The Vampires' Last Lover (Dying of the Dark Vampires Book 1) (6 page)

“Shhh!” my visitor responded, moving closer to my ear. I grabbed the penlight and turned it on. The miniature halogen shined across the room and lit up the far wall. I had expected to see someone next to me, whispering into my ear. Instead, out of the corner of my eye I noticed someone directly
above
me.

I shrunk back immediately and pulled the covers up to my neck, as if that would provide any protection. Movement at the foot of my bed caught my attention and the penlight’s circle lit up Garvan’s pale face and iridescent eyes.

Unlike the previous evening, he smiled warmly. That knowledge could have eased my tension, if not for the unfamiliar face so close to mine. This other stranger was wearing an ornery grin. His ashen face was as stunningly handsome as his companion’s. The newcomer’s slicked-back hair and features were darker; a little curl hung down onto his forehead, sort of like Michael Jackson. His eyes were a brilliant blue—bluer than any I’d ever seen.

“Txema, it is
good
to finally meet you!” the owner of this other face exclaimed, revealing fangs more pronounced than Garvan’s slender incisors. He was standing next to me, his face still close to my own. He seemed to find amusement in my fearful response, and threw his head back in uproarious laughter.

It was my turn to shush him, and I did so harshly, anger replacing panic.

“Be quiet or you’ll wake up Tyreen!” I scolded him. “If that happens, you’ll be in a serious world of shit, and then everyone on this floor will be up and going crazy on you!”

Although I didn’t know for sure what these guys were—other than being quite adept at sneaking into my dorm room—I entertained the idea that maybe they could read a person’s thoughts. I figured that was how Garvan knew my name the other night. If it was true, I hoped they both received my mental image of sixty angry bitches pummeling their asses. The dark-haired one definitely caught something from either my thoughts or, more likely, my perturbed expression. He chuckled while studying me. For a moment, his eyes turned a deeper shade of cobalt.

“Let me go check on your friend,” he said, with a wry grin. This one’s accent was even more genteel than Garvan’s. Like he had spent much of his earthly existence managing an exotic island plantation, like the old ones in the Caribbean. His face disappeared, and I heard Tyreen’s bedcovers rustle. I immediately worried what he might do to her.

“Hello… hel-lo, señorita. Tyreen!” His voice boomed powerfully from beneath my bed.

She didn’t stir. “What in the hell have you done to her!” I demanded. Before I drew another breath, he was back in my face. The faint smell of ginger filled my nostrils.

“Nothing. Relax,” he replied, still wearing the same wry grin. “Just a little ‘tap’ to ensure she does not awaken while we visit with you, dearest Txema!”

I shot Garvan an angry look. He frowned and looked away.

“Is that what you did to me last night? Do you always treat new acquaintances like this?”

“No!” Garvan sounded indignant. He suddenly appeared in front of me. I gasped, noticing a warm musky scent that hinted of cinnamon. “You gave me no choice!”

The blue-eyed one pulled him aside, whispering sternly in a strange dialect that was neither French nor Spanish. Garvan looked over at me again, silently mouthing ‘sorry.’

“Who are you, anyway?” I asked, scooting my back to the wall our bunk beds leaned against. I kept my fingers on the Taser beneath my pillow, trying to remember how to turn the damn thing on without actually seeing the switch. “And what do you want with me?”

“My name is Armando Iocura,” he replied, glancing at the pillow. “I’m one of five emissaries who have traveled across the Atlantic to see you. We are here to make sure your pretty little neck stays pristine and whole.”

He paused, as if waiting for me to respond in some way. All I could think of was Irma Goizane with her throat torn out.

“Not so pretty an image, is it?” asked Armando, removing any doubt that he could read my thoughts. I realized that my bedclothes were no longer my biggest disadvantage. “It’s most unfortunate that others have also traveled across the ocean. Although, their more primitive senses lack the keenness to define exactly
what
they are searching for. They don’t possess our heightened sense of smell, nor our lucid intuition.”

He proudly tapped his long sharp fingernails against his head to emphasize this point. The manicured tips glistened in my flashlight’s glow.

“So, what are you two, then?” We no longer needed to dance around the elephant in the room. “Are you… vampires?”

