A Bailey’s Books Original

January 2009

Published by Bailey’s Books

P.O. Box 211

New Castle, CO 81647

Forever David’s

Copyright © 2008 by Shannon Bailey

International Standard Book Number: 978-0-9740086-6-0

Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 2008906936

FIRST EDITION

Editor: Michael R. Valentino

This is a work of fiction. The characters, names, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or deceased, or events is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by an electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law.

For order information contact: www.baileysbooksonline.net

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

Morris Publishing

3212 East Highway 30

Kearney, NE 68847

Forever David’s

The Memoirs of

Emily Rose Perkins

By Shannon Bailey

Chapter One

My Beginning

As I begin, I realize that my life before October 31, 2007, was hardly noteworthy at all. However, in the best interest of this record of events, I suppose I should get the preliminary facts out of the way.

I was born on May 12, 1979 in Dixon, a small town in northern Illinois. My birth was planned and I came into the world as expected, making me the first and only child of John and Catherine Perkins.

In retrospect, I’ve come to recognize that my childhood was privileged and overly protected. My teen and young adult life was uneventful, even- keeled, punctuated only by the typical milestones experienced by most American girls.

I remember my first crush. Getting my driver’s license and first car. The prom, my high school graduation, going off to college and graduating with my degree. My father walking me down the aisle to Jeremy and four years later, the judge legally declaring the marriage over.

It was a little over a year after that divorce when I met Cara Wagner. She joined the nursing staff at the hospital where I worked and we immediately struck up a friendship.

Looking back, ours was an unlikely pairing and frankly, I’m surprised we had any kind of relation-ship at all. She was the direct opposite of me in every possible way: short, blonde and voluptuous. Outgoing and outspoken, even vulgar and uncouth at times.

She was constantly challenging me and pushing me out of my comfort zone, but I suppose that’s what I thought I needed at that point in my life.

We had been friends for almost a year before she began pestering me to go with her to a Halloween party in Chicago.

Eventually, I gave in and that night, she arrived at my house, a quaint stone cottage, complete with blue shutters and a white picket fence around the front yard, at 6:00 p.m. sharp.

When I answered the door and saw her, the first thought that popped into my mind was that she looked like a trampier cross version of Dolly Parton and Elvira.

Her shoulder length, bleach-blonde hair had been teased big and brushed back away from her round face. She was heavily made up with dark eye shadow, liner and mascara, stripes of black blush at her cheeks and bright crimson lipstick. She wore black stiletto heels, a black leather mini skirt and a black leather corset that had her naturally enormous breasts practically pushed up to her chin.

I welcomed her in and as she stepped across the threshold, she closed the door behind her and planted her hands on her ample hips. Her gauche red lips pursed and her left eyebrow, the one with a little silver bar pierced through it, raised skeptically as she looked me over.

I watched as her brown eyes, starting at the little white cap atop my long black hair, work their way down over my shapeless, button down gray cardigan sweater, the skirt of my knee-length white dress, to my white pantyhose and white orthopedic work shoes, and then travel back up.

“Well,” she began in her raspy, sultry voice, “I suppose if we tossed the hat, put your hair up into a sexy bun with some loose tendrils, lose the sweater entirely, unbutton the top two buttons and got you into a pair of stilettos, it could work.”

Bristling a bit at her criticism, I politely replied, “Thanks, but I wasn’t going for the Naughty Nurse look. I was going more historical. This is my grandmother’s actual Red Cross nurse uniform from when she served in World War II. See, it even has the original patch,” I told her, shoving the sweater off my shoulder and revealing the Red Cross insignia sewn there.

To say the least, Cara didn’t look impressed. In fact, she frowned and acted as if I hadn’t spoken at all. “You do own a pair of stilettos, don’t you?”

I pulled the sweater back into place and snapped back, “No. You know I don’t wear shoes like that.”

With a dismal shake of her head, she jabbed her finger at me, its nail tip painted black and sharpened to a point. “You see. This is why you’re single at almost thirty.”

“What? My preference for sensible shoes,” I retorted. “No, I don’t think so. I’m sure I’m single at twenty-eight because of a cheating husband.”

“True, but the divorce was finalized two years ago! I’m talkin’ about your play-it-safe attitude. I mean, damn, I thought you had to be a Catholic to become a nun.”

The offended look I shot her sent her hands up into an apologetic gesture. “I’m just saying, you act and dress like one. For Pete’s sake. You’re gorgeous and you have a smokin’ hot bod. Hell, if I looked like you, I wouldn’t be caught dead in those shoes or that potato sack you call a dress,” she said with a frown.

“C’mon, Emmy, loosen up a bit. Show off a little. Live a little. Love a little. Although in your case, you have so much wasted time to make up for, I say screw it! Do it all and a lot of it,” she advised with a saucy smile.

Now I’ll admit when she said that, a part of me wanted to point out to her that teetering around, half-naked on three inch stilts and dating and sleeping with man after man, just wasn’t my thing. And it certainly didn’t make her any less single. It just made her more of a desperate tramp. But I kept my personal opinions to myself and said, “I hear what you’re saying and I’m trying. I mean, I’m going tonight aren’t I?”

“Yeah, but only after weeks of begging and pleading. I mean, damn, I thought I was going to have to drug and kidnap your sorry ass to get you to go with me,” she said with a throaty laugh.

Although I was used to her kind of teasing, I was growing a bit defensive. “Well, it’s just a weird day to throw a party is all,” I said, crossing my arms. “I mean, really, who throws and who goes to a party on a Wednesday night? Most of us normal people have to work the next day.”

“Yeah, I know, hon,” she began condescendingly. “But there are those out there, you know, real people, with real lives, that can handle a party any day of the week. Besides, today is the 31st and you can’t have a real Halloween party on any other day. Now, go find another pair of shoes. Anything with a heel, and let’s haul ass.”

“Well, I suppose I could grab those white kitten heels that I wore to my cousin’s wedding over the summer.”

With a disgusted snort and a roll of her eyes, Cara said she would wait in the car and I hurried to my bedroom. After stuffing the most daring pair of shoes I owned into my overnight bag, I grabbed my purse and made sure Sir Galahad, my white, blue-eyed Persian, had enough food and water and we were off to Cara’s ever so important Halloween Party.

CHAPTER TWO

The Party Ploy

With the way Cara had pushed her little red Toyota Corolla, an early 90s model that had seen better days, we were checked into the Ramada and in our room by 7:45.

While I immediately took out my alcohol wipes and went to work wiping down all the surfaces that we would be touching in the room, she went to the mirror to fix herself. She pressed very realistic looking fangs over each of the eye teeth, applied a generous layer of red lipstick and sprayed her hairdo with another coat of Aqua Net before turning her focus on me.

Reluctantly, I let her brush and arrange my long hair into a massive bun atop my head, holding it secure with two strategically placed red chopsticks. At her insistence to accentuate my blue eyes, I put eyeliner and added some gray shadow for that smoky, dramatic look. I even borrowed her lipstick, wiping the pointed red shaft with anti-bacterial wipe first and dabbed a little on my puffed puckers, as she always referred to them.

When we were finished painting and primping before the mirror, she tried one last time to get me to abandon my sweater, while I tried to convince her to wear one because it was freezing out. But neither of us was willing to give in and we were back in her car within a half an hour.

As we left the hotel parking lot and drove south, away from the city and into the residential neighborhood of Hyde Park, I realized that I didn’t know where we were going. And so I asked whose party it was and where it was being held.

Despite the fangs, Cara sounded normal when she casually replied that it was at “some guy’s” house.

Now when I heard that, I felt the first twinge of unease in my stomach. “But I thought it was at a club downtown or a hotel ballroom or something.”

“No,” she said with a dismissive shrug. “It’s a private party. At this guy Develyn’s house.”

At that little revelation, I felt the second twinge. “Who’s the guy? How do you know him? Did you meet him on MySpace?” I demanded as I stared at her profile in the dim light.

“No,” she shot back defensively. “He’s a friend of a friend I met on MySpace. But don’t go starting your, The Evils of MySpace, bullshit, ‘cause I fucking don’t want to hear it.”

I bristled at her tone, but wasn’t surprised by it. Cara was a MySpace junkie, and despite her suddenly foul mood and even fouler warning, I did launch into my well-rehearsed tirade.

I was a little freaked out. I mean, you don’t just go to some friend of a friend of a stranger-you-met-off-the-Internet’s house. You just don’t do it!

And when I was finished pointing out all the obvious reasons why, she calmly replied, “Look, I’ve met him before. Over the summer and trust me, Develyn’s cool. Everything’s cool. So, just relax and try and have some fun tonight, will ya?”

That’s when the third twinge struck and I felt around inside my purse for my cell phone and trusty little can of mace.

Since I didn’t know what kind of rock star, world renowned writer, or whatever wannabe, this Develyn really was, I slipped the phone and mace into each sweater pocket. . . Just in case.

In silence we rode on, going further into the old and established Hyde Park neighborhood where most of the home and buildings were constructed in the late 1890s through the 1920s. In my opinion, back when architecture was a practice of beauty and form, not just function.

The streets were lined with large, aged elm and oak trees with bared branches. Their fallen leaves blanketed the sidewalks that were busy with costumed children and their parents, as they scurried from house to house, for sweet treats.

After a kid dressed like Captain Jack Sparrow ran out in front of us from between two parked cars, Cara pulled over and parked beneath the streetlight, all the while swearing at the little boy.

Turning the engine off and the dome light on, she applied yet another coat of lipstick and checked her fake teeth in the rearview mirror while I took off my orthopedic shoes and slipped on my heels.

After we locked our purses in the trunk, she handed me the car keys and her lipstick to carry, since she had no possible place to put them.

We started walking west, weaving in and around the kids and adults for two blocks before we took a right. As we followed the broken and cracked sidewalk alongside a hedge-enshrouded property, I could hear the faint thumping sound of music coming from behind the bushes and I figured this was the place we were heading to.

When we turned the corner, I made a mental note of the street we were on. And we stopped at the property’s gated driveway I memorized the four numbers engraved in a plaque mounted on the right brick column.

Out of the darkness, a short, pale-faced, bald man in all black approached us from behind the tall and fancy black iron gates and asked if we were there for the gathering.

Of course at that time, I thought he was just being theatrical, calling the party ‘the gathering’, but I would later learn it really was a Vampire event known as a “Gathering.”

When Cara smiled seductively and produced a small black card from the cleft of her impressive cleavage and he smiled, flashing fangs back at her. He flipped on a penlight and read the card before tucking it away inside of his trench coat. He then unlocked the gates with a skeleton key and in a perfected, deep voice, said, “You’ve been officially invited, ladies. Please come in and enjoy yourselves this evening.”

When he pulled the left side of the gate, it made an eerie screech as it swung inward and as we passed by him he chuckled ominously.

With the gate keeper’s chilling laughter and the scene before us, it was like something straight out of a horror movie and I stood frozen for a moment and I’ll admit I almost ditched Cara right then and there.

The half moon was bright white and it hung low in the sky, seemingly looming directly over the spooky old house at the end of a very long brick driveway. It was a large house. A brick, three-story Victorian with some steep pointed gables and lots of windows, some that were narrow and rectangular and some that were cathedral-styled, but all were shining yellow from within.

Cara’s heels clicked rapidly on the bricks as she hurried toward it and when she noticed I wasn’t beside her, she stopped and whirled around. “What the hell, Emmy? C’mon!” she called impatiently.

Reluctantly, I followed and as we neared, the music, some type of Goth rock, grew louder. We climbed the wide wooden stairs of the front porch and when Cara knocked at the door, I doubted if we were heard. But within seconds, it opened and another pale-faced man in black invited us in.

When I stepped through the doorway, a wave of intense heat washed over me and the scent of burning candles and sage filled my nose. Immediately, I noticed that every one of the dozen or so people milling around the foyer and staircase were dressed up as vampires. Their faces were pale and heavily made up with dark make-up. Some wore fangs and most of them wore silver crosses, varying in size and design. All the men were in black pants and shirts; some sporting long black coats, while each woman wore either a black dress of some sort or a black get up similar to Cara’s.

Standing there, I felt like the proverbial sore thumb when they all turned to stare at me. Pulling Cara aside, I yelled over the music, “I thought you said this was a costume party!”

“It is!” she cried back with a shrug.

“Yeah, a Vampire costume party! Why didn’t you tell me it was a theme party?”

She rolled her eyes in exasperation.”‘ Cause it’s not! Relax! Look! There’s a hippie, a cowgirl, and a Mr.GQ right over there!” she said, pointing them out in the crowd in the next room.

CHAPTER THREE

The Sweet Sacrifice

The three of them was standing together about twenty feet away. The hippie was short and skinny and since he stood with his back to us, all I could see were his faded jeans, a long brown vest with fringe at the bottom that he wore over a long-sleeved shirt of purple. A long white ponytail hung down to the middle of his back. To his left was the cowgirl.

She was a tall and curvy brunette dressed in red leather cowboy boots, a straw hat, a blue jean mini skirt and a red Western-styled blouse tied up at the waist and busting out at the bust. She was standing next to, and smiling up at, the man Cara had referred to a Mr.GQ.

Now, Mr. Gentleman’s Quarterly was tall, lean and broad shouldered with pitch-black hair and eyebrows and chiseled pale features. He wore a dark gray, well-tailored and expensive-looking suit with a matching colored shirt and a bold, blood-red silk tie. There was an air of confidence about him. And as he stood there, cocked-hipped and casually cradling a silver goblet in his left hand, I thought Cara was right. He looked like a model from the pages of that magazine. In fact, he looked like he was constantly posing for a camera or anyone who happened to be looking his way. Just as I was about to turn my head, he looked right at me and our eyes locked.

Instantly, I felt my blood warm and rise to my face. The sound of my pounding heart filled my head, drowning out everything else. I tried to break our gaze, but I couldn’t. I just stood there, watching him. Watching the turn and tilt of his head and the movement of his lips as he spoke with the hippie and the cowgirl.

I was completely unaware of anything or anyone else. That is, until Cara leaned in, and with a snicker said, “Damn, girl! If you keep staring like that you’re gonna hurt yourself.”

Flinching, I looked over at her and was shocked to see that she was holding a Bloody Mary cocktail. But what was even more disturbing was that I hadn’t noticed her absence or that the deafening music had stopped and the lights had dimmed dramatically throughout the house.

Goosebumps peppered my arms and the hair on the back of my neck rose as I realized I had been in a trance.

I would later learn that I was in a state of enthrallment. A controlling technique commonly used by Vampires.

With this unsettling realization, a heavy wave washed over me, nearly knocking me off my feet. Fighting it, I turned my back to the man and took several deep and deliberate breaths to keep from fainting.

Misconstruing my near hyperventilation as some sort of long-repressed lusty reaction to an attractive man, Cara snorted at me. “Geez, that was fast!” she said, taking a sip of her drink.” So, who is it? Who’s the guy that already has you panting like a bitch in heat,” she remarked snidely, as her eyes scanned the crowd.

In all our time together, there had never been an occasion when I had wanted to tell her off so badly, but when I opened my mouth to retort to her nasty comment, I couldn’t speak. No words came out. And Cara, self-absorbed as she was, didn’t even notice. She went on, critiquing each man she saw before stopping in mid-sentence. “. . . Oh, shit,” she muttered, as the smile drained from her face. “Don’t tell me that it’s Mr.GQ over there that’s got you all hot and bothered.”

Although I knew he was, in fact, the man responsible for what was happening to me, I was too frightened by her sobered expression to admit it.

Risking a glance over my shoulder, I saw that he was no longer looking our way and I was able to choke out, “No. Why? Who is he?”

Cara swallowed hard and her red lips pressed in-to a grim line before she replied. “His name is David Blackwell. He’s Develyn’s brother. His twin brother.”

At this little revelation, I looked back over my shoulder in stunned silence. The man was still speaking with the cowgirl, who I noticed, was no longer smiling.

Well, I figured if her Develyn was as good looking as his twin was, then it certainly explained why Cara had been so determined to be at the party. But it did nothing to excuse her suddenly strange reaction to the man in the other room.

“So,” I began, turning back to her. “What do you know about him?”

“Nothing,” she spat before swallowing half of the remaining thick red liquid in her glass. “I’ve just heard things about him is all,” she said, glancing nervously about the room.

I was afraid to hear what she would say, but I couldn’t stop myself from asking, “Oh? Like what?”

“Nothing big,” she said shortly, growing more agitated by the second. “Damn!” she cried with a grimace. “I gotta pee like a racehorse. Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

“What? No, wait!” I hissed and reached out and grabbed her arm. “I’ll come with. . .”

When the music started again, Cara looked positively panicked. “Shit no, Emmy!” she exclaimed, yanking her arm free. “I don’t need you to go to the can with me. Just wait here! Gawd!” she cried. “Get a drink and relax! Or mingle! Or whatever! I don’t’ care what you do, just as long as you stay the hell away from him!” she said, jabbing her finger at the man in the other room.

I was about to tell her that she needn’t worry. I was going to keep away from David Blackwell, ‘cause I was leaving, with or without her. But figuring I could at least wait until she came back from the bathroom, I let her go without further argument.

I watched her make her way to the stairs and as she began to climb them, the song’s lyrics rang through my head and an overwhelming sense of danger came over me.

I recognized the song as the same one Cara had been playing in the car when I had first gotten in. It was Sweet Sacrifice by Evanescence.

