The Nememiah Chronicles Collection - Books 1-3

7. Rowena-2

This time I couldn"t hide the tremble, which shuddered through my limbs, recalling how easily Ambrose had broken my arm, snapping the bones like matchsticks.

Lucas stopped for a minute, giving me time to compose myself and when he began again, he seemed reconciled to telling me everything. “I can trail prey over great distances, pick up their scent, and stalk them. I can chase a victim for miles, sneak up on them silently, and give no clue of my position. My ability to run is limitless and most prey is incapable of outrunning me. By the time they are aware of impending danger, they"re already dead or dying.” He stopped speaking, his body rigid with tension as he waited for my response.

I knew he"d just explained how easily he could kill me. Despite this knowledge, I wanted to trust him, felt a smidgeon of confidence that he wouldn"t harm me. He certainly had shown no desire to hurt me up until now. But there were questions that remained unanswered and I verbalized my thoughts.

“Have you— do you— how many—” I faltered. I"d intended to ask the question concisely and couldn"t seem to find the right words to voice what I needed to know. Lucas seemed aware of what I was trying to ask, but I was terrified of the reply.

“Charlotte, you must understand – this is what I am, this is what I was intended to do. For many years, I had no way to stop myself from doing what came naturally. Killing humans, draining their blood, it was what I was designed to do, my only choice in this existence. I did kill, murdered many innocent people in cold blood. The only thing I considered in those years was my own needs, my own desires, and the desperate craving for blood. As time passed, my humanity began to reassert itself and I suffered intense guilt over what I"d inflicted upon others. There was no way to stop it, but I was determined to learn how to control it, choose my victims with more deliberation.”

He was choosing his words with less caution now, seeming intent on ensuring I knew every unsavory thing about his past. “I hunted at night, stalking the dregs of humanity – rapists, murderers – humans whom I decided didn"t deserve to live.” He laughed dryly, the sound harsh and hollow in the quiet room. “I made myself judge, jury and executioner, Charlotte. I became a vigilante and decided who lived and who died, based on my own questionable morals and the crushing guilt, which overwhelmed my every step. And of course, my own frantic craving for human blood, which negated every damn excuse for the choices I made. Still I wasn"t happy. As much as these people were the lowest common denominator of humanity, they were people with family and friends. Loved ones who cared for them, no matter what they had done in their lives. And I was murdering them, leaving their friends and family to mourn.” He rubbed my hand tenderly between his and I could sense his despair, as if it were a physical entity in the room with us.

“Couldn"t you just drink a little? Leave them alive?” I couldn"t believe I was having this conversation, the whole exchange seemed surreal.

He shook his head mournfully. “The desire for blood is a feeding frenzy, Charlotte. Whilst we feed, our only focus is the blood and the almost orgasmic pleasure that comes from drinking it. To leave someone alive is a miracle. Some can do it. Most can"t.”

“Then how do people become vampires?” I thought of the few vampire movies I"d seen, which portrayed vampires as being created through the bite of another vampire. You were bitten, and you got the vampirism. Surely, not every victim died? How did you get more vampires that way? For one brief and bizarre moment, I realized I was using the imaginary aspects of filmmaking, to try to understand something mythological, which I hadn"t believed existed in the first place. Until now.

“Vampires are created when a victim is drained to the point of death, then force fed blood from the vampire"s own body.”

“You can bleed?” I questioned. That wasn"t in the movies. Then I remembered Ambrose and how the blood had sprayed from his neck after Lucas decapitated him. Nausea welled in my stomach as I realized the movies didn"t have it right, at all.

ThatLucas smirked. “Not exactly. After we have fed, blood is accessible in our bodies for a few days. To create a new vampire, you must drain them to the point of death, then bite into your own body and allow them to drink from you. The blood is changed after it has been in our bodies; the simplest explanation is that it has been contaminated with vampirism.”

“You feed their blood back to them, but it"s different after you"ve ingested it?”

“Yes.”

“And then they"re a vampire?”

Lucas sighed. “Not exactly. The transformation takes three days. The body of the victim must be buried and on the third night, they will rise as vampire. If they have survived the transformation process.”

I was getting off-track here, dealing with things I neither wanted to know, nor needed to know now. “So what did you do?”

“I began to experiment on both myself and victims, I"m afraid. Trying to discover a way of feeding without murdering, testing theories and building on my determination to live a more peaceful life. As I mentioned, drinking blood is comparable to s****l orgasm. I began to wonder if I could use s*x as a diversion, if I could divert my attention with s****l release, then feed from my victim and perhaps my need to drain completely could be avoided. Of course, it was a double-edged sword because I needed to feed more regularly to ensure my thirst wasn"t at its worst point when I approached a woman.”