I felt silly as soon as the words left my mouth. They both snickered.

“Yes, we are vampires,” said Armando, allowing his smile to widen far enough to reveal his gleaming fangs again. I gasped. “You have no need to fear us, as we are the good ones. We’ve traveled a very long way to protect you from those that are not so good.”

It was impossible at that point to know what was true and what was bullshit. So far, it sounded like these two were knights in shining armor and these others were stupid trolls.

“The ‘bad ones’ must have some special senses to make it here, if they’re the ones who killed Irma Goizane,” I said.

“The others knew beforehand that one of your kind resides in America,” said Garvan. His long locks covered his face, making his previously easy-to-read expression hard to see.

He threw back his head and shook it, the hair falling away from his face to reveal his handsome features clearly. His mouth formed a slight smile as he studied me. Armando looked over at him and nodded.

“How they knew this isn’t important right now.” Garvan let out a low sigh. “What
is
imperative is that no harm comes to you, as I told you last night.”

“So, you two are truly,
real
live vampires, huh?”

It still seemed really weird to me. Vampires? Seriously?

“I’m not sure that ‘live’ is the right word to define us. We are not pale enough for you, no? Do you know anyone else who can effortlessly float above your bed while carrying on such a pleasant conversation?”

Armando motioned to Garvan, and they both rose toward the ceiling.

I suddenly realized they had drifted like this during our entire conversation, instead of standing on the floor, as I had assumed. Perhaps if they were dressed like Bela Lugosi, with black tuxes and white shirts beneath full-length capes, it might’ve been an easier pill to swallow. Both wore jeans and flannel shirts. Given their sleek features, they seemed more like pale-faced lumberjack supermodels best suited for a parade along Fifth Avenue, or for an Abercrombie & Fitch advertisement.

“But to answer your question, yes, we are very
real
, and we are most certainly vampires,” Armando continued, while his and Garvan’s heads bobbed just below the ceiling. Garvan moved closer to him, allowing me to hold my flashlight in one spot instead of alternating back and forth between them.

“So, it’s a bunch of pretty Hollywood vampires against the so-called others, huh?”

This meaningful question posed from an irreverent perspective slipped out before I could consider the consequences. The initial looks I got from my visitors made me regret it, but before I could apologize for being so forward, Garvan spoke up again.

“In a sense, you are not far off the mark.” His expression was solemn. “Like your movie stars, only a few fortunate souls make it to the Big Screen, as they say. That is similar to us, where just a few hundred vampires like us exist throughout the entire world. However, the army that is looking to destroy your kind numbers in the thousands.”

This revelation sounded ridiculous. I mean, all this attention for just little ol’ me?

“So, these other vampires don’t look much like you two, huh?”

“That is correct,” said Armando. “Perhaps you would find them grotesque and frightful. The closest thing you have in your modern world that I can compare them to is the Nosferatu. But even their portrayal on the silver screen would be considered generous compared to the race known to the people of Spain as
la sangre fea embauca
.”

“Or
monstres glabres
to the good citizens of France,” added Garvan, interrupting Armando, which drew another stern look from him. Garvan looked away. If hierarchy existed among vampires, I had just been given a clue as to who was the boss between these two.

“These other vampires are like rabid dogs,” Armando resumed, after returning his attention to me. “They are highly dangerous mongrels with no self control, no decency. They feast on what amounts to road kill in your terms, at least until recently.
La sangre fea embauca
were once a menace to ancient villages in Europe and Asia until the Industrial Age. They scurried underground like the vile vermin they are, and we’ve rarely heard from them since the early nineteenth century. But now they have regained a lust for living blood and tissue, and no longer are content to hide in the shadows like recluse spiders, waiting for a meal to show up for them.”

He studied my expression. I’m sure he sought a trace of squeamishness in my blank look. But I was fascinated by the tale he wove about these other vampires with an obvious bent toward violence.

“So, you and they are different?” I persisted. “But you both survive off the blood of people—”

“Or, sometimes animals,” interjected Garvan. “But our kind doesn’t need to feed as often as the others do.”