As Cara’s stilettos disappeared from sight, I felt someone roughly brush past me. When I looked over my shoulder, I saw it was the cowgirl. She was practically shoving people aside as she hurried toward the front door. Once she reached it, she jerked it open and flew over the threshold without so much as a glance back.

Having witnessed the cowgirl’s hasty departure was the final straw for me. I knew something was seriously wrong and I decided it was time for Cara and me to make tracks as well.

I headed for the stairs, determined to find her and drag her, kicking and screaming if need be, from the bathroom and out of the creepy house. But before I could take more than a couple of steps, I was stopped by a gentle tap at my shoulder.

When I turned, I found the hippie standing there with his thumbs casually hooked through the belt loops of his faded jeans.

Judging by the deep creases in his face and the coloring of his hair I guessed he was in his early sixties. He had pale blue eyes and bushy white eyebrows that nearly touched at the top of his large bulbous nose. A full, white mustache covered both his top and lower lip and curled up at the ends.

And since I couldn’t see his lips move or hear over the deafening music, I assumed that by the way his handlebar mustache rose and fell, he must have been speaking to me, so I mimed the universal, ‘I can’t hear you’, sign.

With a knowing nod, he motioned with a jerk of his chin for me to come closer. When I did, he leaned in and said with a thick Irish accent, “I wouldn’t be doin’ that, gurlie.”

A little taken aback by such an unexpected warning, I pulled back and asked, “Why not?”

He signaled for me to close again and said, “‘Cause there’s some serious shite happenin’ up there and I’m thinkin’ you don’t really want any part of it.”

Naturally, I assumed he was referring to drugs, and I nodded that I understood and he was correct. I didn’t want any part of that scene. “Thanks for the warning, but I’m just going to get my friend and then we’re outta here.”

“Well, that tis a wise decision to be sure, but why don’t you go on ahead and wait outside. I’ll fetch yer friend fer ya and send her out straightaway,” he kindly offered. “She’s the short, busty blonde with the Bloody Mary, isn’t she?”

He seemed nice and his suggestion innocent enough, but I was instantly wary. I didn’t like the fact that he had been watching Cara and me closely enough to describe her like that and I pulled back, taking another step away.

With a shake of my head, I shouted at him, “Yeah, but I’ll just go find her myself. Thanks anyway,” flashing him an uneasy smile.

His mustache twitched and he shook his head gravely at me. “I’m sorry, but I can’t be lettin’ you go up there,” he hollered back before he reached out and clamped his hand around my right forearm.

Cold fear shot through me and I demanded that he let me go. I tried to jerk my arm free, but his grip was viselike, too strong for me to break, and he began easily pulling me toward the door.

Panicking, I called out for help, but only a hand-ful of people even glanced our way. And those who did appeared to be amused by what was happening.

Truly terrified at this point, I struggled harder. I was clawing and slapping at his hand when David Blackwell stepped in front of us.

CHAPTER FOUR

The Stryker and The Marking

For a split second, I thought I was being saved. As corny as it may sound, I thought David Blackwell was coming to my rescue. But as he stood there, towering over and glowering down at us, stone-faced and with his arms crossed over his chest, I doubted it. And when I felt myself slipping into another of his trances, I feared the worst.

I tried to fight it. To break his gaze, but the music faded away and everything around us seemed to disappear until all I could see were his dark eyes burning into mine. And all I could hear was his deep mesmerizing voice in my ears as he spoke.

“What seems to be the problem here, Robert?” he demanded in a clipped, British accent.

“This gurl here dinna want to leave without her friend. Wanted to go upstairs to find her.”

His left eyebrow rose slightly. “I see. And did you explain to the young lady why it wouldn’t be prudent to do such a thing.”

“Aye, sir. Even offered to fetch her friend for her, but she refused. Wanted to find the gurl herself.”

Again his eyebrow rose. “I see. Well, it seems as though this young lady possesses more character than most.”

“Aye, sir. All the more reason to get her outta here before he comes down, I’m thinkin’.”

“Of course. Escort her from the property post haste. No, better still, all the way to her vehicle. I will find the willing whore who brought here and deal with her accordingly,” he said, his eyes narrowing angrily.

The moment David broke eye contact with me I had a stronger reaction than before and would have collapsed to the floor if Robert the hippie hadn’t been supporting me. And as we stood there, my mind was spinning because although I had been in a trance, I heard every word the men had exchanged.

It didn’t sound like I was in danger, but Cara, for whatever reason, definitely was. And if the look I saw in David Blackwell’s eyes, was any indication of what was in store for her, then I had to find her and get her out of there as soon as possible.

Reaching into my sweater pocket for the mace, I took it out and without a second thought, sprayed the hippie in the face.

Now, I had never used mace before so I didn’t know what to expect and I actually felt a twinge of pity when Robert growled and cursed in agony as he clamped his hands over his eyes.

Once I was free, I ran back toward the staircase, rushing past David, and as I reached the middle of it, I saw Cara emerge from the darkened hallway at the top.

I knew immediately that something was wrong with her. She was unsteady on her feet. Her hair was a mess, her lipstick was smeared and her right breast was nearly exposed above her corset.

By the time I reached her, she had managed to stumble down a few stairs, so I took her by the shoulders and forced her to sit where she was.

Shaking her gently, I asked what had happened, but she was unresponsive. She couldn’t keep her eyes open, let alone speak. And with a groan, she jerked away from me, knocking the can of mace from my grasp and sending it tumbling down the stairs.

I figured she had to have taken some sort of drug, so I knelt down on the stair in front of her feet and checked her over the best I could.

Her pupils were dilated. Her pulse was racing and her skin was cold and clammy. She was in shock. And judging by the very large-gauged needle puncture I found on the inside of her blood-smeared arm, my suspicion was confirmed.

Taking my sweater off, I wrapped it around her shoulders and began questioning her. “Cara, what did you inject yourself with? Tell me what you shot up with? C’mon, Cara,” I said, patting her cheek, “what did you take?”

With twitching eyelids, her head lolled back and forth. And with a snicker, she finally opened her eyes and looked at me. “You’re ss, so, ssstupid,” she slurred. “I didn’t take anything. I gave it. I gave and gave and gave,” she said, grinning drunkenly.

I had no idea what she was talking about and with a shake of my head, I angrily muttered, “What do you mean? What did you give?”

“The foolish woman is referring to her blood, Miss,” David said from behind me.

Startled, I whirled around and rose to face him. Even daring to meet his eyes. “What on earth are you talking about,” I demanded.

His tone was as clipped and hostile as before as he explained. “Your friend here has willingly participated in a bloodletting ceremony.”

I was of course shocked by this and I screeched at him, “Bloodletting! Are you serious?”

With a quirk of his dark brow, he simply nodded.

Glancing around at the pale faces staring at us, I ranted at them. “My God! Don’t you people know how dangerous this is? Haven’t you heard of a little thing called AIDS?! HIV?! Hepatitis?!”

When they only continued to stare blankly at me, I was disgusted by their seeming ignorance and I turned my attention back to David, telling him, “I’m taking my friend to the nearest ER and having her examined and tested. I strongly suggest that you, and everyone here, do the same.”

“Well now, your concern for us is touching, Miss Perkins, but unwarranted I can assure you,” a deep voice called out from behind me.

With a start, I turned and sucked in a shallow breath of fear at what I found.

Cara had disappeared, along with my sweater, which held my cell phone and the car keys. And at the top of the stairs stood a man who was a darker, more menacing version of the one behind me.

The two men’s voices held the same rich timbre, but this one’s British accent was more relaxed. And while their faces were equally handsome, Develyn Blackwell’s appearance was definitely different.

For starters, he wasn’t as pale. In fact, he looked like he was wearing make-up, blush and lipstick. He had long, flowing black hair and was dressed in clothing of a time long past. He wore tall, polished black boots, tight fitting black breeches and a white ruffled shirt opened to his navel.

Although he looked like a Goth rock star, there was nothing frivolous or ridiculous about his demeanor. There was no mistaking the sense of raw power, sensuality or cruelty that emanated from him.

When he raised his hand and motioned for me to come to him, I did. And as I neared, the fear I had taken in began to spread from my lungs and throughout my body until I was trembling all over. Even my voice was shaky when I dared to ask how he knew my name.

As Develyn’s dark eyes brazenly raked me over, his full red lips pulled back into a grin, revealing perfect white teeth, and he said, “Why, from our mutual friend, Cara, of course. In fact, she’s told me a great deal about you, Emily Rose Perkins. And I must admit my interest in a woman hasn’t been this aroused for some time now.”

There was no mistaking what Develyn was really referring to and I was on the verge of breaking down. “I don’t know what she’s told you, but I want no part of this.”

“Part of what, Emily?” he toyed viciously.

“Wh, whatever is happening here tonight. Please, please, just let me go,” I begged, noting how his grin widened with pleasure.

With dramatic tisking, he shook his dark head and leaned in to whisper at my ear, “What? No bargains? No promises to keep mum. Not to contact the authorities. Or tell anyone about this night.”

Now, I hadn’t said those things or made such promises because the truth was, I was going to call the police the first chance I got and he knew it.

Snickering softly, he said, “I thought as much. I’m sorry, but you should have listened to Robbie and left while you had the chance, Emily. It’s simply too late now,” he muttered and spun me around so that I was back down the stairs . . . Facing David, who seemed to be frozen where he stood on the stairs.

The moment our eyes met, David pulled me into another trance and all I was conscious of was Develyn’s hot hands at my shoulders. I could feel them burning through the thin fabric of the uniform and as they traveled downward along my bared skin, they scorched a trail behind them. With his fingers, he gently turned my wrists, revealing the soft pale undersides of my arms. Keeping our right arms extended, he brought our left arms, his shadowing mine, up to wrap around my waist and he pulled me close against his burning body. I felt his hot breath at my temple, his pounding heart between my shoulder blades and his engorged groin against the small of my back.

I knew something horrible was going to happen to me, but I was completely defenseless against it. I was screaming on the inside, ‘Oh God! What were they going to do? Perform a bloodletting ceremony on me too? Rape? Both? Worse? Oh God, please help me!’

When David’s coldly uttered, “Don’t touch her,” broke the trance, I heard, between my gasps for air, Develyn say, “What’s this? You’re just now intervening?”

“Yes,” David hissed back as he advanced on us.

“But, dear brother, you and your man already had your chance with her. Losing your touch are we,” he taunted.

And that is when I felt it. A sharp, burning sensation at the crease of my right arm.

With a cry, I looked over and saw that Develyn had been wearing some sort of device over his thumb.

It was an intricately carved silver talon, inlaid with rubies and diamonds that had been sharpened to a fine point. A point that had pierced into my flesh and vein, bringing forth a trickle of bright red blood.

At seeing this, I wailed in agony and fear.

“Sshh,” Develyn whispered at my ear. “You needn’t worry about your mortal diseases, Emily. I assure you this stryker has never touched another. You are the first it has pricked. Isn’t that right, dear brother,” he said, his voice dropping low.

Through the tears that sprang to my eyes, I saw David’s eyes narrow dangerously and I heard him mutter, “Damn you, Develyn.”

With another dramatic tisking, he replied. “Now, now. You know very well that has already been said and done, dear brother. After all, isn’t that precisely how and why we’ve arrived at this very point,” he said, accentuating his words by cruelly pressing the talon further into my arm.

Grimacing in pain, I looked in horror from my bleeding arm back to David, finally screaming aloud at what I saw.

His handsome face had transformed into a frightening mask of rage and hunger. His eyes appeared black, as if the pupils dilated until there was no longer an iris. His nostrils were flared and his jaw clenched tightly, as if he were fighting the urge to attack me.

With a chuckle, Develyn tightened his hold on me until I thought my ribs would crack and he offered my bleeding arm to his brother, saying, “Take her. Mark her, if that’s all you can bear to do. But whatever you decide, dear brother, do it now! Or I promise, this night I will take her and make her mine in every possible way.”

With an anguished growl, David gave in at last and declared aloud, “She’s mine!”

At first, his fingertips felt as cold as ice and his lips were freezing. But as he drank, forcibly pulling the blood through my veins and drawing it into his mouth, he began to warm. And my last coherent thought was that his lips and tongue were burning me.

CHAPTER FIVE

The Truth, but Not the Whole Truth, Told

The next thing I was aware of was the cold and then the voices. They sounded muffled at first, but as they became audible, so did the realization that I was being carried. I felt strong arms under my legs and at my back as the person cradled me against their chest.

“You’ll stay and watch over her. And when she’s ready, see her safely home.” I heard David say.

“Aye. And when she asks about what really happened?”

“Depending on how much she recalls, tell her as much of the truth that will ease her immediate concerns.”

I tried to open my eyes and speak, demand an explanation right then and there, but I was too tired and I fell back into the darkness.

The next time I came to, I heard the distinct sound of snoring. It was the deep, throat rattling snores of a man. At first, I thought it was Jeremy, but then I remembered I hadn’t slept in the same bed with him in over three years.

And in an instant, the whole night’s events came rushing back.

With my eyes popping open wide, I sat straight up and blinked at the darkness. To my left, I noticed a digital clock that read 1:07 a.m. and realized I must have been at the hotel room. And I knew where there’s a bedside clock, there would be a bedside table, so I fumbled around in the dark until I found the lamp and turned it on.

When my eyes finally adjusted to the light, I checked my arm where Develyn had punctured it. A nasty bruise was already forming and it was tender looking.

Glancing around, I saw my sweater and purse atop the round table across from the foot of the bed and that one of the two gaudy mauve chairs was missing.

Throwing back the covers, I slowly climbed out of bed and crept toward the end of it, tripping over my shoes in the process. Peeking around the wall that separated the bathroom from the sleeping room, I found the other chair and the source of the snoring.

It was Robert the hippie. He was slumping in the chair facing the door. His head was resting on the back of the chair with a white washcloth over his eyes and his mouth hung wide open.

Approaching him warily, I poked him in the shoulders with my finger and whispered for him to wake up. When that didn’t work him, I poked him again, none too gently, until he stirred and awoke with a snorting gasp.

Sitting up abruptly, the cloth fell to floor and he gave me a sleepy smile. “Sorry. Must’ve drifted off,” he said, carefully rubbing his red-rimmed and blood shot eyes.

As he did that, I pretended not notice how painful they looked or remember that I had been the cause of it. And when he asked how I was feeling, I blushed guiltily and told him I was fine.

But truthfully, I was freaking out. I was still in shock over what had happened just a few short hours before and I wanted answers.

And although I shouldn’t have cared about Cara after what she had gotten me involved in, I did. David Blackwell had seemed intent on inflicting some sort of punishment on her, and even though she was no longer my friend, I cared whether or not she was harmed and so I asked, “Where’s Cara? What’s happened to her?”

“No harm has come to her,” Robert replied as he stood. “And as for her whereabouts,” he said, stretching his arms over his head, “I kinna say. But if she knows what’s good for her, her ample arse is somewhere far from here by now.”

“What!” I screeched in disbelief. “She just left me here, alone, with you?” I demanded.

He looked highly offended and his brows came together abruptly. “Now see here, gurlie, I’m not the one that meant you any harm. That’d be yer friend that got ya all mixed up in this business. I’m thinkin’ you should be glad to see her gone.”

Robert was right. As far as I was concerned, I hoped I never laid eyes on Cara again and I sighed heavily. “So, what happened last night after I, uhm, fainted?”

“Well, while I went and found yer friend and escorted her out of the house, Mr. David carried you to my van. We all drove to her car where Mr. David collected yer things from the trunk. You and I then followed Mr. David and her, here, to the hotel where yer friend promptly gathered her things and ran out that door,” he said, thumbing over his shoulder, “without so much as a by-yer-leave.”

As I digested his matter-of-fact delivery of the events, my mind was racing and I shook my head. “It all seems like a weird dream,” I muttered sickly. “Did it really happen? I mean, did David Blackwell really drink my blood?”

“Aye, he did.”

I shook my head again as if to clear the memory from my mind. “What are they? Some kind of wannabe vampire cult,” I asked incredulously.

He hesitated for a moment and then said, “Tis more like a very selective secret society. All the members are either drinkers or suppliers, who knowingly and willingly participate in certain, eh, ceremonies.”

“Blood letting and blood drinking ceremonies?” I repeated for confirmation.

He nodded. “As I said tis a very close knit group and tis assumed that anyone who attends A Gathering is there knowingly and willingly.”

“And Cara was a part of this society?”

“Aye.”

“And so she was what? A supplier, I take it?”

When he nodded again I actually felt the color drain from my face. “My God!” I croaked. “I had no idea she was into that kind of stuff! You think you know someone . . .”

Feeling sick to my stomach, I wrapped my arms around my waist and went and sat down at the end of the bed. “What was she thinking? That I’d want to join the club too! Like I’d be, ‘Oh cool, please tap into my vein and drink away? Or pass me a big ole glass of B positive.’ How sick is that?” I cried disgustedly. “Had I known what the party really was, I wouldn’t have ever agreed to go,” I mumbled aloud.

Robert stepped around the chair and came to stand before me. “We figured as much,” he said with a nod. “This sort of thing happens every year. There are always those who trick unsuspectin’ souls into comin’ to A Gatherin’. Mr. David knew yer friend had brought you there under false pretenses and because of it, there was going to trouble. Which tis the very reason,” he said, pointing at my arm, “why he Marked you. To make you off limits, sort of speaking, to the others.”

