Bad Blood Books 1-3

Chapter IV

Chapter IV

MY ALARM WENT off at 7 am the next morning, and I used all my pillows to aim for my cell and try to make it stop ringing. I missed, but the effort completely woke me up. I had, of course, forgotten to switch my alarm to a later, more bearable hour and it was preset to wake me up at the same time each morning. I got out of bed, put on my running clothes, and went outside. It was a chilly and cloudy morning and running felt great. Exercising had this ability to help me sort out my thoughts. My worries ended up seeming less important when my body felt sore and breathing became an effort.

The beach was empty, and so were most of the cafés. Off-season Sunday mornings were so quiet, the resort so deserted, I could delude myself that it was all mine and no one could disturb me unless I allowed it.

An hour later, I was back in my room. I showered, got dressed—jeans, a pink, lively top, and casual shoes—and went over the interview questions once more. I tried to decide what was safe to say without revealing too much of the novel. If everybody knew what was going to happen, they were less likely to buy it. It had to sound fun and interesting, while keeping the mystery alive.

I was skimming through some pages of my novel when I heard a knock on the door. To my surprise, it was Anthony, looking fresh and cheerful.

“Good morning.” He was beaming, and I hated him a little for it.

I scowled at him. “Good morning. Why so chirpy? Don’t you need sleep like the rest of us?”

“Oh, be serious. We really did not stay out that late.” My questioning look finally got through his good humor. “I’m sorry. I got here rather early and the lobby looked boring. Are you going to invite me in?”

“Sure, come in,” I said and stepped away from the door. “Breakfast is in another thirty minutes, right?”

“Yes, 10 sharp. But I can try to switch it to now, if you like.”

“No, that’s fine. Please, sit down.”

My room had a desk with a chair, an armchair, and my bed. I hoped he’d pick some other place than the unmade bed, but he didn’t. He sat right on the side I slept on and looked around, taking in the room. “It looks very cozy.”

“It is. And big enough for me not to go crazy when I am trapped here for a few days.”

“Has that happened much since you’ve arrived?”

“More often than I’d care to admit. Work followed me here, I’m afraid.” I shrugged and looked around the room, wondering where I should sit.

“How long are you planning to stay?” He rearranged my pillows, getting all comfortable.

“I’m leaving at the end of the month. It’s time I got back to my life.”

“Why not start a new one?”

“A new one?” I frowned and stared at him, wondering what he meant.

“Yeah. New country, new people. From what I see, there’s nothing stopping you. You can work from wherever you are, can’t you?”

I had never even considered that. I’d gone all the way to Malta, but that had always been temporary. My plan was to regroup, recover, and eventually go back. I had my parents, friends, clients. My whole life was there, in and around Bucharest. I hadn’t considered leaving it all behind just because things were not as I wanted them to be. I’d thought of moving abroad, but for very different reasons than running away. Yet, somehow, the idea was not entirely unappealing.

Anthony went on to tell me about his life in London, his time in other European cities he had been to. He had moved around quite a bit. He didn’t look much older than me, and might have looked younger than he was, but I still couldn’t imagine him being older than thirty. He had lived in Paris, Amsterdam, Edinburgh, and London. And these were only the places where he had been for more than a year. The more he talked about it, the more appealing the idea of moving around the continent became.

The room phone rang for only the second time since I had arrived here almost two months ago. It was the front desk telling us that breakfast was ready. We went downstairs to enjoy our food and interview after Anthony took a little too long to decide to get up from my bed and make his way to the door.

The small conference room was not a real breakfast spot. They had brought coffee, tea, warm milk, a selection of cheeses, ham and salami, veggies and hard-boiled eggs, plus some fruit and sweets, and had set it all up on half of the table. The other half had some hotel-branded notebooks and pens, and two chairs.

I poured myself some coffee and made a quick sandwich, then sat comfortably in one of the chairs. “OK, shoot,” I said, wiggling a bit in my chair to get comfortable.

