her love of collecting things. Her scent is everywhere, and even though this is not exactly a desirable place to live, I could happily stay here for hours just relishing in her smell.

In the living room there is a small corduroy sofa with a worn, patchwork blanket strewn haphazardly over the back of it. On the wall in the centre of the room hangs a bizarre, modern looking painting of a large eye with hundreds of smaller eyes surrounding it. I have to give it to her, she certainly has unique tastes.

 I glance over at her book shelf by the window and peruse the titles. You can tell a lot about a person from the books they own. Some of them are art history related, so I assume they're for her college work. There are several by the likes of Richard Dawkins and Christopher Hitchens. I take it I have something of a cynic on my hands. Or perhaps she's simply searching for answers, I think, as I spot a dog eared copy of the
Tao Te Ching.
Humans are always so questioning of the world when they reach young adulthood.

There isn't much fiction, except for copies of
The Talented Mr Ripley
by Patricia Highsmith,
Carrie
by Stephen King and
The Metamorphosis
by Franz Kafka. From this I detect a person caught up in the darker side of her own mind, perhaps.

 Tegan interrupts my inspection of her book shelf when she says, “I’m going to make tea. Do you want some?”

 “Yes, thank you,” I reply, turning to give her a dazzling smile, hoping it will further loosen her up. She merely turns and steps into her small, open plan kitchen, putting water into the electric kettle. As I step near to the closed door of the bathroom I halt immediately, because my brain is humming with the feeling and smell of death.

 Good God, somebody died in there not too long ago. I turn around to gaze at Tegan, who is going about making the tea with her back to me. Her long, messy hair trails down her blue dress. She looks delicate and harmless, not at all like a human capable of murder. Then again, appearances are generally deceptive. My sister Delilah has the look of an angelic beauty, yet she kills with a swift brutality not often expected of her sex. Although saying that, Delilah is not human, and killing is not such an immoral act to us as it is to the weaker species.

 Could this be the reason for Tegan's shattered emotions? Has she killed someone? Is she now suffering guilt for that act? I have ended many lives in my time, but I have never particularly mourned for them. I have killed in battles, in fights, in self-defence. I would not judge this woman for causing death, for perhaps it was out of necessity.

 However, I could be completely wrong. She might not be living here long, and the death might have taken place before she took up residence. As a vampire, I can sense the spilling of blood for many years after the fact.

 I notice that she's just finished making the tea, so I go to sit down on her small sofa. She puts the cups on the low table in front of me and sits down too, her leg absently touching off mine.

 She turns to me and begins to speak. “Do you mind my saying that you look very young to own your own night club?”

 I take the opportunity to study her as she talks. No, this creature can't be a killer, it just doesn't make sense. I have encountered human murderers in my time, and there is always something missing from their eyes. If anything, Tegan's eyes contain too much. Too much feeling. Too much pain. Finally, I answer her, “I’m not as young as I look.”

 “Oh really, what are you, twenty-seven, twenty-eight maybe?”

She takes a sip of her tea, and looks back up at me. She is the slightest bit more relaxed now that she's home. There's something about this tiny apartment filled with death and her possessions that soothes her.

 “Not exactly. How old are you Tegan?” I'm clearly deflecting here, but she doesn't call me on it.

 “Twenty-one. Do you enjoy the night club business? I’ve always thought all night club owners were men in suits in their forties and fifties, mostly like mob bosses, that kind of thing. You look like you should be in a grunge band.” She tells me all of this in a very matter of fact voice. It makes me like her even more.

 “You shouldn’t stereotype, darling. Besides, I’m one of a kind,” I grin.

 “I’m sure you are.”

 “Would you like me to show you how unique I am?” I ask, leading her on.

 “Is that a come on?” She shoots right back at me. My grin widens.

 “What do you think?”

 She laughs and it's a wonderful sound, low and tinkling. I join her. When the laughing dies down I say, “You’re cute, you know that?”

 “Yeah, that’s me all right, cute as a button.”

 “And vulnerable.”

 “Sure.”

 “And in a way, very sexy.”

 “You must get off on vulnerability then.”

 
Oh, you have no idea, my dear
. “Actually I do.” I settle myself closer to her, breathing all of her in. “You want me, don’t you?”

 “What I want is for you to get off me.” She tries to push me away, but I resist.