To say the least, I was offended by this last bit of information. “Marked me? Like a tomcat marks its territory!” I snapped back

His thick eyebrows quirked and he rocked back on his heels. “Ah, somethin’ like that, I s’pose.”

With a disgusted sigh, my annoyance quickly turned into righteous indignation. I was used as a pawn in a twisted little fantasy played by a bunch of Goth freaks with a sick and dangerous fetish. As if any of them had the right to involve me in such a thing! “How dare she?! He! Them!” I spat angrily, shooting to my feet. “What was that anyway? Some kind of sick little game those two play! You know, the good versus the evil twin thing,” I demanded angrily.

Robert raised his hands placatingly. “In a manner of speakin’, but with much higher stakes to be sure. But to be fair, if you’ll recall, I warned ya and tried to get ya to leave before things got out of hand,” he said, his Irish brogue becoming more pronounced with his agitation.

“Yes, but I thought you were referring to drugs. People doing drugs. I didn’t know that ‘Wait outside while I fetch yer friend,’ was code for ‘Leave now or we’ll assault you and drink your blood!’” I said, growing louder and more emboldened.

Shushing me, he said, “Please, Miss Emily. We don’t want any trouble.”

“And I don’t want to cause any, trust me. I just want to go home and forget all about this night. But you tell Mr. David and Mr. Develyn that if I caught so much as cold from their society’s little party, I’ll be back with the police.”

Robert stiffened and his mustache twitched. “I understand, but I kin promise ya, gurlie, ya dinna contract any illness or disease from Mr. David. And if you go home and get some rest, you’ll see that this will all be distant memory soon enough.”

“I certainly hope that’s true. And if that is the case, then I promise you, none of you will ever see or hear from me again.”

CHAPTER SIX

The Truth Surfaces

Robert was reluctant to leave when I first asked. He was determined to see me safely home as David had ordered. But after I assured him that it wasn’t necessary and I preferred to take a cab, he conceded, made the call to the cab company and left.

While I waited for the cab to arrive, I stripped off the nurse uniform and scrubbed my face and washed my wounded arm. I removed the chopsticks from my hair, fighting the urge to snap them in half, and brushed the tangles out. Changing into a pair of jeans, a black turtleneck sweater and a pair of low, wedge-heeled black suede boots, I left the room and waited for the taxi in the lobby.

When it arrived, I climbed in the back with my purse and bag and the driver peered at me in the rearview mirror.

She was a large figure of a black woman who introduced herself as Loretta P. Jackson.

I would later find out that the driver was a friend of David’s. She was the niece of a woman Develyn had turned in 1979.

“My dispatcher says you’re needing to go clear to Dixon? That’s quite a ways,” she said, her penciled-on eyebrows rising. “Do you have enough money on you, baby girl?”

“Well, I can pay you twenty now and when we get there, we’ll have to stop at an ATM, but I promise I’ll make it worth your while,” I said, praying she would accept the fare.

She studied me for a moment and then said, “Are you all right, baby girl? You look a little . . . shaken.”

At the time, I was surprised by her seeming perceptiveness, but I played it cool. “Yeah. Fine. It was one heck of a party and I’m just tired is all,” I said with a weak smile.

She made an affirmative sound that indicated she didn’t quite believe me, but would accept my answer. “Well, then, you just sit back and relax and let ole Loretta get you home,” she said and flipped the meter on.

As a way to avoid her probing gaze or any further questions, I asked if she minded if I dozed on the way and she assured me it wouldn’t bother her at all.

Covering up with my gray cardigan, I laid my head back and peered out the window at the night world going by. And although I thought I was too wired to fall asleep, I did.

At first, my dream seemed like a typical dream. But as it continued, it became so vivid it was as if I was actually reliving the night, but in slow motion.

I could feel the heat of the room. Smell the sage and candles. Hear the music pounding in my ears. See David speaking with the cowgirl.

It continued to play out until the point when Develyn punctured my arm with the stryker–

I awoke with a gasp and sat up clutching my arm to find Loretta looking at me in the rearview mirror. “Now that must’ve been some party,” she commented suspiciously. “You were out before we even left the city.”

Mumbling in agreement with her, I looked out the window and was shocked to see that we had just passed under the Dixon arch on Galena Avenue. Which meant I was almost home.

Happy to relay directions instead of discussing my night any further, I instructed Loretta which ATM to stop at and from there, how to get to my house. When we arrived, I gave her a generous tip and thanked her for the ride home.

I went inside and Sir Galahad came running, but stopped short and hissed at me before turning and running off down the hall. I thought it was odd, but was too tired to care. Not bothering to undress, I climbed into bed and fell asleep immediately. And the dream started up again, oddly continuing from where it left off in the cab, as if I had pushed a pause button on my memory . . .

Develyn had just punctured my arm and David was coming toward us, but then it skipped forward, to where David was drinking from me. And from there, it shattered and splintered off into a thousand different directions. Images popped and flashed through my mind like jumbled high-speed video clips, but minus the audio.

I recognized Robert and a few other people from the party, but there were dozens and dozens of faces I had never seen before.

There were men and women, varying in age and race, who wore clothing and hairstyles from eras going as far back as the end of the 19th century. Some were tormented and toyed with as I had been at the party, while others were viciously attacked. They were cut open at the necks and wrists with strykers and blood gushed from their wounds. And to no surprise, it was Develyn I saw, who lustfully drank from them all–

Gasping awake, I sat up in bed. And with shaky hands, I brushed my hair away from my face. I wasn’t sure if I was going to scream or throw up, so I clapped a hand over my mouth, threw back the covers and ran for the bathroom.

Hovering over the toilet I waited to be sick, but nothing happened, and after a few moments and calming breaths, I stripped off my clothes and got into the shower. But the hot water did little to calm my nerves. I was shaking and my mind was racing and when I ran a soapy hand over the puncture mark in my arm, David’s face, the mask of fury and hunger it was at the time he attacked, flashed before my eyes. It was so vivid that I screamed and jerked backwards, almost slipping in the tub.

I knew there was something wrong. My dreams and visions were more than just memories and recollections. They were more like hallucinations. Drug induced hallucinations. I was sure of it. But since I didn’t take any drugs willingly or even had a chance to grab a drug-laced drink at the party, there had to have been something on the tip of the talon Develyn had stabbed me with. And since the only way to prove it was a drug test, I decided to get to the lab right away.

Finishing quickly, I pulled on a pair of jeans, my favorite angora turtleneck of powder gray and the black boots I had worn the night before, and I was out the door without bothering to dry my hair or applying any make-up.

I hurried across town in the cold, predawn light and was at the hospital lab by 6:17. I was surprised, but glad to see that the waiting room was empty and that the new med tech was the only person behind the counter.

Benny Gerardy had been working in the lab for about a month. He was in his early twenties, so he still had that boyish shyness about him and we had only just begun greeting each other when passing in the halls.

He seemed genuinely nice and intelligent, yet totally clueless of how good looking he was. He was tall with an athletic build that even his loose-fitting gray scrubs couldn’t hide. He had dark black hair, sapphire blue eyes and a devastating smile, complete with dimples. So whenever he wore his black-rimmed readers, he definitely gave off an old school Clark Kent vibe.

Benny looked up from the computer screen and stood, greeting me with a dimpled grin. “Hey, Emily. What’s up?”

I was too anxious and distracted to come up with a clever excuse for what I was about to ask, so I came right out and said, “I need a drug screen done, Benny. Quickly. Quietly. Can you help me?”

His eyes bulged and then narrowed behind his glasses as he studied my face. “A drug test? You? Ah, well, yeah sure . . . Is everything all right?”

I was growing weary of everyone asking me that because the truth was, no, I wasn’t all right! I hadn’t been since I passed through the gates of the Blackwell house the night before. But I, of course told him that I was fine in hopes to move things along. And thankfully, he didn’t push the issue and sat back down.

“Boy, that must have been some party,” he commented casually as he began to type.

When I heard that my heart stalled in my chest and I demanded to know how he knew about it.

Stopping in mid-click, he looked up at me, his face flushing red. “W, well, people around here talk, y, you know,” he stammered. “I heard that you and that Goth chick went to some big party in Chicago last night. And then she came in about an hour ago and cleaned out her locker and took off. And now you, you come here for a drug test and– ah, crap! It really isn’t any of my business. Sorry,” he said, blushing a deeper red.

(When Cara cleaned out her locker, she had also left a forwarding address, somewhere in New Orleans, with the night supervisor and hasn’t been seen or heard from since.)

“Look, Benny–”

“No, really. You don’t gotta explain yourself. I didn’t mean to be all up in your business,” he said, shaking his head.

“No, it’s okay. I don’t mind. I’ll tell you all about it some time, but for now, can we please keep all of this quiet?”

“Quiet? You mean, like off the books,” he whispered, looking around conspiratorially.

“Oh, no. I want everything properly documented and I’m gonna do a self-pay, I meant just keep everything between us. You know, you perform the test and contact me with the results as soon as you can . . . and not talk about this with anyone else.”

Smiling, he bobbed his dark head eagerly. “Oh, no, yeah! Sure. My shift ends in like a half an hour, thank God! I hate the freakin’ night shift! But anyway, yeah I got this. And I got your back. So, just leave your ur–, eh, sample, in the bathroom and your number with me and I’ll call as soon as I can.”

The sun had just broken the horizon when I returned to my car and I drove home in the growing dawn.

This time when I stepped inside and called for Sir Galahad, he didn’t bother making an appearance until I tapped the can of tuna with a fork. And even then, he approached me warily.

Having fed and reacquainted myself with my cat, I went into the living room and lay down on the couch. Covering up with a cozy red chenille throw, I waited for Benny’s call.

I fell asleep immediately and the nightmares started again. They were the same as before, only this time, they were in high def and surround sound.

Some of the victims now lay on their backs as others kneeled over them and plunged silver, cross-handled blades into their chests. Blood spurted everywhere. Their faces twisted in agony and their screams filled my head. Some instantly went limp and lay peacefully still, while others continued to flail violently and wail before bursting into flames and quickly turned to ash–

I awoke to the sound of my own scream intermingled with Beethoven’s classic, Fur Elise, my cell phone ring tone.

It took me a moment to remember where I was and what was happening, but when I did; I lunged for the phone on the coffee table and answered it.

“Emily!” Benny’s said, his voice sounding as anxious as mine. “Geez! I’ve been calling for like the past three hours! Are you all right?”

“Yeah, sure. I was just sleeping,” I mumbled, sitting upright and untangling the blanket from around me.

“Oh. Sorry. I just thought this was sort of a top priority.”

“Oh, it is. It is. So . . .” I asked, holding my breath.

“It’s all good. No signs of any drugs in your system.”

The news should have been a huge relief, but it wasn’t. My mind spun as I struggled to find an explanation that made sense for not only the hallucinations, but the nightmares. And then it came to me. The hallucinations had to have been a post traumatic reaction to being assaulted and the nightmares were just products of my subconscious. I had seen my fair share of vampire flicks and read a few books in my life and since those freaks were a vampire society; my mind just unconsciously intertwined the two and made it all up. It made perfect sense.

In the silence that followed his report, Benny nervously kept talking. “Well, okay. It’s all good then, right? Okay, well, you’re gonna see that I called your cell like a hundred times. I was just trying, you know–I’m not, like a stalker or anything.”

“No, of course not,” I said, with a half-laugh. “You were just doing what I had asked.”

“Yeah, I was,” he gushed, and before he lost his nerve, he quickly added, “Hey, listen, Emily. I know we don’t know each other that well, but I’m here, you know. If you need to talk or just want to hang out or something. You can call anytime. You, ah, definitely have my number now,” he said with a chuckle.

I was flattered by his less than suave flirting and said I would, although I had no intention of doing so. Thanking him for his help, I hung up the phone and saw that he actually called seventeen times in a three-hour period.

As I sat there, I realized how unbelievably stupid I was! I had unwittingly walked right into a perilous predicament the night before. One that could’ve had ended badly. Worse than it had.

And since there’s nothing like a harrowing experience to change one’s perspective, make them appreciate their life and loved ones all that more, I called my mom and made plans to meet for lunch.

Figuring I should pull myself together, I straight-ened my hair and put some make-up on to make me look a little less dead on my feet.

When I arrived at our favorite restaurant, mom was already seated, but stood to greet me.

She was the perfect example of fifty being the new forty phenomena that all the magazines and talk shows were talking about.

Her make-up was understated as always and her salt and pepper hair was cut and styled in a short and sassy way. A lifetime of healthy eating habits and exercise kept her trim and in better shape than a good percentage of women half her age. And that day, she looked incredible in her high-heeled black boots, dark washed, straight-legged jeans and an emerald colored silk blouse.

When I hugged her a little longer than usual, she intuitively knew something was wrong. She pulled back and studied me with piercing blue eyes and demanded to know what was bothering me.

Apparently, I wasn’t masking my trauma very well. Every person I had come in contact with not only noticed something was wrong with me, but actually inquired about my well being. And while I was able to rely on a stranger’s reluctance to get too personal, I knew I wasn’t going to be that lucky with my mom.

Once Catherine Perkins even suspected her baby was in trouble or distress, she was relentless. She wouldn’t stop until she knew what was wrong and how she could fix it.

So needless to say, it took some convincing, but I finally got her to accept that I was just tired, and we took our seats.

During lunch, she told me all about her and dad’s Halloween night and the various adorable costumed trick or treaters who had visited them. While I completely glossed over my mine; obviously, omitting my best friend’s betrayal and the assault by the wannabe vampire club.

After lunch, I endured a brief parental lecture on the irresponsibility of partying too hard in the middle of a work week, was reminded to dry clean the nurse uniform before returning it, and ordered to go home and take a nap.

When I got there, the house felt like a walk-in freezer, so I cranked the heat and decided to take another hot shower to warm up.

I pulled the sweater up and over my head and as I tossed it into the hamper, I noticed a large blackish-purple bruise around the puncture wound.

When I touched it, David’s face, as vividly as it was in the shower earlier, flashed before my eyes. And after the fourth time touching it and seeing his face like that, I put the sweater back on.

Within the next ten minutes, I had printed off MapQuest directions to the Blackwell’s house, grabbed my camel colored woolen trench coat, dark green knitted scarf and gloves and was back out the door.

CHAPTER SEVEN

The Secret Keeper

Heavy, gray clouds hung overhead blocking out the afternoon sun as I sped toward Chicago in my little blue Ford Escape.

I knew going back to the Blackwell house to confront one or both of the brothers was a crazy idea, but I was desperate to know what was really happening to me.

Why every time I touched the spot where David drank blood from me, it triggered the frightening vision of his face? Why the nightmares seemed so real? Why I was constantly cold?

I was bundled in my coat and scarf and was wearing my gloves with the heater blasting, but I was still freezing.

And since I had overheard David telling Robert to tell me only as much of the truth that would ease my immediate concerns, must have meant there was more to be told. More than likely, unpleasant and upsetting things, but more to be told nonetheless.

And I was determined to find out what that was.

As I drove through Hyde Park, I noticed that a good number of its residents were out getting their exercise, despite the cold and gloomy weather.

Children were playing in the yards and riding bi-cycles, skateboards and long boards on the sidewalks and in the streets. Adults serious about their health were jogging, bicycling, power-walking and pushing babies in strollers. Some even pushing babies in strollers while jogging.

With the detailed directions, I found the house without a hitch and parked right in front. When I reached the gates, I gave them a try, but found them locked.

Spying an intercom and camera mounted on the left column that I hadn’t noticed the night before; I called the house, all the while looking into the lens.

I recognized Robert’s voice when he answered and he didn’t sound at all happy to see me. “What the–, what in blue blazes are ya doing here, Miss Emily?”

“Does David Blackwell live here?”

“Yes, of course! This is his home,” he replied, his voice sounding angrier by the second.

“Oh. Well, I thought it was–” I was about to explain that Cara had led me to believe it was Develyn’s house, but realizing the glaring flaw in that, I said, “Ah, never mind. I’d like to speak with him. May I come in?”

“I’m sorry, Miss Emily, but that tisn’t possible right now. And just to be clear, that means no, I’m not going to let you in.”

I admit, I was shocked by his response, but not deterred. “Fine. Then you can tell me what I want to know.”

“But I’ve already told ya everythin’.”

“No. No, you didn’t,” I gently argued. “I over-heard David speaking to you last night and I’d like to come in and ask you some questions about all my new immediate concerns.”

When he didn’t reply, I pressed the button and spoke clearly and loudly into the speaker, “Did you hear me? I’m not leaving here until you tell me everything, Robert!”

I let up on the button and waited for a reply, but when he didn’t, I pressed it again and sing-songed a very annoyed, “Hel-lo” into it.

I heard a voice call from far down the driveway and when I looked, I saw Robert hurrying toward me. As he neared, I noticed that he looked similar to the way he had the night before. He had on a pair of worn sandals with white socks, faded jeans, a maroon paisley shirt with a large collar, and his hair was pulled back in a ponytail.

When he reached me, he was a little winded and a whole lot perturbed. He looked down the sidewalk in both directions to make sure the coast was clear before he spoke.

“Should I assume your presence means the police will be paying us a visit as well?” he said, sounding particularly Irish.

Flushing with embarrassment at having my threat rightfully thrown back in my face, I replied with an apologetic smile and said, “No. I’m alone.”

He peered suspiciously at me through his still bloodshot eyes and said, “What, exactly, do ya remember from last night?”