He poured himself a cup of coffee (surprisingly, no tea) and sat down, smiling. “You’re in an awful rush to get this interview started.”

“I am curious about where it’s going to go. The conversation topics you emailed really puzzled me.”

“All right then.” He took out a small recorder from the back pocket of his jeans and turned it on. “There are so many vampire stories out there and hordes of writers willing to tap into this niche of fiction. Why do you think your book will be a success?”

OK, coming on strong. He was definitely bold. I’d prepared for this though. I’d asked that very same question myself about a million times so far.

“The theme, subject, or type of characters used is not what makes a novel great. It’s not even the storyline. There’s rarely much innovation going on. How a story is told is sometimes more important. My story is not revolutionary. I won’t completely shift perceptions on vampires, supernatural beings, or humans. I think my book will be a smashing success because people will find it easy to relate to. It will have the feel of a true story just because it taps into reality to power unreal events and characters. Nothing will seem far-fetched. And people sometimes need real stories, the kind that don’t reek of fiction, that they can see themselves living.”

“You say you are not looking to revolutionize how people regard vampires. But they are not from Earth,” he said, arching his eyebrow.

“That’s not entirely correct. Actually, they are from Earth, just not initially created here. They’re not the result of an accident, or evolution, or any kind of natural need of a predatory humanoid.”

“But they are, in a way, from outer space. Isn’t that true?”

“This is not an alien vampire story. Yes, they have come from somewhere off-world, but they have no high-tech ships. It’s just a different world, and closer to a different dimension or a different plane of existence.”

“So how come they are from Earth? They seem to have nothing to connect them with this planet.”

“They originated somewhere else. The first group arrived here, a bit by mistake. Then they turned humans. Those are the only vampires that survive today. The human, earthling kind, as the initial creators are long gone.”

“I see. So what happened to those who had created this species on Earth?”

I was a bit taken aback by his ongoing interest in vampire origins in my book. It hardly seemed that important in the overall story. “They’re gone. There might be a sole survivor still wandering the earth in search of a way home. But it’s just a rumor,” I said, feeling my frown deepening.

“Haven’t you decided? Or don’t you want to tell me?” He grinned and winked.

“Well, I have to keep a few surprises,” I said, rolling my eyes.

“Where did you get the idea for this other-world cradle of vampires?” he asked, straightening his upper body and turning serious again.

“I just thought of a few possibilities. A mutation of the human race would make sense, I guess—a different path of evolution--but, then again, I would either accommodate all the supernaturals, allowing them to evolve on Earth, as only one species does not make sense, or play favorites.”

“So no other supernaturals in your novels, ever?”

“Not in this one in particular. I’m not trying to keep the story interesting by always complicating it with new beings. It’s hard as it is to manage relationships with people and animals. Add vampires and it gets complicated enough to make a lot of shrinks rich.”

“There’s nothing revolutionary about the nature of your vampires, but this theory regarding their origin is clearly very different. What else is different in your book?”

Finally, he changed the subject! I felt relieved now that he’d stopped trying to push me into major spoiler territory. “There’s one thing that’s extremely important to me. Purging the idea of all-knowing, ultra-intuitive humans that smell a vampire from miles away; the smart, but lonely girl that puts the pieces of the puzzle together; the young warriors that hunt them to rid the world of them. To me, that’s hard to digest.”

“And why is that? Aren’t humans smart enough to discover the existence of supernatural beings?”

There was a condescending touch to Anthony’s voice, but I chose to dismiss it and smile. “Humans being smart or not is not the issue. We’re not talking ghosts here. We’re talking about a species, a predatory one that feeds on human blood, that’s been around for millennia. While we’ve gotten smarter, so have they. It’s important for them to stay hidden, and they might have gotten better and better at that. If any human that knows where to look and keeps an open mind would be able to discover them, they wouldn’t be very good at hiding, would they?”

“That’s indeed an interesting perspective,” he said, nodding. “So no humans know of vampires?”

