Blood Life (19 page)

Roman, obviously wanting her to wake up from the stupor, squeezed her hand tightly, concentrating on her eyes. She found herself completely sober; the brandy disappeared entirely, washing hope over her at his will. Incredible!

She started coming up with questions about vampyrism, each one trying to nail him down and prosecute the idea. She failed hopelessly, of course, and in this she started to surrender entirely.

Her spirit began the descent into the foggy abyss of love all over again with Roman’s being. He was the only one, and now she was beginning to see that, to remember it—soon she knew that she would consent to live it as Roman made his way into her realm of mortal life.

She began to realize she was perfectly willing to let go of her mortal life to live with this familiar man who had given up his to find her again.

Exhausted beyond control, Alethea fell back against the pillows, in the middle of a thought, and fell fast asleep.

Twenty Seven

Alethea awoke that morning with a feeling of utter dehydration. She wasn’t strong enough to perform the simple task of lifting her own head from the pillow. Then it all hit her again. The story was no dream. Roman was real and she was part of it. Only Roman was not human.

He appeared normal to the human eye, but it was really only his shell, the protective layer of flesh that concealed his preternatural heart and soul. It was expected that he felt the same love towards things; he was of the same spirit and mind, but his insides had gone through a drastic change.

Roman was dead, or shall we say, undead? A Vampire. One who lives off the blood of the living: the Blood Life. Created by a member of the Combined, Devendra, according to what Alethea had been told so far, for the sole purpose of their reunion.

Roman had sworn to be with Alethea again, to find her. And so he has, but how did Alethea feel? That still wasn’t clear to her. She was unable to think straight; she felt so . . . different.   

Her feelings swung back and forth, warningly then warmly when thinking of him. Roman waited, not so patiently, over two centuries, remembering Lokee’s foul, wretchedness and Alexandria’s sweet innocence. Why had Lokee torn them apart like that?

Pure jealously. Nothing more, nothing less.

It seemed silly for a vampire to be jealous; it was difficult to imagine a creature of the fictional vampire’s nature to possess such a petty trait in their overall personality. But Lokee did, and now Roman and Alethea faced what was destined to be another chance.

There she was, lying in bed, unable to move from the intense feeling of being completely drained of all strength.

Waiting.

Waiting for whatever was to come next. Wondering if Roman was still there. Her breathing was normal, but she was freezing cold. It was not a physical coldness, but rather a chill that was coming from within—an emotional chill. This bitterness was not intentionally directed toward Roman, but her own human life.

Something started to change, shifting her DNA. Cramping pains dominated her groin and stomach. Pulsing heat traveled through her limbs.

She started to hallucinate. Beautiful colors surrounded her, but the walls were warped, they were breathing. She saw blood cells mutating through half-mast eyes. Cells and atoms intermingled, battling each other for dominance.

Oh God! What was happening to her?

Her heart thumped in her ears, deafening her to outside sounds. She did not know if she felt terror or delight. She did know that Roman had not waited for her answer to his offer of the blood-kiss; he completed the task while she slept in exhaustion, too weak to realize what was happening. She was no longer . . . her thoughts raced too fast to keep up and the pain was overwhelming.

Breathe!

Alethea had to concentrate on her breath. Chaos surrounded her, hounding her every thought and action, forcing her to comprehend the reality of the situation. She shut her eyes in an attempt to quiet her mind, humming, barely audible over her heartbeat.

Thoughts fought their way to corrupt and dominate her. Thoughts of her new life coming forth. Images of her mortal life flashed across the ceiling in sync with every heartbeat! A little girl flying a kite with her father in the park. Her mother caring for her when she was in bed with a fever. Sitting at the dinner table with her family enjoying a home-cooked meal. Creeping down the hallway, making her way into her parent’s bedroom to sleep with them when she was afraid of the dark. Standing in between her parents when they fought, threatening each other with fists. Sneaking around the corner to find strangers in her living room snorting lines of white powder. Weaseling out of the grasp of a family friend who tried to corner her in her room. Comforting her father after a fight with her mother, patting his back as he cried like a baby in her arms. She was only a child!

Uncontrolled hallucinations. She was lost; utterly lost in agony and uncertainty. Should she thank Roman for rescuing her from a dreary, unkind mortal life? She almost felt like that was it, that indeed she must thank him for this death.

No, no, no! She should be furious with him for making her go through this. He made an eternal decision with absolutely no right. She knew that she couldn’t reverse the process now. It was much too late for that.

Cramps and shooting pains battled in her body to win each other over and create more agony than the other. Too much! She was going to die—really die. She could feel it, and when she looked up, she saw Death lounging on the windowsill, staring at her as if bored with the whole thing. Azrael, the Angel of Death, waited for her—she recognized him with his black frock and wings. She’d seen him before, but where, when?

No, she would not go to him! She didn’t care how much she hated Roman at that moment; it was not enough to submit to Azrael.

Sweat rolled from her forehead into her eyes, stinging them. More thoughts distracted her. The cards of Fate had been dealt and they were anchored to the bed like a Tarot spread before her.

Alethea was bound to walk the earth, in death, with Roman. She wasn’t exactly sure she could bear it; taking innocent lives to survive.