“Aah, everything. And then some.”

“Like what, exactly?” he repeated anxiously.

Spying one of those super moms, in black shorts and pink sweatshirt and pushing a red and black all terrain stroller jogging our way, I stepped closer to the gates and whispered, “I’m cold. Freezing cold all of the time. And I’m seeing things. Horrible things. And not just in my dreams.”

Robert’s eyes narrowed and his big mustache twitched. He fished the skeleton key out of his jeans pocket and unlocked the gates. Opening the right-hand side, he flung out his arm. “Please, Miss Emily, won’t ya come inside and have a cup of coffee,” he offered loudly as the woman neared.

“Why thank you. I would love to, but I’m sorry, I don’t drink coffee,” I replied just as loudly as the woman entered my peripheral view.

Nodding kindly to the woman as she bounced by, he continued, “How about a hot cup of tea, then?”

“Well, I don’t care for tea either,” I replied, and before she was out of earshot, I said, “Just a glass of water would be fine.”

“Of course. Do come in.”

As Robert closed and locked the gates behind us, I felt a sudden surge of panic. “Is that really necessary?”

He looked at the gate and back at me with raised eyebrows. “Aye. Mr. David insists that the gates are to remain locked at all times. So, if that tis to be a deal breaker, then I guess I’ll be biddin’ you a good afternoon right now.”

I’ll admit, I briefly thought about abandoning the whole thing, but with a defeated sigh, I said, “Fine. Let’s get this over with.”

Even in the dreary light of the day, the big old house that had spooked me the night before now looked like any typical home you would find in a historic neighborhood.

It was a large brick house with steep, pointed gables that were all topped with black and gray asphalt shingled roofs. On the front of the house there were several tall and narrow single windows and two banks of cathedral windows, one set of four on the first floor on the left and another set of three, on the third floor to the right, just above the front porch. All were trimmed with simple moldings painted white.

The property it sat on looked to be the size of four residential lots with the house being set far back from the street, but centered from the sides. The converted brick carriage house that now served as a three-car garage, sat further back and to its right.

Six giant trees with bared branches stood throughout the expansive lawns on both sides of the drive. All the flower-beds, shrubs, and the tall hedge that ran along the wrought iron fence surrounding the property were obviously well maintained and currently prepared for the coming winter.

As we walked down the drive, I could tell by Robert’s furrowed brow and twitching mustache that he was worried and anxious and in an attempt to ease the tension, I began making small talk.

“Beautiful house.”

“Aye, it tis,” he said looking straight ahead.

“Nice grounds.”

“Thank you. Tis a lot of work.”

“You’re the gardener, then?”

“Aye.”

“Are you the butler too?”

“Aye.”

“The driver?”

“Aye.”

“Cook?”

“No.”

“Mr. David’s cantankerous body guard,” I asked, sliding a glance his way.

“Aye. Whenever an occasion calls for it,” he said, his mustache lifting with a smile.

With that, the tension broke and he looked over at me, as if studying a foreign creature, and said, “You really don’t drink coffee or tea, then?”

“No. It’s the caffeine. I really don’t need it, I’m high strung enough as it is.”

With a snort of mock disbelief, Robert smartly replied, “No, ya don’t say.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

The Truth Revealed, but Rejected

As I stepped through the front door, it was hard to imagine it was the same house from the night before.

The now empty foyer wasn’t the least bit fore-boding. In fact, it was very beautiful.

The walls were painted an elegant emerald green and were trimmed in wide dark base boards and elaborate crown moldings at the ceiling. The grand staircase was constructed of the same dark wood and had twin fluted newel posts at the foot of the stairs and matching balustrades all the way up. A tall, very old looking, grandfather clock with a cherry wood body and a golden engraved face stood beside the front door. Overhead, hung a large chandelier dripping with teardrop shaped crystals and beneath our feet were black and white marble tiles in a checkerboard pattern.

I followed Robert to the parlor. It was the room where I had first seen him, David, and the cowgirl speaking, and it too, didn’t resemble the dark and scary place I remembered from the party.

It was a large and airy room that was decorated in a very masculine and minimalist style. The high ceiling was a grid of oak beams and sunken panels with another crystal-dripping chandelier hanging from the center. The hardwood floor was high polished oak and a large, golden tasseled, round Persian rug of predominantly gold, brown, black and blue was laid at its center.

Champaign and chocolate brown striped wall-paper covered the walls and floor-to-ceiling sky-blue brocade drapes were tied back at the bank of tall windows facing the front yard.

The furnishings were a combination of antique and modern pieces. All of the assorted tables that were stationed nearby and among all the seating pieces were antiques of golden oak. Atop them, sat various bronzed based Tiffany lamps with colorful stained-glass shades that were all shining brightly. There were six overstuffed, wing-backed, black leather chairs paired off in each corner of the room and two dark-brown leather sofas sat parallel from the fireplace.

The large fireplace, with its wide oak mantel and intricately carved surround, dominated the far wall and above it, hung the only artwork in the room.

It was an old family portrait in a fancy gilded frame. I wanted to step closer and get a better look at it, but Robert stopped me when he asked if he could take my coat.

“No, thank you. I’m cold. Freezing cold,” I said pointedly.

He nodded. “Sorry, I forgot. Could I make you a cup of hot chocolate,” he offered kindly.

“No, thank you. Just the water, please.”

As he left, I removed my gloves and set them, along with my purse, down on the coffee table. I took a seat on the very edge of the sofa and from there, I studied the portrait.

The subjects in it were a family of dark haired, stern-faced parents sitting facing one another, while a pretty, yet expressionless, young girl of ten or so with auburn hair stood behind them. Seated in front, were dour looking, dark-haired twin boys of six or seven. All were dressed in solemn dark clothes that, although probably their finest, looked itchy and uncomfortable.

Robert returned with a bottle of water and a steaming hot cup of coffee for himself. He handed me the water and set his cup and saucer down on the coffee table before he went to the fireplace. I suspected that he was stalling for time and my patience was running low, so I said, “You don’t have to do that on my account. I’ll be fine. I’ll just keep my coat on.”

“If you’d prefer, but I always build a fire this time of the day. Mr. David likes to see the hearth ablaze when he enters the room,” he said, opening a hidden compartment beside the fireplace.

I opened the bottle and took a sip as I watched him make quick work of stacking the logs and starting the fire. As soon as it began to snap and pop and the smell of smoke filled the air, he came over and sat down on the sofa across from me.

By now, I was sure he stalling and I sighed pointedly as he leisurely took a sip of his coffee. “Now, Miss Emily,” he began, placing his cup back on the saucer, “tell me exactly what’s been happenin’ to ya,” he said, planting his elbows on his knees and leveling his gaze on me.

“Well, I’m not sure, exactly. I took a drug test this morning, but the results indicated there was nothing in my system. And, well like I said at the gate, I’m freezing cold all the time. I‘ve had some nightmares that, you, you just could not imagine and . . . I’ve even had some full on, visual and auditory hallucinations.”

As I was voicing my complaints, he was silently nodding, like a doctor would, and when I was finished he said, “Well there tis an explanation, but I’m not sure how reasonable you’ll be findin’ it.”

I nodded in acknowledgment that I had been fairly warned and with a shrug, said, “Okay. So, what is it?”

“What ya goin’ through are just side-affects of bein’ Marked.”

I snorted softly. “Robert, please, you say that as if that marking part of their little role playing game is real. With real physiological side affects.”

“Well, isn’t it? Aren’t ya experiencin’ real things?”

“Yes, but–”

“But what? You said yerself; you can’t find a medical explanation for what’s happenin’ to ya, so what else can it be?”

I shook my head dejectedly. “I don’t know . . .”

After a moment of silence he sighed heavily and reluctantly said, “Don’t you see, Miss Emily? You were Marked by a vampire last night. David Blackwell is a real vampire.”

CHAPTER NINE

The Brothers Enter

Again, I snorted, only this time more loudly. “Right. A real vampire. As in, Count Dracula,” I said, trying to control the amount of sarcasm creeping into my voice.

“No. He was a fictional character from a novel. And if you’re referring to Vlad the Impaler, the answer is still no, he’s Romanian and a different sort altogether. You see, Miss Emily, there are many breeds of vampires out there. This bunch here, this Order, they don’t even have fangs. They use strykers and knives to do their blood letting,” he calmly pointed out.

Needless to say, I was speechless. In all fairness he had warned me, but I was still shocked by the absurdity of it all and it took great effort on my part not to laugh out loud. Deciding to humor him for just another moment, I asked, “So, what was with all those fangs I saw at the party, then?”

“Those were all the Willin’s. I’ve heard that they are required to wear them at A Gatherin’ as sort of identification. But I’ve also heard that it tis some sort of ongoing joke Develyn likes to play on them,” he said with a shrug. “I’m inclined to believe the latter.”

Looking at him as if he was truly crazy, I plunked the water bottle down on the table and said, “Well, alrighty then. Uhm, thank you for your time, Robert, but I think I should be going now,” I said, rising to my feet. “So, I’ll, eh, just meet you at the gates.”

Robert didn’t make a move to stand or even stop me as I gathered my purse and gloves, he simply asked me to wait. And against reason and rationale, I did.

“I know ya see his face, what he calls his Cursed face, whenever ya touch your arm in the exact place he drank from ya. And in your dreams, ya see people bein’ attacked by Develyn and then later killed. A cross-handled, silver blade through their hearts. Some poor souls even burstin’ into flames . . .”

His words felt like a sucker punch to my stomach and I dropped back down on the sofa. There was no possible way he could have known what I saw in my dreams and hallucinations. That is, unless, he had, had them too.

“How did you know that,” I demanded numbly.

“I’ve been Marked by David as well. It was a long time ago, but I remember, bits and pieces, along with other flashbacks, if you know what I’m sayin’.”

Although dazed, I nodded that I understood what types of flashbacks he was talking about and asked, “How long ago?”

“Thirty-five years ago.”

I gasped. “Thirty-five years!”

At that moment, my curiosity far outweighed my disbelief and I put his ridiculous explanation aside and asked how it happened.

“Much the same way as it had for you. In the sense that he did it to protect me from that bastard, Develyn,” he said, his voice sounding hard and bitter.

With his coffee cup in hand, he rose to his feet and went to stand before the fire. He stared down into the dancing flames as he continued.

“You see, back in those days they were just parties. They weren’t scheduled on Halloween or officially recognized as Gatherin’s until they came to Chicago in 1973.”

“Wait a minute, why on Halloween? What’s the significance of October 31?”

“None in particular that I’m aware of. Cept tis a day when people tend to be more open and acceptin’ of things they shouldn’t be. Why, there was time when Halloween was feared. Rightfully so, but now it’s celebrated with such abandon . . .

“Anyway, me and my wife, Laura Ann, came to America in early 1969, during the height of the hippie movement. But since being married in those days didn’t exactly fit in with that lifestyle, we pretended not to be. We wore our weddin’ bands on chains around our necks and I referred to her as my old lady and she called me her old man. But that didn’t truly matter to us. We knew we were married and we were faithful and devoted to each other. And while I smoked a lot of marijuana and dropped a little acid, Laura Ann stayed clean. She was a good lass like that . . .” he said, his voice trailing off and his shoulders slumping.

“Anyway, it took us six months to make our way across the country and we arrived in California in the autumn of 1969. We had been livin’ there on the streets in San Francisco for three years, when one night, we bumped into this dude, who knew a dude, who knew of a party. . .”

He took a deep breath and sighed before continuing. “David was there, doing what he had done at every party before, and every Gathering after that night; trying to convince the unknowing to leave before things got out of hand. Well, he had tried with me, but I was so high I didn’t understand what he was warning me, us, against . . . And my Laura Ann, my sweet Laura Ann was–”

“Robert!” a voice called out, making us both whirl around.

David Blackwell stood just inside the parlor entry.

His thick, dark hair was neatly combed straight back from his forehead and this time he was dressed in a very old-fashioned way. He was wearing polished black shoes and black slacks with a white button down shirt under a long, black and silver, paisley-patterned silk dressing gown. It looked like something that Cary Grant would wear in an old black and white movie, but on him, it seemed perfectly fitting.

My heart began to pound at the sight of him. Not just from the fear and amazement of knowing what he really was, but from surprised embarrassment that I found him incredibly attractive.

Closing the robe and tying the sash about his waist, he said, “I think it best, if I were to finish this story and,” he paused, his eyes meeting mine and holding, “answer any other questions Miss Perkins may have.”

“Aye, if you prefer,” I heard Robert reply.

“I do. And I think perhaps you should retire for the evening. I’ll be sure to call you only if absolutely necessary.”

Tearing my eyes from David’s I looked at Robert and noticed that he not only looked tired, but also very upset. His brow was furrowed and his mustache drooped. And as he came toward me, I saw his eyes were glistening with unshed tears.

Swallowing the lump that had risen in my throat, I offered him a sympathetic smile and was about to shake his hand and say goodbye, when an overly loud voice boomed throughout the room.

“Well, well! If it isn’t Miss Perkins!”

This time everyone’s attention turned to Develyn, who was boldly charging into the room.

At first, I was struck by the incredible physical resemblance between the two brothers. But quickly remembering Develyn was nothing like David, my already pounding heartbeat, doubled its rhythm from pure fear of the man advancing on me.

Again, Develyn was dressed opposite of David. He had on a pair of black casual shoes, dark jeans, and a black sweater with a gray and green argyle pattern across the chest.

All in all, Develyn looked and smelled, his cologne was very strong, like a typical guy dressed to go out for a night on the town. And although he was a little paler than most and the long ponytail looked a bit out of date, he was so good-looking, I doubted it would turn women off.

“I honestly didn’t expect to see you again. However, now that I have,” he said, giving me a wolfish smile and a thorough once over, “I must say, it does my old heart good.”

Even though I was still bundled up in my coat and scarf, I felt naked under his perusal and I shrank back into the sofa. I couldn’t believe he was acting as if what had happened the night before hadn’t happened at all!

And as he bowed to me, he had the nerve to ask, “To what do we owe the honor of your visit?”

“Since she is under my protection, what she’s doing here is no concern of yours,” David muttered coldly from where he still stood at the entryway.

“Easy, dear brother,” Develyn murmured as continued to study me. “I’m just curious. She’s only been Marked and should have forgotten me, you, everything, by now.”

“Well, obviously, she hasn’t. And has come to me seeking answers.”

Instantly, Develyn’s smile shrank and his eye-brows rose as if he was suddenly bored with me and the whole situation. “So, it’s to be another question and answer session of the recently inflicted then? How very dull of you, brother. Responsible, but very dull indeed,” he said dryly, as he kept me pinned with his dark eyes. “But that is the way of it, you see. My brother is the responsibly dull one. The Saintly one,” he added, and after another moment of scrutiny, his grin widened and with a nod, he said, “Until I have the pleasure of seeing you again, Emily.”

Oh, I couldn’t believe the nerve of him! I wanted to smack him across his smug face and make a snappy comeback about how unlikely that would be, but honestly, I was so scared I couldn’t move or speak.

Not that it mattered anyway, Develyn was just maliciously toying with me and in the next instant he turned his focus to David and Robert and said, “Bro, check you later. Robbie, don’t wait up.”

And with that, he strode from the room whistling an upbeat and unfamiliar tune, leaving me shaken and the guys scowling with such intensity, I couldn’t tell which one hated him more at that moment.

After Develyn left, Robert approached me. He set his coffee cup down on the table and taking my hand in both of his, he leaned down and whispered, “I hope ya really know what ya doin’, Miss Emily, ‘cause once ya hear the answers to those questions of yours, there’s no goin’ back.”

I’ll admit, his warning gave me pause, but I was already past the point of no return and I assured him that I was ready. And he, without further comment, gave my hand a gentle squeeze and straightened, saying, “Well, if I don’t see ya again before ya leave, have a safe trip back home and good luck to ya.”

I gave him a smile and thanked him and as he left quietly, David entered the room, slowly, as if not to startle me.

“Although you are right to fear Develyn, Miss Perkins, rest easy now. He won’t return until dawn.”

“Return? You mean, he lives here with you,” I demanded, well aware of how accusatory I sounded.

“It’s complicated, but yes, he does,” he said, and then quickly added, “I’m sure you’ve heard that old saying, ‘Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer.’ Well, let’s just say, that is the primary reason why I allow Develyn to stay here.”

I knew I had no choice but to accept his explanation, but it was hard for me to comprehend how a person could live in the same house as a person they despised. A person they considered an enemy! That enemy being their very own brother!

Not knowing what to say or how to respond to that, I shrugged helplessly and he dipped his chin as if to let me know he understood my confusion and said, “Would you mind terribly if I turn the lamps off? This much light hurts my eyes.”

I could tell by the way he was wincing, that he was uncomfortable, so I agreed and watched him as he moved gracefully about the room and turned each one off.

The weakening light coming through the windows cast the entire room in a pale gray sheen except for a small circle of warm light that radiated from the crackling fireplace.

Taking a seat on the sofa across from me, David crossed his left leg over the right, rested his left arm along the sofa arm and laid the other casually across his lap.

Leveling his dark eyes on me, he began to speak. His manner was very proper and measured, but his tone was gentle and soothing.

“Please understand I intend on honoring my promise to answer any questions you may have, Miss Perkins. However, I think you should be made fully aware of the consequences of your decision. On the one hand, if you leave now, the side affects that are presently troubling you will soon cease, I assure you. You could, in just a matter of hours, forget everything that has happened thus far and your life would return to normal.”