 “No you don’t,” I argue, thoughtlessly lowering my face to her neck, where I kiss her, hard but tender. Her pulse goes wild at the contact, fear and desire intermingling in her scent. I run my hand up her leg, all the way to her outer thigh, before trailing inwards. Her skin is wonderfully soft.

 “Stop,” she says, her breaths coming out laboured.

 “You sure about that?” I question her, and make a bold move by slipping my hand beneath her dress to toy with the smooth material of her underwear. God, I love teasing her.

 “Yes,” she replies firmly.

I don't want to push her, and I can tell that she's reached her limit tonight. There will be time for more another night. So much more.

 “All right then.” I remove my hand, leaning close to her ear one last time and whispering, “But don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy that, Tegan, because I know that you did.”

 “Wow, modest aren’t we.” It thrills me when she rolls her eyes.

 I have to run my hands through my hair in order to keep from touching her again. “I enjoyed it too, honey,” I say. She blushes. “So shy,” I whisper, ghosting my lips over her ear lobe.

 She darts up off the sofa and demands, “I think you should go now.”

 “If that’s what you want,” I reply with amusement, standing up with her.

 “Yes, it is.”

 “Will you drop by the club some time? I’d like it if you did.” My entire body is vibrating with the thoughts of getting to know more of her. Intimately.

 “Oh, yeah maybe,” she answers, but she's not really listening, she just wants me to leave. She's confused by the effect I have on her. I'd tell her she has just as much of an effect on me, but I know that with her current low self-esteem, she wouldn't believe me anyway.

 “Please do, I’ll see myself out.”

 I leave quickly before she can say anything else. I had really wanted to kiss her, but I think she might have had a coronary if I did that. Baby steps, I tell myself. She's healing from something, that's very clear from her emotional grid. I must allow her the time to do that.

 As I step out of the building and make my way toward my car, I stop and look back up at her window on the first floor. I see her shadow move about for a few minutes, before she finally goes into her bedroom and turns out the lights.

Upon returning to the club, I immediately seek out Tegan's blond friend so that I can ask for her phone number. I had forgotten to request it while I'd been in her apartment, so distracted by her as I was. I have the distinct feeling that although she is attracted to me, Tegan is going to do her level best to avoid seeing me again. With her phone number I will be able to make direct contact with her, and convince her of my more desirable qualities, perhaps.

 I find her friend in a dark corner of the club, getting quite intimate with a brunette woman. Ah, so this explains her lack of attraction when she'd first seen me. She prefers the company of ladies. Not that my ego was in any danger of shrinking, of course. I had simply been curious as I have yet to encounter a female thus far who did not find me desirable on some level.

 Her eyes are closed and her tongue lodged firmly down the brunette's throat. I venture closer and tap her on the shoulder. Drunkenly, she pulls away from her lady friend and turns to glance up at me. Her brow furrows in confusion before remembrance follows.

 She looks around blearily. “Where's Tegan?” she asks.

 “She is at home safe and sound,” I reply. “I was wondering if you would happen to have her phone number, as I would like to call on her some time.”

 She quirks an eyebrow at my turn of phrase and then grins at the brunette. She appears as though she's getting ready to refuse me, so I focus my eyes on her with a dab of compulsion. She blinks, as humans often do when put under our thrall.

 “Sure,” she says after a moment, her voice slurring slightly from alcohol consumption. She rummages in her purse, pulls out a crumpled receipt and a ball point pen and proceeds to scribble down the digits. It takes her longer than average, as she makes several mistakes before finally getting them down right. She thrusts the paper at me triumphantly and I take it from her, smiling in thanks. She immediately returns to kissing and groping the brunette. If Lucas were here he would have thoroughly enjoyed their display.

 I fold the paper neatly and slip it into the pocket of my jeans. On my journey to my office I pass by Nicu, who is making his way out of the club. The women he had been with earlier are still by his side. I notice he has added a red head to the group, perhaps to achieve the full set. He shakes my hand and we say our fond farewells. I watch him leave, with no small amount of envy. It is not often that vampires will reach such an old age as Nicu and still retain their sanity.

 Though it has never been proven, it is thought that my kind evolved from humans. It is quite plausible that stronger beings would come to be created based on the design of the weaker ones. Yet it seems that there was one slight glitch in the evolution. This being that our minds age and decline, while our bodies remain young and able.