He glanced up, no doubt seeing the flush of embarrassment which covered my exposed skin. “My apologies, Charlotte, I"m embarrassing you.” He brushed his fingers across my cheek. “You blush so beautifully.”

Swallowing deeply I looked away, cursing the blush which had been the bane of my life. “Did it work?” I couldn"t prevent a rush of jealousy, knowing Lucas had slept with other women. Probably a lot of other women.

“It was not a viable solution. The desire for s*x and blood are deeply intertwined and after a couple of attempts, I dismissed it.” He squeezed my fingers gently and I regained enough composure to face him again.

“What about bagged blood?” It seemed like a feasible theory; drinking bagged blood wouldn"t hurt anyone.

Lucas shook his head immediately. “Unfortunately it isn"t practical. The blood banks already have severe shortages of blood and the average human male has about eight pints of blood in his body, which we can deplete in one feeding. The practice is just not sustainable. Not without denying those who are seriously ill or injured and I couldn"t contemplate that.”

His response made me somewhat calmer. Surely, it was testament to his character for him to be concerned about sick people? Then again, he"d just finished telling me how many people he"d murdered, so maybe my perception was somewhat skewed.

Lucas continued. “I began to consider other, more extreme measures to eliminate the need to kill. Whilst I require blood to exist, I questioned whether it must be human blood, if we could perhaps survive on animal blood.” He unclasped his left hand from mine and reached forward, touching my cheek gently. “I must have blood to survive, Charlotte,” he explained quietly, “but I found it was possible to hunt animals and live on their blood. I don"t kill humans any longer.”

Relief crept over my body like a drug. I hadn"t realized how tightly I"d been holding myself, like a wind-up toy that had been tightened to the point of the spring snapping. “Oh,” I managed faintly. He waited while I absorbed his explanation, allowing me to think in silence.

“So,” I remarked slowly, “do you get all the, uh, vitamins you need that way?” It was the first thought to cross my mind.

He stared at me with a bemused look, before bursting into laughter. When he managed to control his amusement, he shook his head. “Charlotte, I tell you I drink blood and you are worried about my vitamin intake. You really are a funny girl.” The silver embers in his eyes sparkled with life, drawing my attention to them.

“Your eyes – they"re different to anything I"ve ever seen in a normal human.”

“They mark me as what I am, Charlotte.”

I glanced away and thought for a long moment. “When I met Ben, his eyes looked normal, but when he was helping me out in the woods, his eyes had golden streaks.”

“We can disguise what we are, Charlotte. It"s a mind trick.”

“A mind trick?” I repeated blankly.

“My eyes as you see them are what they truly are. Some of us have silver streaks, others have gold, some bronze and as you"ve already discovered, my eyes are an unusually dark blue. We use a mind trick to make our eyes appear more normal when humans see us. I imagine Ben didn"t think to hide it out in the forest, because we were so worried about saving you.”

“You never used a mind trick on me,” I pointed out. “I saw your eyes like this from the very beginning.”

Lucas"s eyes twinkled, the silver sparks flaring like miniature fireworks. “I can"t hide them from you. For some reason, you are not influenced by my mind tricks.”

“But Ben could do it?”

“Yes.”

“I wonder why,” I mused aloud.

“That is one question I can"t answer.” Lucas squeezed my fingers and I noticed that the skin around his eyes had darkened, even during the short period we"d been talking. He looked as if he hadn"t slept in weeks.

“Are you tired?” I queried.

Lucas shook his head. “Not tired, Charlotte.”

Like an epiphany, I realized what he was alluding to, putting the connection together in my head. “You"re hungry.” The skin around his eyes had darkened like this before, when he"d been near me. At the hospital, I"d seen it happen and at his house, which was where I assumed I was now. Why hadn"t I thought before now to ask where I was? It didn"t matter, I decided, turning my attention and fears back to the matter at hand. “Why do the shadows around your eyes darken when you"re with me?” I demanded. I knew the answer, but needed to hear it from him. I needed to confirm my suspicions of exactly what it meant, why he avoided contact with me, why he"d kept away from me in the past. I searched his eyes, waiting for the answer.

He stiffened visibly and frowned heavily as he considered the question. “I think you know why, Charlotte,” he responded huskily.

My voice was barely a whisper when I responded. “You want to kill me.”

His reaction was startling. “No!” he shouted furiously.

NoI snatched my hand from his, the swift movement setting off a round of painful throbbing throughout my broken body.

He was instantly contrite. “Charlotte.” When I didn"t respond he uttered a string of expletives, then immediately apologized. “Please, forgive me. That was completely uncalled for.”