Although I’m sure he meant for that statement to be reassuring, it wasn’t. The thought of returning to my dull and uneventful life, suddenly left me feeling very discontented and I realized Cara had been right. My play-it-safe attitude had effectively kept me from really living. Pitifully, my whole world consisted of my job, my parents, and Sir Galahad, who, by all rights, should have been a poor substitute for my ex, but ended up being a better companion by far.

“However, the more information I share with you, the more firmly it will take root in your consciousness and you’ll likely remember it all. Every unpleasant aspect of this story. Are you certain you wish to proceed,” he asked, his eyes hooded by a drawn brow.

I’ll admit, now that both he and Robert had warned me, I wavered a bit. I wondered if I should I go home and let it all just fade away. Let David fade from my memory. Or should I take that step, the one that guaranteed that I would never forget him. Deciding to take the bad with the good, I nodded and bravely said, “Yes, I’m sure.”

He was silent for a moment, as if he was waging a war of his conscience, and then with a nod, he said, “Very well, Miss Perkins. Ask whatever you wish to know the truth about.”

“Something terrible had happened to Laura Ann, didn’t it?” I demanded, bravely meeting his eyes.

His lips pressed into a grim line and he nodded solemnly. “Yes. However, before I tell you about her, I feel compelled to explain all that proceeded that night.”

Feeling a twinge of unease in my stomach, I took a deep breath, and said, “All right. Let’s start at the beginning, then.”

CHAPTER TEN

His Beginning

With a nod he began to speak, “As I’m sure you have already deduced, it was Develyn who turned me into . . .” he paused and turned his face toward the fire before he finished saying, “what you saw before you last evening.”

“Yes, I thought as much,” I murmured, “but what about the very beginning; back when you were still . . . human?”

He stiffened and faced me. “I am not some unconscionable, soulless creature, Miss Perkins,” he said, his tone clipped and short. “My humanity is the very reason why I lament what I once was and despise what I have become.”

Again, I flushed with embarrassment, but this time at having insulted him. Panicked, I leaned forward, wringing my hands and cried, “I’m so sorry! I didn’t know. My only frame of reference is horror books and movies. And in them, they all refer to your kind as immortal creatures or the Undead–”

He raised his hand to stop my rambling and graciously smiled. The kind of smile that didn’t reveal any teeth, and said, “Please, no need to apologize. I understand. This all must be overwhelming for you. Would you care for something to drink other than water? Something strong, to steel your nerves.”

I relaxed a little. “No, thanks. I don’t drink alcohol.”

“I can appreciate that, but what I am about to tell you is, well . . . Are you certain?”

“Yes, really. I’d rather just begin,” I blurted out honestly.

“As you wish,” he said with a nod and as he began to speak, my cell phone rang.

Practically jumping out of my skin, I snatched my purse from the table and began riffling through it. Completely flustered, I stammered. “S, sorry, I, I have to get this. I’ll be just a second.”

David didn’t look surprised or irritated by the interruption. He merely smiled and nodded again.

Turning sideways on the sofa and my face even further away, I whispered into it, “Hello. Hey Benny. Yeah, five o’clock exactly. Right on time. Uhm, yeah, I got it. Just where I thought I left it. Yeah, no big deal. Thanks for calling. Yeah, Okay. Bye.”

However, by the time I finished my phone call, David looked anything but unconcerned. His brow was furrowed and his sculpted lips slightly pursed as he studied me.

“I told a friend I had forgotten my wallet here at your house and had to come back and get it. You know, that I couldn’t go a day without my driver’s license, hospital ID or debit card.”

His long fingers began to drum the sofa arm and with a dip of his chin, he said, “Very clever of you. Keeping your friend apprised of your last known whereabouts. Very clever indeed. And since you are a woman of obvious intelligence, Miss Perkins, I’m sure it is not necessary for me to warn you against repeating anything I’m about to tell you, to this Benny person. Or anyone else for that matter,” he said, his words laced with a subtle warning.

With a nervous chuckle, I said, “No. You don’t need to worry about that. I won’t say a word to anyone. Promise.”

His chin dipped again. “Glad to hear it. For believe me when I tell you, unless a person has been touched by Vampirism in some fashion themselves, they will not understand or believe you. You will be ridiculed and ostracized by friends and coworkers. Perhaps even labeled mad by your family.”

I chuckled again. “Trust me, my mom is the last person I would ever tell about any of this.”

My response seemed to appease him for the moment and the drumming stopped.

By this time I had grown overly warm. I wasn’t sure if it was from the heat of the fire or tension and unease from being around him, but I stood and removed my coat and threw it over the sofa back. As I unwrapped the scarf from around my neck, I was very aware of his eyes on me, watching my every moment as if I was performing a private strip tease.

Flushing even warmer with embarrassment, I sat back down and flipped my hair back over each shoulder. My hands were shaking so badly, I clasped them together so he wouldn’t notice. And with a steadying breath, I bravely met his eyes, and said, “All right, I’m ready when you are.”

Turning his handsome face, which had grown alarmingly ashen in the fading light, toward the fire, David looked up at the portrait and began.

“Develyn and I were born to Edgar and Evelyn Blackwell in Devon County, England, on February 17, 1872.”

My gasp drew his attention. “That really is you and your family in the portrait, isn’t it,” I exclaimed, gaping at it and back at him. “I thought it might be, but I wasn’t sure. It just seemed so-”

“Incredible? Unbelievable? Impossible?” he suggested.

“D. All the above,” I replied numbly.

With another smile almost cracking his serious countenance, he looked back up at it and continued, “My family and I sat for that portrait in the winter of 1878. Develyn and I had just turned six and our sister, Camille, was just eleven years old . . .

“The following year, our father traveled here to America to search out his own fortune, independent from his family. It was a successful trip and we had received father’s letter full of good tidings and promises of a bright future just three weeks prior to receiving word that he was lost at sea. The ship, in which he was returning to England on, had gone down in a storm.

“A year after that, my mother also died. Friends and family members tried to romanticize her death, declaring she died of a broken heart over her lost husband, but I believe it was a cancer. She had wasted away to nothing . . .”

I wasn’t sure what to say or if I should say anything. Yes, it was a loss of his parents, but it had happened more than a hundred years before and I wasn’t sure if he still grieved over them. But ultimately, I figured the death of one’s parents would hurt even if a person lived to be a thousand and I muttered, “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

David’s brow quirked as if surprised by my sentiment. “Thank you. It was a long time ago, but I do miss them on occasion,” he said, and with a clearing of his throat, he hurried on.

“After our mother was laid to rest, we three children were sent to live in London with our father’s oldest brother, Harold, his wife, Gemma and cousin Madeline.

“Although we were fed and clothed properly, we were never allowed to forget we were just a family obligation. An imposition on their life.

“For five years, we children remained on our best behavior. Did our best to stay clear of their way, but the day came when Camille could no longer be overlooked or ignored.

“Camille had grown into quite a beautiful young woman of grace and intelligence. And because of it, she was banished to life in the country, lest she outshine Cousin Madeline and garner more attention. Hence, more admirers and a better marriage contract. However, what was meant to be a sentence worse than death for a young woman in those days, turned out to be an incredible blessing for Camille. For in the country is where she met and married the man who was her one true love.

“Now Sir William Brentwood was a good man. He was independently wealthy and a bit of a recluse, but he was completely devoted to her. Their union produced a half a dozen children and they lived quietly and happily together for more than fifty-seven years. Their great grandson resides on their land to this day.”

I watched his face soften as he spoke about Camille and for the first time since I met him, he looked almost serene.

But in a flash it was gone as he continued. “By week’s end, Develyn and I were sent away to the King’s School in Ely, Cambridgeshire.

“We lived and attended the King’s School for eight years. While I was a studious pupil, anxious to learn, Develyn struggled through every subject. I preferred and excelled at all athletics while he preferred the dramatic arts and excelled at pursuing the fairer sex and other vices.

“Once we graduated, he and I moved to London together. I began clerking at the prestigious law firm of Hill and Gamble and he pursued an actor’s life.

“My progress was slow, but typical for my chosen profession while Develyn signed on, almost immediately, with a troupe who performed on a regular basis at the Lyceum Theatre of London. He even shared the stage with Sir Henry Irving a time or two,” he said, almost sounding proud.

“Well, it wasn’t long until Develyn fell in love with an understudy named Clarissa LeBon. Now Clarissa was attractive. Not leading-lady beautiful, but quite pretty with long dark hair, pale flawless skin and big brown eyes. She was, what we in those days, referred to as a slip-of-a-woman, standing at just five feet tall and very slender.

“Their courtship was brief and passionate and they were married in less than six months. At first, they appeared to be very much in love, but it soon changed, seemingly overnight.

“Develyn had become cold and aloof toward her, even cruel at times in my company, so I could only imagine how he treated the poor girl in private.

“The last time I saw them together, she was in tears and he was livid. I had no idea why, and since it wasn’t my place to intervene, I left them alone to work through whatever crises had darkened the dawn of their marriage.”

Stopping abruptly, he rose to his feet and went to stand before the fire. The room had grown dark and he was now just a black silhouette against the orange light of the flickering flames.

Using the fire poker, he maneuvered the logs around for a better burn. Returning the poker to the stand, he turned and faced me, saying, “I’m sorry. I sometimes forget my eyesight is very different from yours, shall I turn a light on for you?”

I really didn’t mind talking in the dark. In fact, it provided a certain degree of anonymity that made me bolder than I may have been otherwise and assured him I was fine and to proceed.

“As you wish,” he said, crossing back to the sofa.

After he took his seat, he began again. “After Develyn hadn’t shown up for our standing luncheon date the next day, I knew something was dreadfully wrong. I went to their home and what I discovered there, haunts me to this day.”

Now I’ll admit, when David said that, I almost called it quits right then and there. I couldn’t imagine what could have been so horrible that it had traumatized a vampire and I wasn’t sure I wanted to know. But, I held my tongue and let him continue.

“When I opened the front door, an overwhelming putrescent smell of blood and other foulness washed over me and I nearly emptied my stomach there on the stoop. However, I rushed inside and since it was as silent as a tomb, I did not bother calling out.

“On the one side of the house, I found the parlor in regular order, but on the other, the kitchen was in bloody shambles. Literally. Blood was everywhere. Sprayed on the walls and cabinets. Splattered across the table and overturned chairs. In pools on the floor that were littered with broken china and staining the water in the hip tub that sat in the center of the room.

“I noticed drops of blood trailing out of the kitchen and so I followed them up the stairs and to the room they shared. As I stepped through the doorway, I saw them lying together in their bed . . .

“Clarissa lay dead. Her body wrapped in a bloody sheet, and Develyn was curled up next to her corpse. Now of course at that time, I didn’t know Develyn had been cursed and Turned. I simply thought he had gone mad, and in a fit of homicidal rage, attacked and killed the poor girl . . .

“I’m not certain what alerted him to my presence, whether it was the sound of a creaking floor board, the pounding of my heart, or the scent of my fear. Whatever it was, he awoke and bolted upright with such an unnatural speed that it wasn’t merely startling, but rather, terrifying.

“And the way he looked . . . It was frightful. Fiendish. There was blood all over his rumpled clothes and face, which was as white as his dead wife’s. His eyes were black as night and with an animalistic growl, he scrambled off the bed, dragging her lifeless body with him. Like a wolf carrying off a freshly slain carcass,” he muttered with a grimace.

David’s words had evoked a grisly mental picture and with a silently cried, ‘Dear God’, I wrapped my arms about myself as a shudder wracked my body.

“Forgive me,” he said, leaning forward. “I didn’t intend to be so indelicate in my recounting.”

“What? Oh, no,” I said, leaning forward myself. “You haven’t been. In fact, all things considered, you’ve been remarkably reserved. G-rated, really.”

Although only half of our faces were illuminated by the firelight, I could see his brow furrowing. “No. I’ve spoken of unnecessary things. Horrors that will undoubtedly haunt you from this night on.”

It was true. I didn’t think I would ever be able to banish from my mind the image of Develyn dragging his dead wife’s bloody body off their bed, but it was too late now. I had asked to be told the truth. It wasn’t David’s fault that it was so ugly. “But you’ve only done what I’ve asked. What I had wanted you to,” I assured him.

“Yes. However, I found it to be true that what one wants, is rarely ever what one truly needs.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The Curse

With a hastily murmured apology, David excused himself while I sat there, his words echoing through my mind.

When he returned, he was carrying a large silver tray that held a silver goblet, a bottle of liquor with a shot glass over the top, plates of purple grapes, a hunk of white cheese, and a small loaf of homemade bread.

It was a very old fashioned spread of food to offer a guest, but so much better than processed meats and cheeses and salty crackers that people always set out today.

Placing the tray down on the coffee table, he straightened and looked at me. After a moment, he motioned to it and said, “I hope you don’t mind but I took the liberty and brought you something to eat. The whiskey, some of Robert’s finest, is for you, in case you change your mind. For what I have yet to tell you, really isn’t any less horrible than what’s already been said.”

At hearing that, I nodded appreciatively.

“Let me just build the fire up and we’ll continue.” I agreed and reached out and grabbed a handful of grapes. Sitting back, I popped them in my mouth one by one, while I watched him work at the fireplace, admiring the wide expanse of his back and shoulders.

When he was finished, he took the goblet from the tray and sat back down. Crossing his legs, he stretched his right arm along the back of the sofa, rested the goblet on his thigh and began to speak again.

“Well, I suppose I should continue from where I had left off. . . Let’s see, after Develyn had drug Clarissa’s corpse from the bed, he leapt over it, the entire width of it and pinned me up against the wall. Now, I was certain he was going to kill me too, but actually he was frightened and begged me for my help . . .” he said, turning his face toward the fire.

When David said that, I almost felt sorry for Develyn. Almost.

After a few moments of silence, he continued. “Develyn was ranting and raving that there was something terribly wrong with him. That it was all her fault. And I of course, assumed he was, in his madness, referring to Clarissa and blaming her for what he had done. It took some time, but I eventually calmed him down long enough to ascertain what he was truly talking about.”

Turning back toward me, he said, “Apparently, after their last row, Develyn went out to cool his ire. He went to a pub and was tossing back a few drinks when he happened to notice a particular woman.

“Now, the very fact that she looked to be a gentle bred lady of means, but was patronizing such a lowly establishment should have been a warning to him. However, it didn’t register and he went ahead and introduced himself and well, I’m sure you can deduce how the story goes from there.”

David was right. It was an old story and I knew how it went. Develyn had a fight with his wife and went off to a bar to get drunk and pick up a strange woman. Go figure, I thought critically.

“Her name was Valaree Von Wahran. She was a striking woman. Tall, nearly my height, with long, flaming red hair, a voluptuous figure and classical features. Needless to say, it was easy to see why Develyn had been drawn to her.

Apparently, Valaree was the younger and prettier daughter of a Prussian Count named Holce Stanovich. Because of her beauty, she attracted the attention of every man who came to court her older sister, Ivannia.

“After two years Ivannia failed to secure an offer of marriage, so their father, Count Holce, broke with tradition and protocol and allowed Valaree to marry a handsome and wealthy Count named Konrad Von Wahran.

“Ivannia was completely humiliated and so jealous of Valaree that she secretly poisoned her with arsenic. Of course, Ivannia had meant to kill her, but failed at that as well.

“Valaree had, however, become gravely ill. She suffered from excruciating pain that left her bedridden during the daylight hours, but relieved and anxious at night that would result in her roaming the castle halls and grounds. Her skin turned ashen and began to crack and her gums receded. She craved animal blood, and their livers in particular, and would become violent when denied them. Needless to say, her beauty and her mind were quickly ravaged by her illness.

“Now unfortunately, it wouldn’t be realized until a century later, by a Doctor Rupert Geddes, that Valaree had been stricken with the rare disease commonly known as King George’s Disease or–”

“Porphyria,” I supplied excitedly. “That makes sense. And certainly explains a lot of her symptoms.”

“Yes, well,” he said, his eyebrows raising sardonically, “as I said, unfortunately for everyone involved, at the time Count Konrad just assumed his wife had gone mad and packed her off to an asylum.

“She was imprisoned there for a year before she escaped into the woods where she was found and taken in by an old Baltic woman who happened to be a practicing dark witch. It wasn’t long before Valaree began tutelage under the old woman and soon struck a bargain with Satan himself to restore her beauty and all that she had lost.

“Now, she did regain her beauty, however, when she returned home to her castle in Bartia, she discovered that her dear sister, Ivannia, had effectively seduced and married her husband. And well, as the old saying goes, hell hath no fury like a woman scorned; Valaree Von Wahran unleashed an unimaginable fury on Konrad and Ivannia.

“When she discovered them sleeping together in the very bed she had shared with Konrad not two years before, she attacked them in a violent rage.

“With a blade, she struck and slashed at them anywhere and everywhere she was able, and in her demented state, she drank their blood and spat it back into their faces as she spoke a curse over them. Overnight, Konrad and Ivannia became like Valaree. They craved blood, hid from the daylight and endured incredible pain. But that was merely retribution for their betrayal. The actual curse she spoke over them was that they could not, lest they send their souls straight to hell, end their tormented existence themselves. Nor could it be done by a stranger. You see, the bitter twist of it was, it had to be done by the one who really loved them . . .” he paused and glanced at the fire and then back to me.

