The Dark Blood of Poppies (33 page)

By the time she opened the doors to the night, Sebastian was standing on the small lawn, beneath a lemon tree.

She started. He savoured the wave of nervous heat she radiated. Then she descended the steps towards him, demanding, “What the hell are you doing here?”

In a pyjama suit of ivory silk, her hair loose over her shoulders, she looked astonishing. Lustrous eyes wide with anger, one hand clasping the jacket at her throat, blood blooming in her cheeks. He could have devoured her. When he said nothing, she grew angrier.

“Have you been watching me?”

“Naturally. You are a very pleasing sight. Do you mind?”

“Yes, I mind. Damned right I mind!”

Clearly he’d underestimated her anger. She was alight with rage.

“I’ve been waiting for you to come outside,” he said, smiling.

“Why the hell couldn’t you knock on the front door like a normal man? You know, telephone first or leave a card. I’ve been going mad, wondering if you were coming back or not, you god-damned –”

“You said you wanted to see me.” His tone was cool, and he knew how he appeared: too still and pale, his eyes hypnotic but unfeeling. He enjoyed his power to frighten her – yet her brave spirit intrigued him.

“That was before I found out what you really are!”

“I thought it was obvious.”

“I’m talking about Mary and Alice!” she cried. “I found them when you’d gone. You went to them and – how
dare
you do that to them!”

Sebastian laughed. Robyn seemed ready to kill him.

“You have no cause to be jealous,” he said.

“What?” She caught her breath. “
Jealous
?”

“I did nothing carnal with them. It would have taken too long.”

Her mouth dropped, eyes opening wide. He continued, “I am joking, my dear. I have no designs on your servants. But blood is blood. It’s the one thing I absolutely must have.”

She glared speechlessly at him.

“You invited me back,” he added, “knowing what I am.”

“Don’t you dare blame this on me!” She came closer, pointing a finger at him. “If you ever touch Alice or Mary again, I’ll –”

“What?”

Her voice fell. “I’ll never see you again. What can you do about that, unless you kill me? And that would kind of defeat your object, wouldn’t it?”

Sebastian exhaled softly. She was right, and she’d won a small victory.

“I don’t want to kill you, and there’d be no pleasure in forcing you. And I mind very much if you refuse to see me. You look cold, Robyn. Won’t you invite me inside?”

“Oh, you need an invitation now?” She studied him, her eyes glittering. Then she relented. “All right. Come in.”

He followed her, watching her hair swaying against her upright back, the rich curves of her hips. He closed the doors. Robyn went to a lace-covered table and picked up a small object, closing her hand so he didn’t see it.

“Where are Alice and Mary?” he asked.

“Mary’s in the kitchen. Alice, at a concert with friends.”

Sebastian spread his hands. “So, no harm done.”

“That’s a matter of opinion.” She turned to him. “They were both in bed for a day, not as sick as me, but bad enough. I don’t think Mary remembers, although she jumps at every little noise. But Alice… She knows what you did. She won’t talk, but I see it in her eyes.” Head drooping, she pressed a fist to her forehead. “What am I doing, letting you in?”

Sebastian went to her. Her head jerked up. She looked dishevelled, flushed, wholly irresistible. Obvious why men lost their heads over her; almost shaming, that he wasn’t immune. He longed to touch her, but sensed she would shake him off.

“Robyn…”

“Does this mean anything to you?” She opened her fist. In her palm was a silver crucifix on a chain.

“No.” He regarded the cross, unmoved. “What does it mean to you?”

She bit her lip. The gesture was so unconsciously erotic that it was all he could do not to seize her. “My mother’s Jewish, my father’s Unitarian and I’m a cynic. And a sinner. So I guess it ought to mean something, but it doesn’t.”

“But you go to church.”

“So?” Another flash of anger. “Have you been following me?”

He shrugged, leaving her to guess. “Well, I was once a Catholic, severely lapsed, so there you are,” he said lightly.

“Oh, well.” She let the chain slide through her fingers. “I wanted to see if you would scream and leap through windows, like Count Dracula.”

“I can, if you’d find it entertaining.” Sebastian was looking at her more softly now. Her fear was fading. “But not in response to a piece of metal.”

He allowed himself the luxury of touching her. He rested his left hand on her shoulder and rolled strands of her brown hair between his fingers. She didn’t flinch.