She could take her own life, but would that just connect her with Azrael? Either way it wouldn’t work, because if she were to take her own life, in her mind, she’d only be living out the threat Alexandria placed upon her Royal family. She would have been unable to be with Roman. It would almost be the same thing. No sense changing history again; it would only repeat itself as many times as necessary until Fate was satisfied with the outcome.

Roman was not one to give up, he had proven that. This is how things were meant to be. And the more the chaos of it all invaded Alethea’s mind, the more she felt an insatiable longing for her Roman. A desire to be comforted in his arms.

Her Roman.

Now she was claiming him as if he were a material possession, or was it the other way around?

Pain again. Excruciating! She yelled out, curling into fetal position, hoping to help ease the discomfort, but it was no use. The cramping was too strong.

“Help—” she gasped, to hear no response, only Death laughing sadistically on the windowsill.

Thoughts and reflections continued to pour into her head until, finally, she thought she heard Roman’s soft voice guiding her into sleep. He controlled a vivid, serene dream:

She found herself surrounded by a forest wet with fresh rain. She loved the rain, more than anything in the world. She was always happiest when it rained, and soft rain soothed her as heavy rain excited her. She was cured and purified of all troubles in the rain.

Looking around her dream world, she noticed a house hidden in a deep circle of elm trees. Taking in a deep, invigorating breath of the crisp, damp air, she followed a path to the front door. It was open and a welcoming face smiled down at her. It was Roman.

When Alethea woke up again it was night. The telephone was ringing somewhere in the room. The bed was torn apart and her legs were tangled in sheets. She freed herself and fell, clumsily, off the side of the bed.

She followed the ring to a pile of clothes on the floor on the other side of the room. Ripping the receiver from the base, she pulled it up to her ear.

“Yes,” she whispered, hoarsely. Her throat burned horribly. Had she been screaming in her sleep? She swallowed a few times to coat it a little, only making it feel more raw.

Silence on the other end of the line irritated her. “Hello!” she said, tersely. Still no response.

As she reached over to hang the phone up, she heard laughter vibrating from the receiver. She brought it back up to her ear quickly. “Who is this?” she demanded.

“You sound ill, my lady; aren’t you well?” the voice answered.

“Roman?” she replied, shakily, knowing it was not his voice.

“Oh, you think I am Roman,” the voice taunted, sarcastically. “I see you still have much to learn, little one. If I were Roman, do you honestly think you would carry that uncertainty in your voice?”

She was quiet for a long time, listening to his rhythmic breathing. “Who is this?” she said, her voice deep and dry.

“Just listen to your heart race!” the voice teased. “This is too easy!” Laughter filled her head; a low, booming tone. “There really is no need to be frightened, my dear, not yet anyway. You are protected for the time being, but that will change. Let me tell you,” the voice promised. “There is a way to break through that protective shield you are carrying.” He sung the words as if from a child’s nursery rhyme.

“Who are you? What is it you want from me? I don’t understand!” she cried.

“What is it you want from me,” the voice echoed, matching her tired voice perfectly. “I want back what is lawfully mine.”

Her heart stopped when she realized who the voice belonged to.

“You are mine and I am back to claim my redemption!”         

The line went dead and she started to shake violently, remembering those words. Dropping the receiver in her lap, she wept. When she finally reached over to hang the phone up, it was ringing again, angrily in her ears. She crawled over to the wall and yanked out the cord, then curled up against the nightstand and cried with all the strength she had left.

Twenty Eight

When Roman arrived home, his bedroom was in shambles. Alethea lingered in the corner of the room, looking as though she had been run over by a truck. Her beautiful emerald eyes were red-rimmed and dark circles looked painted below them. Her nose was red and swollen, and her hair was ratted. She sat unmoving, unresponsive to Roman’s approach, staring blankly at the windowsill where Death had been.

He studied her as one would a science exhibit. His expression was serious and full of worry as he leaned down to gather her up and help her into bed. She immediately snuggled under the covers, wanting sleep to take her away from the nightmare of her new life.

“No, Alethea. No more of that right now. I need to explain some things to you,” Roman said gently, brushing the hair back from her clammy face.

She ripped the covers away with defiance. Her eyes were closed and wincing. “Yes, more of that right now! I haven’t even the strength to open my eyes and look at you anymore.” There was more than a touch of melodrama in her voice.

He laughed, warmly, “Alethea, you need to feed, that is why you have no strength. Believe me, the rush will amaze you.”

“What? What will amaze me? The fact that you did this without my consent? Will that amaze me?” she countered, opening her eyes and pinning him down with her stare.

“I thought you couldn’t open your eyes,” he said, sarcastically. “You should be thanking me,” he teased with more than a hint of aggression.

“I already considered that,” she answered sharply. “I thought of lots of things. Tons of crazy ideas started invading me. My mind wasn’t exactly mine to control, Roman. Do you understand how that feels?” She struggled to open her eyes again, wanting to glare at him to intensify her disapproval. She crinkled her forehead at him instead.

“I’m sure you do,” she went on. “Perhaps you went through the same thing when you crossed over, but who knows; maybe it was just peachy-keen for you. Maybe you enjoyed yourself and had someone there with you to guide you through it!” Her eyes managed to open again. She looked at him.