Blood Life (17 page)

She could only look straight ahead for a moment, finding that she was frozen by the familiarity of the voice. She turned her head to find Roman smiling casually back at her.

“Hi,” she answered, shocked at his presence. The music seemed quieter. She had no problem hearing him like she had Camilla. “What would a man like you be doing here?” she asked, raising the mirror to check her lips.

“What is that supposed to mean?” he asked, chuckling.        

“I don’t know; you just don’t seem the type to be clubbing.”

“Yes, well, I belong here.”

“Is that so?” she mused, avoiding his eyes. Why the hell was she so nervous around him? Her trembling irritated her.

He leaned closer, breathing into her ear as he spoke. “Let’s just say,” he whispered, “it suits me.”

He moved back upright and made a subtle gesture and the bartender hurried over. Roman mumbled something to him then turned back to face Alethea. “What are you drinking?”

“Merlot,” she answered, but on a second thought, she added, “usually, but I don’t think I’ll have any now.”

She was worried about her feelings in the sudden company. A glass of merlot sounded delicious, but she did not know if it would condemn her or not; make her do or say something that she would regret later.

“That’s fine,” he said, turning to the bartender and waving him away.

“People seem to listen to you here,” she commented, unleashing sarcasm to avoid giving him too much to feed on. At the moment, she was too nervous to judge his intentions.

“Seems quite appropriate.”

“Why’s that?”

“I own this place.”

Hiding her shock, she murmured, “I see.”

She studied the way he held himself; the way the cashmere suit hugged his massive chest.

He turned back to the bartender and ordered that glass of merlot.

“Really, I’m not thirsty, Roman, but thanks anyway.”

With that, she peeled her eyes away from him and looked back at the stage. When she turned back to apologize for the sharpness in her voice, he was gone. Looking forward again, she closed her eyes and exhaled for the first time since he showed up next to her.

Alexandria.

His voice drowned her ears so that she no longer heard the obnoxious cries of the crowd and the whining of the instruments on stage. She looked again at the seat he was in to find Camilla, just as she was before that man had come up to ask for a dance.

“Who’s Alexandria?”

“What? Who are you talking about, hon?” Camilla yelled, dancing in her seat to The Deceased.

“Never mind,” she muttered, looking away from her in confusion. “So how was your dance? Kind of quick, wasn’t it?”

“What dance? Are you okay?” With a puzzled expression, Camilla moved in to examine Alethea’s face, “What have you been drinking over here?” Her face flushed with concern, her eyebrows furrowed together.

“Nothing,” she promised, giving her a fake smile. She looked over at a hallway that led to some restrooms. “Camilla,” she yelled in her friend’s ear, “I’ll be right back.”

“I’ll be here.”

Alethea hopped off the stool and walked toward some signs that pointed down a long hallway. She thought she may have heard Camilla asking if she should come along, but Alethea kept moving.

Catching a side-glance of Roman standing up against the bar, she swung around in an attempt to meet his gaze. He wasn’t there. Carl, the bartender, stood there, wiping a freshly cleaned beer mug off.

She looked away from him and continued toward the restroom. Just as she approached the doors, a bouncer interrupted her.

“Miss,” he said, gently taking hold of her arm, “the boss would like to have a word with you.”

“I don’t know you or your boss.” She wiggled to release her arm from the bouncer’s hold. It tightened in response to her fight. “Please, let me go or I’ll call security,” she warned him.

“I am security,” the man explained, with a steady, unmoving face. “You don’t want to let the boss down, I assure you. That wouldn’t be wise.”

Panic hit; her intuition was good and judging by the way her gut felt, she knew to be afraid. “Oh really?” she argued, despite her horror, and fought harder to get free. “You have no right to—”

Over his shoulder, she heard someone approaching. It was Roman. He was wearing the suit he was wearing before when she thought she might have imagined him sitting with her. His eyes penetrated her, rendering her helpless. He searched her soul for the answer; he dug into her relentlessly, a worthy sacrifice for a few minutes of discomfort. She closed her eyes against the foggy feeling it gave her.