Sometimes we go mad, other times we simply lose the morals that mankind seem to hold in such high regard. Older vampires no longer care about killing or causing destruction for the power it can bring us. Basically, we can become degenerate, tyrannical, ego-maniacs if we are not careful.

 With each year that passes, I find myself straddling this line ever more precariously. This is perhaps why the mystery Tegan presents has completely consumed me at so quick a rate. She is something new, and at my age you must cherish new things for they are few and far between.

 These thoughts of the threat of insanity bring the memory of a dear deceased friend upon me, a three hundred year old vampire named Jonathan. We spent almost a decade as close companions in Paris in the 19
^th
century, living among the artists, writers and courtesans of the
demi-monde
. Slowly, I began to see the signs of madness in Jonathan. He would soliloquise extensively on mortality, on the idea of death. He could fashion such beautiful words about dying, and in a way it had become his obsession.

 At the time one of the most illustrious courtesans in the city, Esther Lachmann, now known in the history books as
la Païva, was also a powerful witch. She practised dark magic at her home, the
Hôtel de la Païva, a building which was notorious among superstitious humans as being deathly cold in temperature, no matter the season. Of course, the cold can be attributed to the nature of the magic she possessed.

 A suicidal Jonathan, having become so set on ending his existence, went to la Païva and paid her handsomely to cast a spell upon him that would cause him to age and die within the space of a few hours. The wicked woman was only too happy to oblige him, as although she was unfathomably rich, she had risen from very lowly beginnings, and those who start their lives poor will seek more and more wealth so as to never return to the poverty they once escaped.

 She took his money, cast her spell, and Jonathan left her residence full of joy at having finally gotten what he had dreamed about for so long: his own death. I discovered what he had done too late to prevent it, and when I broke into his apartment I found him in his bedroom, staring into a full length mirror, watching himself age before his own eyes.

 His back hunched over, his copper hair thinned and faded to grey, his eyes drooped and his skin wrinkled. Jonathan watched his body transform with an expression of absolute happiness on his face. I had never seen him look more fulfilled than in that moment, as his once youthful body rapidly declined. There was nothing I could do to save him, and he died moments later, no more than a shrivelled corpse.

 I suppose the moral of this tale is that a long life can be just as much of a curse as a gift. When you spend centuries alive, death can seem like a welcome respite, the only way to achieve true peace. But new things, oh new things, feeling that sense of wonder at something you have never encountered before, these are what keep us going. For when the world no longer holds anything for us to desire, what point is there in going on living?

 These meandering, morose thoughts consume me as I settle the final matters of the night and assist my staff in closing up the club. A young employee of mine by the name of Judy makes her best efforts to tempt me into spending the night with her. She is human and thinks she is being subtly seductive. She has no idea how obvious she is. I have had to endure her flirtations since hiring her as a barmaid. Sometimes I think I would do better to simply fire her. It would be less hassle.

 I drive home alone. I share my house with my sister, but she is elsewhere tonight. I pull into my driveway and slam the door shut. The moment I step out into the fresh, chilly air I am propelled backward. Someone drags upon me, a metal chain tight around my neck. I should not have allowed my mind to wander to my past, as it left me open to attack by these blasted slayers. I have somehow been on their radar for the past few months since I opened the club. Fending them off has become a nightly occupation.

 One drags me across the smooth pathway at the front of my house, while two others advance on me, both with stakes gripped firmly in their hands. Yes, a simple wooden stake to the heart can end my life, yet not many humans are capable of overcoming my speed in order to sink one into me. Unfortunately, these sneaky bastards have caught me unawares. The metal chain is constricting around my throat as the slayer behind me pulls on it ever more tightly.

 One of the two in front of me laughs. “What's that bloodsucker? Cat got your tongue?”

 I choke excessively, gasping for air, and my fangs jut out as my body goes on high alert. I grip a hand onto the chain around my neck and pull on it. The human slayer won't be strong enough to pull harder than me; I already feel his grip slackening against the force of my pull. The expression of the slayer who'd run his mouth at me sobers a good deal as he notices the shift in the struggle.

 He lunges at me, stake in hand, aimed directly for my heart. I twist my body to the side swiftly and his stake meets the hard concrete ground instead of my body. The movement causes the slayer behind me to momentarily lose his grip on the chain and I rip the blasted thing from my neck. The third slayer approaches me from the side. I dodge him and twirl back around, punching down hard into the crown of his skull. He falls to the ground, mostly likely dead from the blow. It would surprise me if I did not crush his skull with that hit.