“As I’m sure you could imagine, Konrad and Ivannia couldn’t accept what they had become and when Konrad did as Ivannia had begged, she burst into flames.

“Now, after Ivannia’s death, Count Konrad disappeared without a trace and Valaree left Prussia in 1796.

“She traveled the world, searching out unfaithful married men to seduce and curse. She had been doing that for nearly one hundred years and had perfected her game, if you will, by the time she met Develyn that fateful night . . .

“After laying poor Clarissa out properly, I put Develyn together as best I could and we took a hansom to Valaree’s hotel.

“When she opened the door, I distinctly remember thinking she didn’t seem at all surprised to see us. In fact, she invited us in and offered refreshments. It was all very civilized. Much like us, here tonight, except she had no intention of allowing me to leave there untouched.

“I was enraged and I stormed in, demanding to know what in God’s name she had done to Develyn. Needless to say, Valaree wasn’t the least bit intimidated by me or my wrath. In fact, she was quite unconcerned and most accommodating, telling me everything I wanted to know.

“She began with the story of her past, the very same I’ve just told you, and then proceeded to tell me, boasting really, exactly what she had done to Develyn and that he was now a part of her Order. The Order of the Unwilling.

“She explained what his existence would be like from then on and what he would need to do to survive. How to cast an enthrallment. How he should choose Willings and victims. How to Mark those he wanted to protect. Who could be Turned and how to do it. And last, but not least, what would have to happen if he decided he didn’t want to exist as an Unnatural Mortal.

“Of course, I was shocked and reacted like any sane person would after hearing what I thought was utter nonsense. I wanted to throttle her and I had actually lunged at her, intent on doing exactly that. However, with her supernatural speed, she simply sidestepped me and pulled me into an enthrallment.

“Once she had me under her control, she sat me down on the sofa and calmly opened the veins in both my wrists with her stryker. . . And when she had done that, it awoke the monster, disguised as my brother, and he . . .” he paused again and looked morosely into his goblet and said, “attacked me. . . Develyn fed ferociously, like a starving animal, from one wrist while she leisurely drank from the other.”

Feeling the bile rise in my throat, I diverted my eyes before he caught the look of revulsion that was sure to be seen in them.

“At the time, of course, I couldn’t believe what he, they, were doing and I was as horrified and repulsed as you are right now,” he said in a way that drew my eyes to his.

Flushing with shame, I was about to apologize, but he shook his head. “Don’t. I understand. It’s only natural to feel as you do. As I said, I felt the same way at first. But after I Turned, I realized Develyn couldn’t help himself. He was starving and the scent of the blood was just too powerful to resist. . .”

Swallowing sickly, I dropped my eyes and studied my hands.

“By the time they finished drinking their fill, I was weakened nearly to the point of unconscious, but I could hear Valaree as she began taunting Develyn. Gleefully pointing out how very lonely his new life would be, now that his wife was dead and there was no chance of Turning her. How he should find himself a new companion. Someone he could trust. And who better than his own brother . . .

“Needless to say, it didn’t take much convincing to spur Develyn into action. And he, using her stryker, cut open his own wrist and forced his blood down my throat.”

Feeling my stomach lurch, I squeezed my eyes shut and willed myself not to be sick, but when I heard the clinking of glass, I looked up to see David had poured a shot of whiskey.

“Please, Miss Perkins, I insist,” he said, offering me the glass.

CHAPTER TWELVE

The Aftermath

By that time, a good stiff drink seemed like the perfect answer and I took it, slamming it back like I had seen it done in movies. But of course, I didn’t cough and sputter lightly like the people in those movies did. Mine was an embarrassing, whole body, heaving, gasping coughing fit that seemed to last minutes. And David, with another closed lipped smile, waited patiently for me to catch my breath and take a sip of water before he asked if I was all right.

My throat and stomach burned and my eyes were watering, but I managed to blink back my tears and choke out, “Yeah, you can keep going.”

“As you wish. Let’s see, overnight, I became an Unnatural Mortal. The change was frightening to undergo, to say the least. I felt my body temperature drop until I was as cold as a corpse and my heart beat slow until it was undetectable. I could feel myself dying and yet, all my senses were sharpening. My strength and speed, increasing . . . He grabbed his goblet from the table and took a sip and sat it back down with a sigh. “As you can imagine, I was furious with Develyn. So much so, I actually wanted to kill him. And because I could not trust myself to be around him, I left London the next day, excuse me, the next evening, while he remained with that . . . creature.

“Now, the same day I left the city, Clarissa’s body was discovered by a neighbor and, of course, Develyn became the Yard’s primary suspect. A city- wide manhunt began for him and so he and Valaree fled Britain to Africa.

“Meanwhile, my journey to William and Camille’s was difficult at best and I’ll admit I barely survived it. I couldn’t bring myself to drink from a human and I could barely feed from the cows I slaughtered along the way, so by the time I reached their estate, I was near starvation. And because of it, I knew I must have looked as ghastly as Develyn had that day I discovered him and Clarissa.

“That night, I cowered in the shadows, watching Camille her and her family go about their happy lives. I waited until she was alone in her bedchamber before I climbed the tree to her window . . .

“The look her face when she saw me . . . The fear. The disgust . . .” He shook his head as if to clear away the hurtful memory. “She was upset, understandably so, and despite all her questions, begging and pleading for an explanation, I couldn’t tell her the truth. I had to create a lie to explain my haggard appearance and the pending absence from her life.

“You see, back then, Opium was the scourge of the day and so I told her I had become dependant on it. That it had overtaken my life and I was going to have to leave the country for treatment.

“Of course, Camille didn’t want me to go. She begged me to remain with her and her family and promised to nurse me through it, but I refused her.

Reluctantly, she relented, but not before she gave me a fair sum of money, some of William’s clothing and a basket of food my journey . . .”

Again, his face had softened when he first spoke her name and then hardened, but this time I didn’t hold back and I asked, “Did you ever go back and see her?”

He looked away into the darkness. “No. I could not bear to see that look in her eyes again. We did, however, keep in touch through regular correspondence over the next fifty-four years. Right up to the week she passed . . .”

“But you never went back to see her, at least one last time?” I asked incredulously.

“No,” he said with a solemn shake of his head. “By the time I accepted, and was comfortable with what I had become, too many years had passed. And while she had grown naturally old, I had barely aged. I believe the shock of seeing me, still looking like a young man, would have been enough to kill her.”

“Wait. Barely aged? You mean, you can, you age? You actually grow older? ”

“Yes, but at a much slower rate. By my best estimation, we Unnatural Mortals age only one year for every ten of a Natural.”

“Really? So, how old are you now?”

“Well, let’s see. I was just a young man of twenty when I was Turned in the spring of 1892. I’ve existed as an Unnatural for 115 years now, but have only aged approximately eleven and a half years. Which means, I’ve been on this earth for a total of 135 years, but I appear to be only thirty-one, thirty-two years old.”

“135 years!” I gasped and when I realized I was staring at him open-mouthed, I snapped it closed. “That’s amazing! The things you must’ve seen and done,” I said, completely awestruck.

David’s lips pressed together firmly. “Yes. I have seen the best and worst man is capable of and have, myself, committed very little of the first and much of the latter.”

Feeling we were edging dangerously close to an unpleasant subject, I steered us back by asking, “So what happened after you left Camille’s that night?”

He shifted his posture and glanced away. “Well, I avoided all human contact. And for several months I roamed the countryside, living off the blood of animals I hunted and sleeping in the deepest, darkest parts of the forest. Once I came to grips with the conditions of my infliction, I left Britain behind and came to America. For the first year, Develyn’s and my paths did not cross. I lived in New York and Massachusetts turning that sum of money Camille had given me, into a small fortune through rather risky investments.

“In 1893 I came to Chicago. And what a year it was for this city. The World’s Fair was being hosted here, and actually, the grounds stood right in this very neighborhood,” he said, sounding genuinely excited for the first time. “The performers, the likes of Scott Joplin, were amazing and the exhibits were really something to behold. Of them all, my favorite was The Great Ferris Wheel. It was the most astounding man-made structure I have ever seen before or since . . .

“Forgive me, where was I? Oh yes, I was awaiting to board the Wheel when I spotted Develyn exiting the car. He was escorting an attractive young Willing of his and needless to say, ours was an uncomfortable and brief reunion and we went our separate ways.

“We coexisted here for over a decade before I moved back to New York. Develyn showed up there shortly after and again, we lived in the same city, but did not socialize.

“In the thirty years we lived there, I spent my time acquiring my law degree and practicing for a short period while Develyn took to performing small roles on Broadway for almost twenty years.”

“Thirty years without seeing or talking to each other? Wow! So much for Develyn turning you for the sake of your companionship,” I commented carefully.

His brow furrowed as if my words stung. “Yes, well, my hatred for him still raged,” he muttered and then quickly moved on.

“In 1939, when the world went to war a second time, I went back to Britain and served my homeland the only possible way I could. I was a spy for the Allies, and Develyn went to Germany and as I’m sure it is to no surprise to you, became a spy for the Axis. In 1945, I returned to the States and headed for California and Develyn followed right behind. At the end of that year, he invited me to a New Year’s Eve Party. Now, I cannot explain why I accepted his invitation, perhaps I was weary from the war, being at odds with him, or just simply weary. After all, I was nearing the end of what would’ve been my natural life . . . Regardless of the reason, I did accept his invite and the die had been cast, as they say.

“It was the first of many parties like a Gathering. An event for those of the Order to trade and/or recruit new Willings and Develyn to Turn more victims.

“That night Develyn chose Gloria Hays. He had used her to get to me, force my hand, if you will, but I did not intervene and he Turned her . . . She was a widow and mother of a young boy . . . ” He paused and went back to studying the flames of the fire.

In the silence that followed, his words echoed through my mind and I’ll admit his tone of remorse over Gloria Hays and her fate, struck a chord of jealousy in me.

“And so it began,” he said, looking back at me. “The annual contests between Develyn and me. The Gatherings where I’m given the chance to persuade as many unsuspecting young women to leave before Develyn has a chance to target and Turn them. And this particular game had been ongoing for twenty-four years by the time Robert and Laura Ann came to the house.

“When I saw her, I knew she would be the type Develyn would choose, and of course, he did and he Turned her right before Robert’s eyes . . . I’ll never forget the look on his face . . . Despite his altered state of mind, Robert was lucid enough to understand that something horrible had happened to his wife and he tried to attack Develyn . . .

“The day following the party, Robert and Laura Ann came to me for help. She was in a very bad way, craving her first feeding you see . . . I explained everything to them and ultimately, Laura Ann did not want to exist as a Vampire and she, they, decided to end it.”

Cold realization washed over me and my eyes widened with horror. “Dear God! What are you saying,” I demanded, shooting to my feet. “Robert,” I began, thumbing over my shoulder, “killed her?!” I screeched.

David jumped to his feet and with his hands splayed imploringly, he said, “Surely you must realize he had to, Miss Perkins.”

With a frantic shake of my head, I groaned sickly. “No! No, I don’t! And I can’t! How could he have done such a thing to his own wife!?”

“How could he not?!” he gently fired back, staring down at me. “She would have become one of us. A blood thirsty monster hiding just under the surface of humanity.”

His words stopped me cold. I didn’t see David as a monster, blood thirsty or otherwise. Everything that I knew of him up to that point indicated he was a good and kind man forced into a horrible existence. A man valiantly struggling to remain true to himself. The self he was before he was Turned. To me, David Blackwell was a sort of dark knight in shining armor who gallantly rescued damsels in distress like me.

Despite all the vampire movies I’ve seen and the books I’ve read, it hadn’t yet occurred to me that he could read my thoughts and I was startled by his sudden display of vampire ability.

In a flash, he was standing in front of the fire-place with his back to me, but when he spoke, his voice was loud and clear, almost harsh. “What you saw last night when I Marked you, Miss Perkins, is what lurks just below the surface of my humanity. It is ultimately what I am. And you were afraid of it. Of me.”

The truth of his words felt like a slap across the face and I felt the sting of tears behind my eyes. “Yes, but I didn’t know what I seeing!” I cried defensively. “Or what you were doing was protecting me. How could I’ve known such a thing?” I muttered, as I weakly lowered myself back onto the sofa.

I saw his silhouette nod morosely. “That is my point precisely. You were merely reacting naturally to seeing something frightening. Which is exactly what we are, Miss Perkins,” he said, his voice becoming gentle once again. “We are frightening monsters. We crave blood. We need it. We require it to survive. Without it, we turn into hideous creatures. But more importantly, without it, we’ll go mad.”

Again, I was at a loss and I just shook my head.

Although David had turned and faced me, he was still just a faceless shadow as he spoke. “I explained this very thing to Robert and Laura Ann that day and they simply could not accept it. Not many can.

“You see, all of those Develyn has Turned, since me, have been women. And for whatever reason, perhaps it is a woman’s innate gentle nature, most cannot accept the gruesome brutality that their new existence requires. And for over the past sixty years, many have come to me for my counsel. Some accept their fate and decide to live as an Unnatural Mortal, but a good many do not. And those who cannot bring their loved ones to me so that I may advise them and assist them in ending the Unnatural Mortal’s life.”

“Oh God,” I muttered sickly as I shook my head. “What an agonizing decision to make. What torment those poor people must’ve gone through. Poor Robert and Laura Ann! I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t make a decision like that. To end the life of someone I loved.” A shiver raced down my spine with that horrible thought.

We both were silent for a moment, each one lost in our own thoughts. And although I’m not sure why I wanted to know, I asked, “How many have there been?”

“Two dozen or so,” he muttered softly.

“Dear Lord! That many? Were all of their lives, you know, ended by a true loved one,” I asked, almost choking on the words.

“Yes,” he began, crossing back to his sofa and sitting again. “Everyone that I’ve assisted anyway.”

“Then why, in my dreams or visions or whatever they are, did I see some people burst into flames?”

“Those,” he began with a grave nod of his head, “were the unfortunate ones. Those Unnatural Mortals who had not only embraced their new life, but had gone mad with power and bloodlust and had to be destroyed.”

“Destroyed? Destroyed by whom,” I asked, although I feared I already knew the answer.

I could tell he was reluctant to answer and he looked toward the fireplace. “You have to understand, those Unnatural Mortals, in their blood drunken frenzies, killed nearly every person close to them. They killed their husbands, fiancés, lovers, sons, daughters, brothers and sisters. All those that could have been the one to set them free, they had killed. But mostly those Unnatural Mortals had to be destroyed lest their killing sprees drew the attention of the authorities to the rest of us.”

With an uneven sigh, I said, “I understand, but who did it? Who was it that destroyed them?”

His brow furrowed before he dropped his eyes. “Come now, Miss Perkins, you don’t honestly believe Develyn would concern himself with such trivial matters,” he said meeting my horrified stare.

My heart ached for David. How unfair it was for him. To be his brother’s keeper. A keeper of such horrible things.

“How many of them have you had to destroy?”

“Just over a dozen,” he replied flatly.

I’ll admit I was shaken by his answer, but I still believed he wasn’t the monster he thought himself to be. “Have you ever Turned anyone?”

His brow furrowed even more as he stared at me in shock. “No. Of course not!”

“That’s what I thought. You see, Develyn is a true monster, not you.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The Order of the Unwilling

David looked like he wanted to argue with me, but he rose to his feet, took his goblet and excused himself again.

When he left the room, I flung myself back against the sofa while all that he had told me, ran through my mind.

It was all so incredible! Extraordinary! A tale of great sadness and unbelievable horror that I couldn’t possibly repeat it to anyone. No one would believe me if I did tell it and those who heard it, would definitely think I was crazy. It was a story that would remain a secret with me forever.

When he returned, he resumed his seat, placed his goblet on the sofa arm and said, “Well, now that I have answered your first question, is there anything else you wish to know?”

The truth was there was a lot more I wanted to know, especially about him. Even though I wasn’t sure what difference it would make to know them or where it would lead, the bottom line was I just wasn’t ready to leave. And with a nod, I asked, “Is Valaree still alive?”

“Yes. She lives near the ruins of the castle she and Count Konrad had once shared.”

“Really! You know where she is?”

“Yes. She has never bothered going into hiding.”

“So, no one’s ever tried to, eh, you know?”

His eyebrows rose and he dipped his chin. “Only once. In 1898, the very same Doctor Geddes who diagnosed her with King George’s Disease, had tried to kill her for Turning his son, but thankfully, he didn’t succeed.”

I was totally surprised by what he said. “What? You mean, you didn’t want her to be, eh, taken out?”

“No, of course not.” he was quick to say. “You see, if Dr. Geddes had succeeded, it would have meant immediate condemnation for the rest of us. As I have said, there is only one way to end this cursed existence, and that is by the hand of a loved one.”

His words sent a shiver racing down my spine and as I hugged my arms about myself, I asked, “So, how many are there of your kind?”

“Compared to others, we are a small Order. Numbering only two thousand throughout the world.”

My mind spun. Not only at the thought of two thousand vampires being considered a small Order, but there were others out there. “How many other orders are there?”

David shrugged slightly. “It’s hard to say. I could list a baker’s dozen off the top of my head right now.”

I felt my jaw drop again. “Wow! That’s, uhm, that’s amazing,” I muttered with a shake of my head. “So, how is your Order different from the others? I mean, I know you don’t have fangs and you actually age, but how else are you different from say, the Dracula-type vampires in all the movies and books?”

