Page 4 of Midnight Whispers
The sweet metallic taste of blood dances on my tongue as my most recent victim relaxes beneath me. It’s all the same, really. They fight for a moment until their veins flood with my venom, making them believe they enjoy this. It took me centuries to not feel guilty for being what I am, for doing what I need to survive.
My current victim’s knees buckle beneath him, his heartbeat slowing to a stop as I drain the last bit of his blood. I push down the feeling of guilt; he doesn't deserve my remorse. Much like the little emotion he was going to show the young woman he had been following for the last three blocks. I pulled him into the alleyway only moments before she walked up the stairs to her apartment, where he planned to sneak up behind her and strike.
I drive out near the outskirts of town and toward the ocean. Emolyn Cove is a sleepy little beach town that rests along the coastline of Oregon, perfect for hiding in plain sight. Once I get to the cliff, I back up, so the trunk of my car is near the cliff's edge. I exit the car and stand at the edge, looking down as the waves crash along the cliff face.
The water crashes angrily against the rocks that rest below; it’s the perfect place for disposing of a body. I pull the lifeless corpse out of the trunk of my car, tossing him effortlessly overmy shoulder and shutting the hatch. I lunge the body off my shoulder, watching him fall down the cliffside and into the water. He’ll be shark food by sunrise and this sleepy beachside town will be all the better for it.
I want to feel sorry for the life I’ve taken, but I don't.
The sun is beginning to rise, painting the sky in its pastel hues of morning. I look down at my hands and chest that are now covered in the blood of themanI just consumed. Shaking off the aura of death, I drive my car through the familiar winding, mountainside streets up to the house Asher and I share. This is the fourth time we’ve lived in Emolyn Cove. The first time we lived here together was when I was changed, but Asher had lived here once before that.
Asher and I have spent the better part of the early 1900’s seeing the world. We stayed in Europe mostly before coming back to America. Desperate for music and art, we visited New Orleans, Chicago, and Los Angeles once or twice. Asher had always been hopeful in his search for a coven. In every place we had seen, there had always been a way to find more of our kind. But most covens were established, and mates were found and had no reasons for any new additions.
We purchased a duplex nestled into what locals called the Hollywood Hills. It was a Spanish style home, which was incredibly popular in L.A during the twenties. It had only taken three days before we found a coven and laid eyes on Evelyn for the first time.
Her green eyes stared back at me and my knees threatened to buckle beneath me as I gazed at the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. Everything around me faded away into a blur. Her beauty was ethereal and unlike anything I had ever experienced. Freckles scattered across her ivory skin, and I desired nothing more but to plant kisses on every single one. I was surprised by the softness of her skin, and wasintrigued to find the scent of jasmine and rose had covered a faint hint of tobacco. I remember how my fingers twitched with desire to run them through her shoulder length copper hair. Every nerve in my body felt as if it was begging her to touch me, to kiss me, to ruin me.
And she did just that.
My thoughts snap back to reality as I near the front gate of the manor. I approach the towering iron gate, placing my thumb on the fingerprint reader, and watch as the gates begin to swing open. I drive onto the path that leads to the newly built home, designed by Asher of course. He wanted to keep it classic but felt the desire to modernize it. The house is two stories tall and honestly holds more rooms than we need, especially since we don’t sleep. I’m quiet as I pull my car into the garage in hopes to not awake anyguestAsher may have.
Asher has no preferencebetween mortal and vampire lovers. He has never discriminated against anyone willing to go to bed with him, not that it takes much convincing on his end. I walk through the manor door and take in the quiet, appreciating the silence as I make my way toward the library. It was the only room I had demanded to be incorporated into the building plans.
Books are my escape, the only escape, really. Through the pages of books, I can enter a new reality. I am no longer a monster but the hero who wins at the conclusion of the book. An outrageous notion, really, because I could never be the hero. I’ll always be the villain.
The smell of aged parchment fills the air as I run my fingers along the spines of the books that have been unpacked and sorted. With Asher and I having lived through quite a few publications, we have a vast variety of books and first editions.
We don’t show many people the library for this very reason. Too many questions would be raised on how we came toacquire so many original copies of the classics. He stopped reading as much when the television was invented, especially now with so many streaming services at his disposal. I do enjoy the occasional movie, but I much prefer the comfort I find within the pages of my books.
I’m surprised to find the manor empty as I walk in through the garage. There’s a tinge of guilt at the relief I feel to have some time alone, but nobody being here means I don’t have to explain my appearance. My bare chest is covered in blood, as is my neck and chin, so the only thing I want right now is a shower. I take off my boots by the front door, not wanting to hear Asher complain about me tracking blood and dirt throughout the new floor and walk up the stairs.
He wouldn’t ask any questions or really pay any attention to the blood that covers my skin, but the staff might. Asher has grown accustomed to myalternativelifestyleover the last decade or two. Asher’s never been one to judge, especially since he’d seen me kill out of anger before.
We’ve livedin France for two years now. We’ve come to thrive in this country. The five of us; Asher, Markus, Evelyn, Cedar, and I found our villa shortly after we arrived in 1945. It has six bedrooms, so there was enough room for privacy.
Evelyn and I share a room, now that we’ve been together for a while. We had hope that Cedar would find companionship with Antionette when we met her upon our arrival in France. She and Asher knew each other in another lifetime, and she joined our coven shortly after we found our way to France. Cedar, however, found comfort elsewhere. He’s very secretiveabout his lover, only speaking about her when he details their sex life. After the first couple of conversations, Asher finally demanded he stop. The level of detail was beginning to make everyone uncomfortable, especially Evelyn.
There wasn’t a lack of nightlife in France. Asher and I enjoyed the cinema, but nobody else in the coven wanted to join us. Tonight, we watched the crime film, La femme en rouge, or The Woman in Red.
“I wish Evelyn would watch films with us more,” I admit as we cross the street on the walk back to our villa.
“Why did she stay home tonight?” Asher asks.
“She didn’t get a reason, but you know film just isn’t her favorite activity.”
He let out a humph.
Out of the twenty years that I’ve spent involved with Evelyn, Asher has disliked her for the last nineteen. He has no reason except he thinks she’s taking advantage of me and my good heart, which angers him. Asher feels the need to protect me, both as my maker and as my friend.
As we near the entrance of our villa, I’m surprised when the only light that is on is coming from my bedroom. The door is unlocked, but there’s sounds of crashing coming from the back. There’s an echo of something breaking, followed by a muffled moan.
My breathing immediately speeds up, a pressure building in my head like I’m going to explode. I know that moan.
Asher grabs onto my shoulders, “Finnian, listen to me,” he instructs. “You need to calm yourself, come to your senses. Don’t let her lead you to do something you’ll regret.”
I jerk my shoulder out of his grasp and race up the stairs. My knees threaten to fail as the weight of what’s in front of me sinks in. Evelyn looks over her shoulder, making eye contact with me, and smirks.
She fucking smirks.