 “No!” The slayer who had wielded the chain on me wails, as he realises his comrade is no more.

 I have no sympathy for him, for he would have killed me in a moment if he had half the chance.

 He comes at me in anger and grief, pulling out a gun and aiming it directly at me. I cannot die from the wound of a man made bullet, but that does not mean it doesn't hurt tremendously to be shot. I rush to the slayer before he has the chance to pull the trigger. I am unlucky, because he manages to get a shot in before I rip the gun from his hand and throw it away. He got me in the side, perhaps in the kidney. Pain rips through me, but I suck in a steadying breath. The wound will take several hours to heal, my black/red vampire blood stains my white t-shirt.

 I decide to make use of my sharp canines as I grip a hand on either side of the slayer's head, tilting it back before I sink my fangs into his throat. As a vampire, I can consume blood as fast or as slowly as I wish. Normally I enjoy taking my time, but when I am defending myself from an attack I can drain an entire body of blood in a matter of seconds. A moment after I have pierced his skin I have drained him completely, and I shove his body away from me.

 I look around, ready to take care of the final slayer, but it seems that he has fled. Perhaps he realised there was no way to survive going up against me. Or maybe he was simply in too much fear after watching me take out his two friends. One way or the other, I am under no illusions that he won't return at some point in the near future with reinforcements. I'll be ready for him when that happens though. Of all the attacks I have endured in recent weeks, tonight's was the closest those slayers came to actually killing me.

 I hadn't anticipated that they would wait for me at my home. Normally, the slayers will avoid going very far past the Hawthorne River and into vampire territory. This city is divided in two. The South side of the river belongs to the vampires and the North belongs to the slayers, the dhamphirs and of course the magical families, of which there are twelve. Tribane is unique in this sense, as there is no place like it on earth with such a divided political system between hidden folk. Hidden folk is a term we sometimes use to refer to ourselves, because we are hidden from the general human population. Our world is known as the hidden world.

 I wince as I feel my body work hard to heal itself, the flesh knitting back together tissue by tissue. I walk out onto the street and glance up and down the road to make sure that the slayer really has left and isn't lying in wait to attack me again. I can't hear a heartbeat anywhere close by, so I assume he has truly fled. I can only sense those in the houses nearby, fast asleep in their beds.

 It is only four in the morning now. I don't normally turn in until six or seven, when the sun has come out fully. I am a nocturnal creature as a result of the fact that the sun is unbearable for me. It does not consume me in flames, as is often believed about my kind, however it does weaken me and I cannot tolerate going out in it. It is the biggest weakness of vampires. The damage caused by one moment in the sun would take several gallons of blood to repair.

 I drag the bodies of the two dead slayers out to my back garden, dumping both of them in my shed before making a call for Lucas to come and collect them. Lucas has his talents, getting rid of bodies so that they are never found again being one of them. I pray for rain tonight, so that it will wash away the blood stains from my front driveway. Although, if any human police come sniffing around I will simply compel them to believe that my driveway is as clean as a whistle.

 As a precaution, I decide to sit out and wait for a while, just in case more of those DOH bastards come invading my private residence again. I wander to the side of my house, grabbing a light hold of the drain pipe and hoisting myself up. I jump to a window ledge on the first floor with expert balance. Then I reach up to a further window ledge above me, and swing myself to the next one. One more floor and I've successfully scaled my roof.

 I often like to sit up here when I'm in a thoughtful mood. Tonight I can kill two birds with one stone, as I'm thoughtful but also watchful. Death has been a concept on my mind this evening, yet I never considered it could be waiting for me on my very own doorstep. These slayers are getting far too big for their boots. I will have to think of a way to show them that they cannot continue to venture so far past the river without severe repercussions. The next time they decide to attack I will show no mercy, none of them will get away or have the chance to flee. I will kill them in such a manner as to portray the fact that I am not a vampire to be messed with.

 I stretch my legs out and lean back, raising my arms above my head and placing my head upon my clasped palms. I stare up at the starless, deep black sky. Black like Tegan's raven tresses. I check my jeans pocket to ensure that her phone number is still there, and the paper crumples beneath my fingertips. I wonder if her sensitive human morals would be appalled by the killing I took part in tonight. Then again, if the smell of death lingering in the bathroom of her own apartment is anything to go by, death is something that she is not unfamiliar with.