“Well, let’s see, other than those two, I imagine the most considerable difference is that we have heartbeats. Ours is much slower, barely detectable normally. However, when we feed directly from a Willing, it jump starts, if you will, our system. Our heart beats regularly again, our body temperature rises and our color returns. It lasts, depending on how much we consume, for just a few moments up to three quarters of an hour.”

“So, that’s why Develyn felt so hot last night. He must have fed from someone just before he, he did what he did to me.”

David’s eyes narrowed. “Yes. We are extremely cold otherwise. Which is the very reason why those of this Order are so dependent on Willings. It makes them feel almost human again.”

“So do the Willings know you’re real Vampires?”

“Yes. Many of the Willings are the loved ones of an Unnatural Mortal. They are the husbands or wives or lovers. However, we carefully screen those who want to submit themselves as a Willing.”

“Screen them? Like perform a physical and back ground check on them or something?”

He almost smiled. “In a manner of speaking, I suppose. You see, with our acute sense of smell, we can detect the state of one’s health and their personal habits. For example, we can determine if a person has a common cold or has been stricken with a cancer. We can distinguish between a person taking an over the counter medication or one who abuses illegal narcotics.”

“Really? All that just by smelling them?”

“Yes. And only when it is determined that the person is in perfect health, do we bother having our people investigate their personal and financial backgrounds.”

“You have people that investigate?”

“Yes. Many of this Order are employed in the natural world. Some in the law enforcement, legal and medical professions.”

“Wow. So, there really are people out there, willing to be, uhm, a food source for vampires,” I asked hoping I didn’t sound too judgmental.

“Surprisingly, yes.”

“Wow. So, how do you go about finding them?”

“Up until a few years ago, they could only be introduced to us through underground clubs or secret societies that catered to certain, eh, proclivities and fetishes. But now there’s the World Wide Web and since everyone is, more or less, selling themselves on the Internet, it’s merely a matter of peruse, point and click.”

I was a little shocked by his critical observation, but realized he was right. That was essentially what people were doing on the Net.

Curious if he had done any online shopping lately, I grabbed my water bottle and took a sip before hastily asking, “So, do you have any Willings?”

He waited till I actually met his eyes before he answered. “I used to, but ironically, the practice became distasteful to me.”

I’ll admit, I was thrilled to hear him say that and I tried to keep my response nonchalant. “Really? Why’s that,” I asked, sitting the bottle back down.

“To drink from someone is such an intimate act. To do so with the intention of just feeling human again, is much like one patronizing a prostitute, I would imagine. It leaves one feeling hollow and empty.”

Again, I was happy, almost giddy really, that he seemed to live by a strict moral code and I held back a grin as I confirmed, “So, you don’t drink or feed from humans, then?”

“No. For over the past thirty years I’ve fed from donated bagged blood of our Willings,” he said, nodding to his goblet.

My eyes darted to it and back to his face.

It was unsettling to realize that he had been drinking blood all the while we were talking and hoping that my shock didn’t register on my face, I moved on. “Are all Willings, Marked?”

“No. Most are, but we have a few Willings that submit to more than one vampire. Like your former friend, Cara, for example.”

Somehow I wasn’t surprised to learn that about her and since he brought her up, I had to ask, “What happened with her? I mean, do you know why she up and left town like she did?”

With a slight shrug, he coolly replied, “I merely suggested she sever all ties with you immediately and consider relocating or face some unpleasant consequences.”

Now David was a menacing figure alone, but combined with that not so veiled threat, I could see why Cara had hauled her ample arse, as Robert had referred to it, out of town so quickly.

I could also tell that this was David’s polite way of saying he didn’t want to talk about her any more and I moved on, asking, “So Willings aren’t automatically Marked when they are first drank from?”

He seemed impressed by my astute observation and his eyebrows quirked. “No. To Mark someone, a vampire must speak the words over that person before they drink from them.”

“That’s it? There’s no physical or actual mark of some kind left on the person or anything?”

When he shook his head, I asked, “Then how do other vampires know who’s been Marked and by whom?”

“To be honest, I’m not sure. We simply sense it.”

“I see. So, how many people have you Marked?”

“Only two in my time.”

My heartbeat doubled and my stomach fluttered wildly at the thought that I was one of the only two.

“Since you said you once slept in the forest, must mean you don’t actually have to sleep in a coffin filled with dirt.”

His lips thinned. “No. No coffin or dirt for me. I have a nice big bed right upstairs.”

I’ll admit when he said that, my thoughts took a wayward turn, quickly dominoing to the ultimate question of sex.

Now, I had felt Develyn’s little soldier’s salute the night before, when he held me against his body, but I wondered if this Order of vampires were physically able to engage in sexual intercourse? From start to finish. But as quickly as that thought popped into my head, I squashed it. Deciding that was going to remain a morbid curiosity, an unanswered question, because I wasn’t about to ask him such a thing.

With a gentle clear of my throat, I moved on and asked, “Can you shape change into a wolf or bat?”

“No. I’m simply not that talented,” he said with a grin tugging at the left corner of his mouth.

“Oh. Well, you know how lately, in all the vampire movies and books, that every vampire seems to know karate and can fight like a ninja? Well, do you have special fighting abilities, like the martial arts or anything?”

He nodded. “I’ve seen a film or two like you are referring to, but sorry, we don’t inherit, if you will, such skills when we Turn. We, of this Order, rely solely on our heightened senses and incredible strength and speed to defend ourselves.”

“If ever you were injured, would you heal immediately?”

Scratching his temple, he said, “It would depend on the severity of the injury. For example, if I were to have an arm lopped off, it would not regenerate. However, minor lacerations, fractured bones and such do heal almost instantaneously. I imagine that particular ability can be attributed to Valaree’s vanity and her bargain with Satan.”

“Can you go out into the sunlight or would you burst into flames?”

“There would be no instantaneous bursting into flames, but it does make us blister and renders us quite lethargic. In fact, a lot quicker than it used to, but I suppose that can be attributed to the depletion of the ozone.”

At first, I almost laughed. A century old vampire talking about such a contemporary topic as the hole in the ozone, but then I realized, why not? He lived on the same planet as I did.

“Do you have a reflection in a mirror?”

“Yes. I exist. I am made of matter, therefore real, and would have a reflection.”

“Well, that does make sense, doesn’t it. What about garlic? Are you repelled by it?”

“Only when Robert over uses it in his cooking.”

“Oh? So does that mean you can eat norm–, eh, regular food?”

“Yes, I can. However, it remains in my system for some time and again, leaves me feeling lethargic and therefore, I do not bother.”

“Oh. How about crosses and holy water? Do they or can they, hurt you?”

“Crosses are merely man made symbols of God. One could only hurt me if it were used as a weapon to pierce my heart. However, water is a true creation of God and if it is blessed by a truly righteous man or woman of God, then yes, it would blister us and render us temporarily paralyzed. And if ingested, it would induce a coma.”

Now being a Christian, Baptist in faith, I’ll admit, I was surprised that he spoke of God so easily. I didn’t think a being like him could even say His name without experiencing pain or some sort of holy repercussion and I just couldn’t disguise the amazement in my voice when I whispered, “You believe in God?”

“Yes, of course,” he said, his voice becoming hard. “I was raised practicing the Protestant faith and was very devout throughout my natural life.”

He looked at his goblet and made a face as if suddenly repulsed by it and placed it on the table. “However, I haven’t stepped a foot in a sanctuary in more than 115 years . . .”

I could tell he had grown uncomfortable with the subject, so I changed it by asking the last question that came to mind, “Can you read the minds of everyone you come in contact with?”

He stiffened ever so slightly. “No. There must exist a mental bond, if you will, between us and the other person. We can only read the thoughts of those we have cast into an enthrallment, Marked or, in other vampires cases, those they have Turned.”

‘Those we have Marked’. My heart began to pound in my ears and I felt my temperature rise. David could and probably had read my thoughts! My too embarrassing to voice aloud thoughts! I felt a little nauseous. “Did you– have you read any of my thoughts tonight?” I croaked out.

His solemn stare met my wide-eyed gaping. “Yes. A time or two,” he admitted. “And, if I may, I would like to address an issue that seems to have concerned you.”

My face flamed. “No!” I blurted, as I waved my hands frantically. “You don’t have to. Really, you don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

“Be that as it may, I want to. I want to explain my relationship with Gloria Hays.”

I had a feeling I knew what he was going to say, but I didn’t want to hear it and I actually had to fight the urge to cover my ears and start chanting, I don’t hear you! I don’t hear you!

“Gloria was my companion and lover for nearly thirty years.”

And there it was. With jealousy stabbing at my heart, I turned toward the fire, so he couldn’t see the hurt I’m sure was showing in my face.

Well, he certainly killed two birds with one stone with that revelation, I had thought miserably. Not only was he physically able to engage in sexual intercourse, but apparently he and his little vampire girlfriend had been doing it for thirty years! Thirty years! Most marriages didn’t even last that long.

“However, Miss Perkins, Gloria ended our relationship more than thirty years ago when she realized that I did not love her and could not give her what she most desired . . . Do you understand what I’m saying?”

I couldn’t bring myself to look at him. I was too embarrassed and hurt to speak and so I just shook my head.

“When Develyn Turned Gloria, she had no other choice but to stage her death, like many others have done. This then left her son, James, to be reared by Joy, her only sister. When Joy died of lung cancer in 1975 and James was killed in an auto accident in 1976, Gloria’s will to go on, died along with him. She wanted me, had begged me, to end her existence, but I could not. And I could not because I did not love her. I never had.”

When he said that, my eyes snapped back to his and we just stared at each other.

In the awkward silence that followed, my cell phone rang, startling us both.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Our Farewell

Grabbing the phone, I saw it was my mother. I knew full well that if she didn’t reach me on either my cell or home phone, she would more than likely run over to my house and once she discovered I wasn’t there, she would worry. And the next time I talked to her, she would surely demand answers . . .

After the fourth ring, I answered, trying hard to sound casual. “Hi. Oh, I had it turned off ‘cause I was sleeping. Yeah, I’m fine. I’m going back to bed though. Okay. Talk to you tomorrow. Love you too. Bye.”

Hanging up, I tossed the phone back into my purse and with a heavy sigh, I ran my fingers through my hair. I hadn’t liked lying to her, but I couldn’t tell her where I really was. I wasn’t about to open that can of worms.

“You should not be so hard on yourself, Miss Perkins,” he said gently. “I say a little white lie, designed to save a loved one from needless worry and pain, is well worth telling.”

Messaging the back of my neck, I looked bash-fully at him and smiled. “I s’pose you’re right. She doesn’t ever need to know about any this.”

He nodded with another close-lipped smile. “Yes, that would be best,” he said, and after another moment of silent stares between us, he asked, “Are there any other questions I may answer for you?”

I’ll admit, a small part of me was curious about Gloria, but I couldn’t bring myself to pry. And even though there were many other things, personal things, I wanted to know about him, I just couldn’t ask them. Ultimately, I figured why bother? What real purpose would there be to know more about him than I already did? It wasn’t like we were ever going to see each other again. Once I left, there was no real reason to come back.

“No. I can’t think of anything. So,” I said with another sigh. “I guess I should get going.”

“Yes, well, the hour has grown late,” he agreed heartily as he stood. “Shall I see you to the gate?”

I know it’s ridiculous, but I was hurt that he seemed to be almost rushing me out the door. And with disappointment burning my stomach and sting-ing my eyes, I told him, “No thanks.”

With a stiff nod, he brusquely replied, “Very well, then. I’ll have Robert meet you at the gate.”

Standing, I grabbed my coat and slipped it on and wrapped the scarf loosely around my neck and then collected the rest of my things from the table.

When I was finished, I forced myself to meet his eyes. “Well, I should go,” I muttered and stuck out my hand for a farewell handshake.

He looked at it and when his eyes returned to mine, they were uneasy. “I’m sorry,” he began with a shake of his head. “I am so cold I’m sure you would find it quite disturbing if I were to touch your bare skin.”

I was touched by his gentlemanly concern for my comfort and so acting quickly, I slipped my right glove on and held my hand out again, determined to say goodbye properly.

With a grim smile, he reached across the table and gently grasped it, saying, “Goodbye, Miss Perkins.”

“Goodbye, David,” I said, calling him by his given name for the first, and, what I was sure to be, the last time.

I turned to go and as I headed for the foyer, the enormity of it all washed over me like a wave.

Vampires existed! They really did exist. And I had been Marked by one for protection. Marked by one who had never Turned a victim in his entire existence. . . Marked by one who hadn’t Marked Gloria Hays . . . when she had been in the very same predicament, I was in the night before. . . The Gloria Hays he said he had never loved. . .

Stopping short, I whirled around to ask one final question, but the room was empty. The only sign of life was the crackling and dancing flames in the hearth.

The hair on the back of my neck stood and with a shiver racing down my spine, I turned and ran from the room and out the front door.

Cold night air blasted my flushed face and the bright light from the half moon bathed everything in a silvery sheen.

I hurried down the drive and as I neared the gates, my footsteps faltered when I saw David standing there. He held one side of the gate open and as I approached more slowly, he bowed slightly. “Was there something else after all, Miss Perkins?”

I was momentarily struck speechless by the sight of him. His eyes were dark and undistinguishable. The pale skin of his hands and face were iridescent, almost glowing in the moonlight. And although my breaths were coming out in silvery puffs of mist, nothing came from between his perfectly sculpted purple lips.

I’ll admit I was both fascinated and frightened by the Vampire David at that particular moment.

Mentally shaking myself out of the stupor I was in, I asked, “Was it just a guilty conscience over Gloria Hays? Is that why you bothered to intervene with me last night?”

He shook his head solemnly. “No. I assure you my actions last night were completely independent from any past incident,” he replied politely.

Now I had the distinct impression he was hiding behind his civility and it irritated me enough to boldly demand. “Then why did you do it? Why did you Mark me,” I said, with a lift of my chin.

“Surely, you realize that if I hadn’t acted, Develyn would have Turned you.”

“Yes, I’m sure. But why would you have cared if he had?” I asked, my heart thumping loudly in my ears.

He stiffened noticeably. “Because I,” he began, plunging both hands into his robe pockets, “simply could not allow it to happen. Not to you.”

A tiny flutter of flattery and hope tickled my stomach. And I with breath held, I took a step closer to him and anxiously whispered, “And why not?”

His left eyebrow rose as he replied, “Come now, Miss Perkins, the reasons why are irrelevant, are they not?”

I flinched at his words. It wasn’t the response I was hoping for and I straightened my shoulders defensively and said, “No. Not to me.”

“Of course, please do forgive me,” he murmured with a bow, “I did not intend to be so flippant and since I have promised you answers, I will honor this last question of yours.”

He lowered his head and ran his hand through his hair. It was the first time David seemed truly rattled and it took him a few moments to speak. “The truth is, Miss Perkins, I had intervened because I–, from the first moment I saw you, I was captivated by your beauty. Once we spoke, I was quite impressed by your selfless concern for and loyalty to your undeserving friend and honestly, completely enamored with you by the time Develyn had made his appearance. So you see, Miss Perkins, I intervened because I simply could not allow you to be Turned,” he ended in a whisper.

My heart swelled and I blushed hotly at his words.

“However,” he hurried on, his voice hardening, “please do not be encouraged by this admission of mine for nothing will come of it. We are not fictional characters in one of your fanciful vampire novels or films. I am real. I am an Unnatural Mortal and you are a Natural. There would be no happy ending for us,” he said, taking a hesitant step toward me.

“You must understand, I have been cursed and there is no cure. No magical potion to concoct and drink it away. No ancient ritual to perform to change it. There is only one way out of this existence of mine and it is as I have already explained it.”

He took another step and towered over me, his dark eyes scanning my face. “Believe me when I tell you we, at best, would have two decades together before the reality of my immortality and your mortality would begin to taunt us . . . I could not Turn you, even if you wanted me too. The very nature of the curse would not allow it. And since you made it very clear that you could not end the life of someone you loved, means we would have to decide whether or not to separate. If we decided to remain together, you would eventually–,” he stopped short and took a step back as if to distance himself from the painful thought. “I would outlive you and be forced to live without you for centuries! And that,” he said, his lips pressing into a grim line, “is something I cannot, I will not endure. Now, please go,” he cried, pointing to the gate. “Forget me! Forget all that you have learned here tonight as best as you can and for God’s sake, Miss Perkins, do not return to this house for I am not the noble being you believe I am!”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Our Reunion

Needless to say, David didn’t need to order me to leave a second time. I left, actually, I ran from him and the sound of the gate slamming behind me seemingly punctuated his wishes.

I was upset and shaking so hard by the time I reached my car that I barely managed to get the key into the ignition.

As I sat there allowing the engine to warm up, I numbly reviewed what had just occurred, from David’s incredible confession to his outright rejection, and I was heartbroken.

Now, I know it’s ridiculous to mourn the loss of a relationship that never was, but I was crushed.

I drove in a daze and when I got home, I crawled into bed. It took awhile for sleep to come, but when it did, the movie version of the story David had told me began to play.

I saw every character he had mentioned and every frightening scene he had described in full color and surround sound, as if I had been standing beside him as those things were happening to him.

I didn’t sleep well that night and I had to drag myself out of bed the next morning and force myself to go to work. I barely made it through the day and the moment I got home, I crawled back into bed and prayed for sleep just so I could see David’s face again.