“The difference is in how strong the germ is with them,” said Armando. “The mutation they bear comes from the same source that has afflicted everyone of us, a condition that
all
vampires deal with. Think of chupacabras. You have heard of these creatures, no?”

“The hairless mutated dogs that attack sheep and cows down in Texas? Yes, I’ve heard of them.”

“They’re in Mexico, too,” said Garvan.

“Yes, they are,” agreed Armando, glancing briefly toward our door as if he just heard something. Perhaps Elaine, the RA, had heard him speak. It could be bad if she ventured a peek inside my room. “They, too, suffer from a germ that is similar to ours, although the canine version does not slow the aging process. But the mutations are almost immediate… loss of hair and elongated fangs and claws.”

“Is that what usually happens to you?”

Armando opened his mouth to respond, but then stopped. He looked over at Garvan, and they both shook their heads.

“No, it will not happen to us—
definitely
not!” His eyes flashed in anger and the smell of ginger grew stronger. “There is not enough time to explain how this whole thing works tonight. Our adversaries once started out like us, but then changed. We are different, based on something in addition to the germ in our systems, something that makes us truly unique. Thus, our numbers run much smaller than theirs.”

He paused to look at the door again. The doorknob shook as someone tried the lock.

“I’m afraid I must wrap this up.” Armando’s voice dropped to a whisper as he drew nearer to me.

“So, are you two going to try and drink my blood?”

His face came within a few inches of mine. The scent of ginger was cloying and made me choke a little. I feared a repeat of last night, where in the blink of an eye my blood had been drained—enough to make me pass out. What would happen if they took even more blood tonight?

“You are a silly girl, Txema!” he chided me, pausing to look again at Garvan, whose face had also drawn near… so beautiful in his deathly comeliness, his brilliant eyes pulling on my heart. Or, was it my soul?

Garvan smirked. He had obviously picked up my last thought. “We have no intentions of defiling your sacred fountain… at least not tonight!”

His smirk widened into smile and his fangs glistening in my flashlight’s glow. They seemed bigger than before.

“As I said, we are
not
like the others that are here—these once-human chupacabras,” Armando continued. “Think of us instead as a holier form of humanity, and one that is immortal—at least in terms of what you understand immortal to mean. We are like the Greco-Roman gods of old. They were based on what we are. And consider this, Garvan and I do not need to read history books to learn what took place in Europe during the last five hundred years. We were there!”

“This is true,” Garvan chimed in. “I’ve spent many a night in Marie Antoinette’s presence, as a member of her court. Most of her aristocrat attendants had no idea that I was different from them. I never needed to powder my face to blend in!” He chuckled as he reminisced.

The doorknob jiggled again, and a key slipped into the lock from outside the room. There was a knock and I heard Elaine call through the door, “Tyreen? Txema? Are you okay? I thought I heard male voices.”

“Time to go, Txema!” said Armando. “Garvan told you last evening to stay indoors, and that edict remains in effect for you. This is mandatory from sunset to dawn. They are hunting you. Each victim they take will be closer to here, I fear. Although, I do wonder why they left a corpse behind. Usually, they take a body with them to feed on for days and weeks… like an African crocodile.”

I hoped he said that merely to drive home his point.

“They struck again?”

I was distracted by a crack of light. When I turned to look back at my visitors they had vanished.

“Yes,” Armando and Garvan’s echoed voices said in unison. “Stay alive, Txema!”

“Txema? Tyreen?” Elaine stepped into my room, armed with her own flashlight. Her blonde hair was disheveled. She looked like she barely had time to don her slippers and a bathrobe over her nightgown. She repeated, “I thought I heard a man’s voice in here.”

As if a guy wouldn’t be somewhere on our floor during most nights.

Nearly all of the rooms on the women’s wing of the fourth floor have seen their share of men come and go. I guess maybe it’s a question of discretion. A glance at my bedside alarm clock showed that it was 2:41 a.m. The murder, or if my vampiric benefactors were to be believed, murders, put everyone on edge and one of them must have awakened a girl on my floor, who in turn roused Elaine from her room. It made me worry about Tyreen again, since no sound came from her bed. Did they hurt her with something stronger than a mere ‘tap’?