“You were trying to protect yourself. I don’t blame you,” he said gently, “but you can’t.”

Dull pain, laced with tenderness, fleeted across her face. She pressed his hand to her cheek, swallowing hard as if she wanted to stop but couldn’t.

“I think we should go to my bedroom,” she said. “Don’t you?”

* * *

They dived through lakes of flame and smoky light, joined from mouth to loins. No bed beneath them, nothing of Earth to constrain them. Sebastian felt that he’d transported Robyn into the Crystal Ring and now they fell through the clouds forever, entwined.

This was even more glorious than the first time. They knew each other, but there was more to learn. This time, to his delight, Robyn didn’t fight her feelings but absorbed him, craving sensation, passion, release. His body slid over hers; he loved her moist heat, all her natural scents. Her eyes were half-closed, her throat taut, fingers kneading his back, nails scratching him, her limbs and breasts heavy against him as they rolled over and over, striving to consume each other.

Robyn climaxed beneath him, blood rising in her face, her heart clamouring against his chest. All through him, he felt her heartbeat. Folding her elbows behind his neck she clung to him, rocking, almost weeping.

He followed her into the mindless light. Every sensation brought overwhelming pleasure, almost unbearable.
Robyn… ah, God… I am lost in you now…

Her eyelids lifted, her expression changed. Eyes ringed white with anxiety, she whispered, “You don’t have to – to feed this time… do you? Sebastian?”

He couldn’t answer. It was too late.

White heat swept over him. He became dimly aware that she was resisting, trying to keep his mouth from her neck. When she realised she couldn’t prevent it, she began to fight in earnest, squirming and hitting out and gasping.

Somehow she deflected him and his fangs sank into her shoulder instead. A taste of blood, not enough. He bit again, found a thick vein at last. Sucking hard, he quivered with bliss, while she went on struggling beneath him.

Stop now
, said a subconscious voice.
If you want this to happen again, stop!

One deep, delicious draught of her blood had to be enough.

The pleasure passed its red peak and ebbed away, leaving him weak with satiation. He rolled to one side, oblivious to Robyn’s distress. So he was shocked when she delivered a powerful slap to the side of his head.

“You bastard!”

He caught her arm to prevent a second blow. She wormed away from him and sat against the headboard, clasping a pillow, her knees drawn up. Scarlet threads ran down her collarbone, matting her hair.

“I asked you not to. I said stop!”

“And I told you before that I can’t.”

Robyn, trembling with the after-shock, began to cry. She looked so lovely, curled up under the burnished veil of hair, that he wanted her again. But he could not feel remorse.

“It hurts,” she said angrily. “It feels horrible.”

Sebastian got up, brought a damp cloth and a glass of water from the bathroom. She glared. Giving her the water, he began gently to sponge the wounds he’d made.

“Look, Robyn,” he said softly. “They’re healing. Only faint marks, hardly there at all.”

“Haven’t you the remotest idea of how it feels?” she said bitterly.

“Of course I have. It’s when they take all your blood,
all
of it, that you want to be worrying. How do you think I became like this?”

She froze. He watched the enticing rise and fall of her throat as she sipped water. “Oh, God, will it happen to me?”

“No. We’re not infectious like the smallpox.”

“But you bring death by degrees.” Calmer now, she regarded him through narrow eyes. “What’s your bed like, I wonder? Black, with a white lining?”

“No, I don’t sleep in a coffin and I won’t turn to dust when the sun comes up. Now, tell me –” he caressed her cheekbone “– do you feel as bad as the first time?”

“No. Just dizzy. I’m all right.”

“Because I stopped, Robyn.”

Her eyes flashed open. “What if a time comes when you can’t stop?”

“We both take that risk.”

“No, I take it.”

“By your own choice.” Placing the glass aside, he lay beside her, pulling her towards him. “I won’t force myself on you.”

“I just wish you would love me without taking my blood,” she whispered. “Is it too much to ask?”

He pressed his lips to her warm, downy forearm, lifted her wrists to link them around his neck, and kissed her. She glowered dully, then gave a heartfelt groan and pressed herself along his lean body. He entered her again and she gave herself to him, liquefying.

“Listen to me,” he said into her ear. Her breath was a warm cloud on his neck. “Don’t fight me. Relax, then it won’t hurt. I won’t take much, I promise.”

Then they were on fire, melting, falling like comets through space… and when the moment came, his mouth slid gently over the contours of her throat. Finding the place, he bit into her.