“A chosen few of every generation know of their existence, but only because they are allowed to. If a human or a group of humans would find out on their own, their need to brag and get famous, especially in this day and age, would force vampires to take some sort of action. Their sitting idly by while more and more humans find out their secrets and gain power over them, that’s an unlikely scenario.”

Throughout the interview, Anthony kept throwing intense questions at me, his eyes keeping a close watch on my reactions while he carefully analyzed every word I said. He kept going back to how I came to the idea of giving a different birthplace to vampires, why that was a must in my story, and so on. We then got to the main character, my promotion strategy, my plans on finishing a first draft, potential publishing deals, and many other things. Two hours later, he turned off his recorder and slid it back into his pocket.

“Thank you so much for the interview, Alexa. You’ve got quite an interesting story there.”

“My pleasure. This was a great interview. I haven’t gotten a lot of them, but the ones I did were extremely boring. The interviewers were more interested in whether vampires can or cannot have s*x in my story, not their origin or what else makes this novel unique.”

“Not every journalist is a great one. And not all have good interviewing skills, but I bet they did bring traffic to your website,” he said, smiling broadly. That was the first time he had completely relaxed since the interview had started.

“Oh, that they did! Some for a couple of hours, some for a day or two, some long term. But I got the word out.”

“Look, I really must run. It was a pleasure to meet you.”

I was stunned to see him rushing out. I knew he had an evening flight, so he could have stayed longer. In fact, I wanted him to stay longer.

“Talk to you soon,” he said, almost running out the door.

I felt hurt and disappointed, although I had no reason to. He had come, done his job, and then left. It made perfect sense. But then there was the night before, the dancing, and him being so hot. I’d thought… no, hoped he’d be interested in more than that. Yet he wasn’t.

I went back to my room, got into bed without changing, and turned the TV on. Better to do some brainwashing activity than feel sorry for myself.

A knock on my door woke me up. I reached for my phone and checked the time: almost 3 pm. I was surprised I had dozed off and that I’d actually slept for so long during the day. A second knock caught my attention.

“Just a second,” I mumbled, slowly moving toward the door.

I opened it and froze. Anthony, in a tight navy-blue t-shirt and skinny jeans, both designed to make him look exquisite, stared at me.

I should have been touched and happy for getting what I wanted…him. Instead, I was irritated to borderline furious because my ego had a problem with him deciding to come back hours later. His terms, his decision.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

He said nothing. He stood there, his intense gaze that had a certain glow to it roaming over me. It should have been the kind of look that fueled desire. Yet it felt like something else, something I could not describe. It definitely was void of any loss of control and crazy impulses born of lust.

“Cat got your tongue?” I tried again with a forced smile.

Still nothing. I backed up a bit, leaving him just enough room to come in. Remaining completely silent, he stepped inside and closed the door behind him. He came one step closer and put his hands on my shoulders. He slowly pulled me closer to him. I did as he wanted, mesmerized by those strange eyes and his full lips. His scent flooded my senses and I wanted nothing more than to feel his touch on every inch of my body. Once again, my instincts told me I should run. His was not the look of desire. He was a man interested in me, but in what part me, exactly? For what purpose?

I felt his hands sliding down, my skin reacting under his touch. They stopped around my wrists, and his lips slowly descended on mine. I wanted to run, but before I could, he pushed my hands back and I felt him locking my wrists tightly in his hands. All I could do was stand still and, caught between fear and my strong want of him, watch his slightly parted lips get closer, my entire mouth tingling in anticipation. He pressed his lips to mine and I felt them slowly caressing and overpowering me, making room for his tongue to slide in and take over my senses. I instantly responded to his kiss, wanting to push my entire body into his, tangle my fingers in his hair, and hold his waist tight with my legs, bringing him closer and closer to my very being.

Anthony’s hold on my wrists prevented most of my movements so all I could do was push myself forward until our bodies met and let him kiss me until there was nothing left but a need for him.