The bouncer released her and she moved obediently towards Roman, forgetting all earlier fears of him. “Thank you, Lance,” Roman said, and put an arm out to lay on Alethea’s shoulder as she approached.

He led her upstairs into his office. She remained in front of the doors after he had closed them and waited for him to say something, anything to justify her being there.

She stood staring at him, waiting, hoping she would be able to keep her face hard in the presence of such a man, because what she really wanted to do was fall into his arms and just let him hold her forever. That thought troubled her the most because her feelings were unrealistically strong. She never seemed the type for this sort of thing. She was always the one in denial, especially concerning matters of the heart.

“Alethea,” he started, pouring her a glass of merlot, “allow me to explain myself to you.”

He picked up the crystal glass and set it down on the dark granite coffee table in front of the checkered brown and black suede sofa, motioning for her to take a seat. She flinched when he spoke her name.

Hesitantly, she walked over and accepted his offerings.

He continued, after giving her a few seconds to adjust. “Now, I realize you must be quite confused right now, but—”

“Yes, I am,” she cut in, trying to sip her merlot and keep her wobbly self under control at the same time. Of course, she failed, causing a stream of wine to jump out of the glass onto her dress.

“At least the dress is dark,” he laughed and passed her a handkerchief. “There’s a bathroom right through those doors if you need to wipe it up better.”

“No,” she said, soaking the wine up with the handkerchief, “but I don’t think this handkerchief will ever be the same.”

“I don’t mind. Keep it.” He strolled over to the window, and, although she kept herself busy wiping at the wine, she knew he was watching her through the reflection of the glass. She could feel his eyes again.

“I do apologize if I have upset you. You must understand that it is not my nature to explain myself to others.” He turned and faced her squarely, locking into her eyes as he walked towards her. “In fact, what I want to tell you will be hard for you to accept and I greatly fear your disapproval. But it is very important and so you must know.” He looked down at the wet spot on her dress. “Is that wine coming out all right?”

“Oh—” She unlocked her eyes, looking down at the dress, “yeah, it’s black, no one will even notice.” Her heart beat dangerously fast.

“I’m glad,” he replied, lifting her eyes to his and holding them there. He searched her again and finally saw it. Through her soul mirrors, when he looked deep into their abyss, he saw Alexandria’s spirit and his heart rejoiced.

Keeping his emotions at bay, and releasing her gaze, he said, “Good. I don’t think that I could tolerate having you stained in my club. It took me a long time to get this place and I would hate to have to tear it down for ruining your exquisite dress.”

“Tear it down?” she half-laughed.

“If that is what you wish. You see there are some men who would do anything for love, my sweet Alexandria.” He closed his eyes, tapping his fist on his head.

“What? Who is Alexandria?” She was confused and surprised about the feeling in her chest, the pang of jealously that struck her deep inside.

“Oh, but you know, I assure you,” he whispered softly, opening his eyes again to focus on her sitting there, angry, confused and beautiful. “And you know who I am. I should never have to explain anything to you, should I? Do you need to be reminded of who I am? Are you so soon to forget?”

He sat down near her, his words so upsetting she fought to keep from losing her temper.

Her head swam; it felt as though it were floating just above her neck, disconnected and threatening to fall at any moment.

“Forget what?” she managed to force out. “No, I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about. Your name is Roman Demone and you own this nightclub; that is all I know about you!”

He moved, no, crawled closer to her giving her a look of such desire she couldn’t swallow the lump of anxiety that formed in her throat, suffocating her. She jumped up and started backing up toward the door, shaking her head furiously.

“Alexandria, my love—” he cooed, opening his arms to her.

“Why do you keep calling me that?” Tears were streaming down her face.

“Calling you what?”         

“You know what!” she snapped, slapping at the hands he extended to her. Her eyes widened, growing as big as her face. “You’re crazy!” she cried.

“I have already considered that, but frankly insanity doesn’t suit me,” he commented, smugly, “nor does this ignorance suit you.”

He hadn’t meant to be cruel, but something came over him. Perhaps it was the tension of the long-awaited reunion, vampire-style? He did not know for sure, but she was beginning to understand, and she was not leaving him ever again.