In the days that followed, I found myself thinking of him every waking moment and dreaming of him every night. The surreal events of our first meeting and the subsequent night kept replaying over and over again in my mind. And although I chose to remember our parting in the parlor as our final farewell and not the ugly scene at the gates, the truth always revealed itself in my dreams. And I would awake each time to the sound of the gate slamming behind me.

By the end of the week, I realized I couldn’t continue as I was. I was distracted at work and people were beginning to talk. I could tell my parents had grown suspicious of my withdrawn behavior and my mother was planning a sit down session with me soon.

There was simply no use in denying the truth any longer. I was in love with David Blackwell. And it didn’t matter that he had ordered me out of his life. I wanted in. I wanted to see him again. I wanted to know more about Camille and his life before he was Turned. To know more about what he had done and seen over the past one hundred years. To know his thoughts and opinions on everything from religion and politics to music, art, movies and books. I wanted to know what made him happy. What made him smile and what his laughter sounded like? But most of all, I wanted to be with him. And even though I knew what would have to happen first, I wanted to make love to him. To run my fingers through his thick, dark hair. Kiss his sculpted lips. Hold him in my arms and love him until he no longer felt loneliness or pain. Or felt like the monster he thought himself to be.

So, the moment I got home from work Friday afternoon, I showered and readied myself for a special night with David. But since the only sexy lingerie I had was years old and originally bought for Jeremy, I decided to go without.

I slipped a simple curve-hugging, knee-length, scoop necked, long sleeved black dress over my body, grabbed my coat, scarf and gloves and was out the door.

But because it was November in the Upper Midwest, I did opt for a pair of thermal socks and my brown Ugg boots.

I drove as fast as I dared and as I reached the outskirts of Chicago it began to snow. It was a fluttering of large flakes at first, but as I neared the house, it began to come down steadily.

Parking the car, I ran to the gates and peered anxiously down the drive. Somehow I felt David already knew I was there and he was coming for me. And I was right. He seemed to materialize from the bright veil of falling snow, gliding rapidly toward me and stopping just a few feet from the gates.

He was dressed similar as the night we talked, only this time he wore a long robe of crushed black velvet and his handsome face was as pale as the snow that had accumulated along his shoulders and salted his dark hair.

He bowed to me and when he spoke, his deep cultured voice made my stomach flutter. “I know every thought you have had and have experienced every emotion you have felt since you left, so I will not insult you by demanding to know why you are here. Why you have come back here tonight. I will, however, ask once again Emily, my dearest, are you certain of your decision?”

My heart was beating wildly and I anxiously grabbed the bars of gate with my gloved hands. “Yes! Yes, I’m sure! I’m sure I love you, David! And I want to be with you! If all we are to have is two decades together, then so be it. I’ll take ‘em. I want them! Starting tonight. Right now.”

David shook his head gently and said, “But how will you feel in twenty years time when we are faced with–”

“I don’t know! And I don’t care! God help me, I don’t!” I cried with a frantic shake of my head. “We’ll just have to cross that bridge when we come to it.”

In a startling flash, he was standing right before me, his hands tightly gripping the bars just above mine. His eyes were filled with longing and his deep voice wavered ever so slightly when he spoke. “If I open this gate, Emily, my love, there will be no turning back,” he warned.

“I know.”

“And for us to be together, I would have to–”

“I know.”

“Before we even dared to touch each other, I–”

“I know,” I interrupted with a bashful smile.

Tearing off my left glove and shoving my sleeve back, I offered him my arm and said, “I know and I’m ready.”

His grip tightened on the bars. His lips pressed into a grim line and the muscle in his jaw twitched. His eyes darted to my exposed wrist and when they returned to mine, they were clearly tortured with indecision. “Emily,” he whispered raggedly as he shook his head.

“David, please,” I said, raising it to his lips, “I am fully aware of what I’m doing.”

We stared silently at each other and after a few moments, David let go of the bars. With a sigh of surrender, he said at last, “Very well, my dear.”

From his robe pocket, he withdrew the same stryker Develyn had used on me, and with eyes holding mine, he slipped it over his thumb and reached out and took my hand in his.

On a subconscious level, I expected him to be cold because we were standing out in a snow shower at night, so when he grasped my hand, I really wasn’t surprised that his fingers felt freezing cold.

When he hesitated again, I knew it was his way of giving me one last chance to change my mind, but when I nodded for him to proceed, he pressed the point into my vein.

We grimaced at the same time. Me from the pain and David, I know, from the guilt of causing it. But once the blood flowed from the puncture wound, he began to transform. His pupils dilated until his eyes looked black and his jaw clenched.

After a tense moment, he lowered his head and inhaled deeply. “You smell just like my mother’s rose garden on a warm and sunny afternoon,” he rasped thickly and when the cold tip of his tongue licked the red rivulet from my wrist, I felt a surprising jolt of shock and pleasure. And unlike the time before, I watched as he drank from me and I was fascinated as I felt his fingers, lips and mouth begin to warm.

As he continued, pulling the blood harder and faster through my veins, my head began to swim and my knees weaken. I tightened my grip on the bar to keep from buckling and just when I thought I was going to faint, he stopped. And when I was able to focus my eyes again, I was astonished at what I saw. David’s brown eyes sparkled warmly. His handsome face was not only flesh-colored, but flushed in the cheeks and his lips were red and swollen. The snow on his shoulders and in his hair had melted away and steam rose from him. He was breathing as hard as I was, and his breaths were coming out in silver puffs of mist . . . just . . . like . . . mine.

With our gazes locked, he unlocked the gate. And when he opened it, I rushed into his arms and we kissed.

I’ll admit, at first I could taste my blood in his mouth and it was unsettling, but as our kiss deepened and intensified, I didn’t even notice it.

When it ended, he scooped me up into his arms and carried me, faster than I thought humanly possibly, to the house and up to his bedroom where we began our one incredible night together.

A night the likes of which I had never experienced before and I’m sure I never will again. A night so amazing that I will not share the details because they are far too personal, too intimate to reveal even here in this journal.

I will say this one thing, thanks to modern technology, I was able to capture a particularly special moment of the night on my cell phone. It was just a few seconds of David’s deep rumble of laughter and a flash of his smile, but I will cherish it always.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

My Nightmare

When I awoke, I was sore all over in a way that made me smile and I rolled over to snuggle with David, but found the bed empty. I called out for him and when he didn’t reply, I thought it odd and decided to go and look for him.

Putting his robe on, I combed my fingers through my mussed hair and wiped the sleep from my eyes so that I would look somewhat presentable before I saw him again.

I went to the door and peeked out. Making sure the coast was clear, I hurried down the hall to the bathroom and knocked, but when there was no answer there, I headed downstairs.

As I neared the bottom of the staircase, I felt a steady cold draft and I shivered. When I reached the bottom, I called out for David, and then for Robert, but no one answered.

With building apprehension, I headed across the foyer and when I stepped into the parlor, I froze in shock at what I saw.

It was in shambles. All the lamps had been smashed on the floor and the chairs knocked over. There was a large, jagged hole in the center of the bank of windows, as if something had been thrown through them, and the curtains fluttered in the cold breeze. One of the sofas had been shoved violently across the room and was actually embedded into the outer wall, while the other had been turned to face the fireplace and I could see the top of someone’s dark head sitting there.

With my heart pounding in my throat, I timidly called out, “David?”

“No, Emily, my dear. Wrong brother,” I heard Develyn reply.

I swallowed noisily. “Where’s David? And Robert? Where are they?” I demanded, trying hard to suppress the hysteria that was building inside me.

“Robbie will be back shortly.”

With fear and suspicion propelling me, I rushed forward, mindless of the broken glass on the floor. As I neared him, I saw that all the tables from the room had been broken apart and were thrown in a pile near the fireplace. Develyn was using the pieces as fuel for the fire and he had it blazing wildly.

When I stepped around the sofa, I saw him sitt-ing there, slouched down with a bottle of whiskey cradled at his crotch. His black T-shirt was rumpled and there were round dark stains on his faded jeans. His long hair was loose and tangled. His ashen face was drawn and haggard, with hollowed cheeks and dark circles under his eyes.

My hackles rose and my stomach clenched. I knew something was dread-fully wrong and whatever it was, I knew Develyn was the cause of it. Clenching the collar of the robe closed, I demanded to know, “What did you do, Develyn?”

Raising the bottle of whiskey to his purple lips, he took a long drink and then threw it violently into the fireplace. I flinched and jumped back when it shattered and the already raging orange flames, flared dangerously.

Pinning me with a cold hard stare, he shook his head and said, “Not just me, Emily, my dear. It’s what we did.”

Fear constricted my lungs and I was barely able to choke out, “We?”

“Yes, we. Remember,” he said in such a way that it was not a question, but rather a command.

. . . David had smiled at me in the shower and said, “Hurry, my love. The sun is rising and I want to fall asleep with you in my arms.”

After he left, I finished and hurriedly dried off and combed out my hair as quickly as I could, but by the time I returned to his room, he was already asleep. And as I reached out to caress his cheek, I heard a voice say, “Don’t.”

Gasping, I whirled around and saw Develyn standing behind me in the doorway. Our eyes met and before I could scream or call out for David, he was in front of me, his hands grasping my arms painfully. He pulled me into an enthrallment and the next thing I knew he had produced the cross-handled dagger, the one I had seen in my nightmares, and pricked the same spot David had on my wrist, with its tip.

I whimpered in pain and terror and tried to pull away, but he easily lifted my hand to his face and inhaled deeply.

A lazy smile came to his mouth. “Ah, like sunshine and roses. You know, for a woman of your age and in these modern times, you’re surprisingly pure. Your blood is surprisingly pure. Just a hint of this evening’s wine, a product of a celebratory toast or two, I would assume, but no narcotics, antibiotics, or birth control pills.” He inhaled again. “Not even a trace of nicotine or caffeine. You’re an unusual woman, Emily, but then, I knew you would be,” he muttered softly.

Sticking out his tongue, he lasciviously licked the blood from my wrist and said, “And now you are mine.”

I couldn’t move or speak, but on the inside, I was screaming, No! You can’t do this! I’m David’s. He Marked me. I belong to him!

Develyn’s face went hard and he grabbed me by the arm and pulled me close. With his other hand, he ran the bloody tip of the blade down my chest to rest it between my breasts. He bent his head and whispered at my ear, “You do love him, don’t you? Why of course you do. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have lain with him tonight. A woman like you would have to love a man before she let him take her to his bed. Isn’t that right, Emily,” he taunted cruelly. “Of course it is,” he said with a derisive snort. “I’ll wager you couldn’t love him any more than you do at this very moment. Especially after such a night of fierce passion. Right? Say it. Say you couldn’t love David any more than you do right now. Say it!” he roared.

“Yes!” I managed in a strangled cry. “I love him! I love David more than I ever thought it possible to love a person!”

“I knew it. I knew you would be the one,” he whispered bitterly as he forced my hand around the dagger and plunged it into David’s heart.

**************

From this point on, my account of events that followed are only bits and pieces of what I can remember of the most traumatic experience of my life . . .

I must have blacked out after being forced to remember David’s murder, because the next thing I can recall is being crushed against Develyn’s ice cold chest and crying and screaming “no” over and over again at the top of my lungs. Screaming so loud, it felt as if the muscles in my throat were going to tear through the skin.

After that, I remember sitting numbly on the sofa and Develyn pacing back and forth in front of me, talking and gesturing animatedly. At first I couldn’t hear him over the muffled ringing in my head, but once it stopped, I flew at him, flailing wildly and pummeling his face and chest, all the while screaming how much I hated him.

As odd as it seems, as I was hitting him, I remember thinking that it felt like I was tenderizing a pot roast straight from the refrigerator with my bare fists.

Develyn allowed that to go on for only a moment before he grabbed my arms and forced me to sit back down. I remember looking up at him and asking why? Begging him to tell me why he had made me do it? And I’ll never forget his response.

He raised his hand as if to comb it through his hair, but instead he pulled his hair off and tossed the wig into the fire and coldly replied, “Because every story has a villain, Emily. I just happened to be cast that role a long time ago.”

And with that, he walked out of the room and I never saw him again.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

My Journey

Now, I don’t know how long I sat there in a catatonic state, but when my eyes were able to focus again and my hearing returned, I could see the once raging fire had burned down to cinders and I could hear Robert calling my name.

When I turned to the sound of it, I saw his grief stricken face just inches from mine and I broke into tears and cried, “He’s dead, Robert! David’s dead!”

“I know, Miss Emily. I know what happened,” he muttered grimly.

“And, and, and I killed him!” I wailed.

His bushy brows drew together and his big mustache twitched. “No, lass! What ya did was give him peace,” he said, his eyes filling with tears. “Mr. David is at peace at last. You didn’t do anything wrong! Do ya hear me, gurlie?”

I wasn’t aware that I was nodding, but I must have because Robert said, “That’s right, lass, you didn’t do anything wrong. But for right now, I need ya to go with Miss Loretta here, so we can get this room ready for the wake.”

Loretta led me back to David’s room. She tended to the cuts on my feet before helping me into bed and tucking the covers about me like I was a child. She sat with me all afternoon while I drifted in and out of fitful sleep and succumbed to bouts of hysterical sobbing. By evening, she had brought me soup and spoon-fed it to me like I was an invalid. After that, she magically produced underclothes and a tasteful black pant suit and shoes. She helped me out of bed and into my clothes, even brushing my hair for me. Before we left the room, she prepared me, gently explaining what I should expect downstairs.

Ironically David’s last wishes, if he had died at the hands of a loved one, were to be cremated. Not only for easier transportation of his remains back to his homeland, but also so that his ashes could be spread at both his mother and sister’s graves.

The first concrete memory I had after David’s death was walking down the stairs and seeing all the people milling about the foyer, stop and turn to stare at me. I felt as though I was a widowed queen of a great fallen king and his loyal subjects had come to pay their final respects.

That night more than two hundred people– Vampires, Willings and Natural Mortals– approached me. Each one expressing their deepest sympathies, relaying stories of how David had touched their lives and promising to give of their time and money or whatever I may be in need of.

It was well past midnight when Gloria Hays approached me. She was a soft spoken, pretty and petite blonde with green eyes. At first, I was stunned and unsure how to react to David’s former lover, but as we talked, I realized she was a good and kind woman who had really loved David. And when she told me that she would have gladly traded all thirty years together with him for the one night we had shared, we broke down and cried together.

Through the network of people in the Order, Robert was able to make all the arrangements, including a passport for me, and he and I were on our way to England the next afternoon.

We visited Camille’s grave first, sneaking onto the property and into the family cemetery at night and sprinkling David’s ashes by moonlight. We then traveled onto his mother’s grave and did the same there.

After we had seen to David’s last wishes, we returned to London. At my insistence, Robert reluctantly left me holed up in a hotel room while he traveled on to Ireland to visit his family and friends for a few days.

It was the first time since David’s death that I had been alone and I finally had a chance to think everything through.

My first concern was my parents. I needed a story to explain my sudden disappearance and so I called them with a concocted tale of a whirlwind romance with a man I had met and fell instantly in love with. It was an Oscar-worthy performance of pretend giddiness and a hopeful future with “the one.” Although the second call, just a few days later, was full of real tears and heart ache over his untimely death.

I hated to tell the lie, but a car accident was not only believable, but far less horrible than the truth.

Needless to say, by the time Robert and I had returned to the States a week later, I was a completely different person with a greatly altered life.

At first, the visions and dreams of David, and the nightmares of Develyn’s vile treachery, were constant and crippling; they left me a sobbing broken mess every time I awoke from them. But as the weeks passed, they began to fade until they were more like normal dreams one would have after such a traumatic experience and tremendous loss.

Of course my parents were understanding and sympathetic during this time, but there was an obvious undercurrent of anger and disappointment directed at me for my rash and reckless behavior.

All was forgiven, however, the day I learned I was pregnant. The moment the doctor confirmed my suspicion, I felt as if I had been thrust back into the sunlight. Yanked free of the deep dark hole of despair that my guilty conscience had dug for me. David wasn’t gone from my life after all! He was going to live on, through our child.

On August 7, 2008, our son, David Johnathon Blackwell-Perkins was born. And as I held our little baby, I promised him that he would, one day when the time was right, know the truth about his father.

His death surely, but more importantly about his life. How David Blackwell wasn’t a Prince nor a Count, but a good and noble being nonetheless. A Vampire Saint among the Order of the Unwilling. The one who was, and will remain, my one true love.

Emily Rose Perkins

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Develyn’s Return

Develyn slapped the leather bound book closed and tossed it onto the coffee table in front of him. He rubbed his face wearily and ran his hands through his hair.

So Emily had journaled her time with David. It certainly wasn’t a surprise, but it irked him. It irked him because it was only half the story. Half the truth. And when the time came for David Johnathon Blackwell-Perkins to know the truth about his father and Uncle, he should be told the whole of it. Starting with who his father really was . . .

After he had squeezed a few droplets of holy water between David’s lips, Develyn strode down the hallway to the bathroom. He had meant to pull Emily back to the room and finish the deed he had planned, but when his nose caught her wet scent and his eyes caught the sight of her nude body through the frosted glass of the shower, he wanted nothing more than to taste her blood. To taste her kiss. To have her. . .

AUTHOR’S NOTES

Readers, thank you for choosing Forever David’s.

I hope you enjoyed this short story. It was intended to be a preview filled with juicy tidbits that will be further explored and explained in the upcoming, Develyn’s Tale.

Shannon Bailey