This time she only stiffened beneath him. Her breath ran out in a sigh and she lay unresisting but not passive; participating, in the way that she rested her cheek on his hair and stroked his shoulder, while emotion informed her whole body with radiance.

He kept his word, though it wasn’t easy.

“Was it so terrible?” he asked afterwards.

She rubbed her thumb over his lips, looked at her own blood on her thumb-tip. Unconsciously she sucked it clean. “Not quite,” she said faintly. “It was like floating.” She almost smiled, her eyes drowsy.

Sebastian lay back, cradling her against his chest and stroking her hair. He wasn’t eager to hear her thoughts. He just wanted to hold her.

As he did so, an inner voice spoke in horrified amazement.
What the devil am I doing, showing a mortal tenderness? Have I gone mad? Humans are below us, like animals, their sufferings transient and meaningless… and yet, I’m compelled to be careful because I do not want her to die.

The feeling was close to panic. He controlled it, telling himself firmly,
Of course I’m not mad. It’s expedient to keep her alive and pliant so that I prolong my own pleasure. That is all.

Have I quite deceived you yet, my Robyn?

* * *

When the ship sailed from New York, bound for Hamburg, Charlotte was sorry to leave. The tour had been successful beyond Violette’s dreams. Ballet Janacek had been feted across the continent. Most importantly, Violette seemed happy.

Throughout the tour, she’d been kind to her dancers, gracious to the press. She hadn’t said a word about her usual concerns. Charlotte suspected that Violette had taken her advice, and was obeying the thirst instead of fighting it. She imagined the dancer slipping out each night to feed as neatly as a cat, in order to devote all her energy to the ballet.

She’ll do that for her art
, Charlotte thought,
but not for herself.

Sadly, the idyll had to end. Crowds of well-wishers lined the quay as they sailed, cheering and waving and throwing flowers. They saw Violette as a living legend, already immortal.

No one
, thought Charlotte,
has the faintest idea of the truth
.

Home drew them like a current sweeping across a mist-veiled sea. Charlotte was aware of her mood darkening, sensed the same in Karl. There would be no more wanton sharing of prey.

Violette took to her cabin, seeing no one but Geli. Charlotte began to despair. But one evening, as she stood at the rail watching the calm green sea at sunset, Violette softly joined her.

“Something’s waiting for us at home,” said Violette. “I don’t know what… Something bad. Do you feel it too?”

“Yes,” Charlotte admitted. “But if we stay away and ignore it, we’ll probably make things worse.”

Violette fell quiet. Other guests were strolling on deck, elegant in evening dress. A few glanced at Violette, but were kind enough to respect her privacy.

“While we were on the West Coast,” said Charlotte, “Karl and I entered the Crystal Ring.”

“You go there every day.”

“I mean we went to look at… the darkness there. To investigate.”

“Stop.” Violette’s face was white. The ship’s rail creaked under the pressure of her fingers.

“Don’t you want to hear what happened?”

“You’re still alive, aren’t you? How bad could it be?”

“Bad enough.”

“And you think it’s my fault?” Violette glared frigidly at her. “Some physical manifestation of my inner sickness, is that it?”

Charlotte exhaled, resting a hand on Violette’s shoulder. “Of course not. But we should face it, whatever it is. You won’t talk about anything.”

The dancer looked away. “And you and Karl never stop. What good does it do? Please, Charlotte. I don’t even want to think about this when I get home. All I want is to work on a new ballet.”

“Immediately?”

“Yes, why not? A ballet about Lilith.”

“Oh. That could be a risk.”

“After
Dans le Jardin
? I know. Please don’t remind me of that disaster. No, I’ve learned by my mistakes. This will be different: the themes will be subtler, and I won’t use modern music or experimental sets. We’ll dress it up as an old-fashioned, tragic fairy tale, another
Giselle
. It will be beautiful. But I have to do this, Charlotte. It’s clawing its way out of me.”

“What’s the story?”

Violette brightened. “We’ll have Adam and Eve again, but this time the Serpent is a woman, Lilith. I’ll change their names, of course. A young man falls in love with a dark spirit of the forest, but when it’s time for him to marry, he chooses an innocent, compliant girl as his bride. Rejected, Lilith curses them. She torments the wife, seduces the man; she murders their children and excludes their souls from heaven…”