Before she knew to be alarmed, he was painfully pinning her against the office door.

“In two hundred years my memory has never failed me, never left me. You must remember me, my love.”

She shivered beneath him. He cocked his head at her.

“But, if you truly do not see, than I shall give you the memories back!” he boomed as he pressed his fingers against her temples and his thumbs pressed gently over her eyes.

Alethea collapsed under his grip as the pictures began to invade her mind.

For an instant, she was hovering above a gleaming white castle, surrounded by the density of a lush forest. Then, with a sudden flash, she witnessed herself with a different face, closed in by maids and imprisoned by those same castle walls.

Looking out one of the stone portholes, a young dark-haired man stood, watching her, hiding himself on the edge of the thicket. And as he walked out into sight, she instantly recognized Roman’s face.

There was blood streaming down from his temples over the sides of his face. He was being restrained by two ironclad guards. Snickering by her side stood a man drawing pleasure from Roman’s pain. That’s when she looked down at herself to discover she was dressed in a wedding gown, obviously given to the strange man standing next to her.

She fought for control, prying her eyes open with all her might. As soon as she saw Roman in front of her, the images flooded again.

The two of them, wrapped around one another on top of a horse, walking across the thin green lining of a forest floor. She saw him above her and felt him come inside. Could feel him holding her in his arms with such love, the kind of love you cannot explain, but you know you’ve waited all your life to have. She was remembering, all at once, without warning. She did know him and had once loved him deeply, with all she was made of. But what stood before her now seemed only a cold reflection of the images. He was not the same warm man; he was cold to the touch, an animated statue.

With a frightened push, she shoved him away forcefully, but even then it seemed that he was the one who released her. She remained fixed, contained by one of his lordly stares, a look that seemed to coat his face like hard, gray marble. Though she was free from his hold, the images continued to overwhelm her. The intensity increased and her body became weaker as she slid down against the door in defeat.

Raising her hands to her head, she closed her eyes tight in a vain attempt to refuse the flashes. Roman continued to stare at her with eyebrows closing in together; a parallel vein ran down the center of his forehead. Rage surfaced at her inability or unwillingness to understand. He stood before her, frozen from emotions.

Alethea began mumbling, and as the mumbles rose into screams, the visions of Lokee moved in, torturing her.

A flash of a bathroom. A faint perfume. The woman emerged in a steaming tub with her eyes closed, relaxed and in peace. A slender form invaded her home. She was startled by screams in the next room, jolting herself upright in the tub.

The intruder made his way into the bathroom, and she looked up into the vengeful face of Lokee, with rich mahogany streaks of blood lashed across his clothes and face. Slowly, his arms rose and extended down towards her squirming body. He placed his hands on both sides of her head and forced her to look at him. She was kicking madly, spilling water from over the tub. With a swift motion, he pulled her from the tub and threw her into the wall behind him. Alethea could feel the woman’s pain, her suffering. Her thoughts of Roman, in the moments she could still think, before hitting that wall with incredible force.

Alethea panicked, stumbling against the wall, reaching out to strike back at the vision, trying to save the woman, Alexandria . . . her. Alethea called out for someone to help her, this dying, suffering woman.

Unable to move before he reached her again, Lokee pierced her breasts and stomach with his long, jagged nails. Alexandria screeched in pain as he finally drug her by the hair back into the other room to see the other woman lying with eyes glazed over, drained of life on the floor.

Alexandria started scratching at him, frantically, anywhere she could reach but he again threw her up against the wall, with twice the force as before. Alethea tasted blood in her mouth. He tugged at Alexandria’s hair to pull her face towards the ceiling as he pierced the skin under her rib cage and picked her up like a ragdoll to toss back into the tub. The water became a pool of gore, a Red Sea, disturbed by turbulence, stained from the blood draining from her near lifeless body. He stole the last breath from her neck as he bit and drank until her heart finally gave up its fight, leaving the world with a single memory of Roman’s face, her beloved, an image to save with her soul. Then she was gone. Even when she breathed no more, Lokee decided to drink from her neck, like a fiend, a scavenger in the wild, caring not of poison.