Crimson Love: a Vampire Novel

Past Shadows

Tarah couldn't focus on the gallery's end-of-night paperwork. Her new bracelet caught the light as she attempted to type, the garnets throwing crimson sparkles across her keyboard. Dinner with Antonio was less than an hour away, and her stomach fluttered with anticipation.

A soft chime from her computer interrupted her thoughts. Another email about the upcoming Prague exhibition – a collection of medieval artifacts that would arrive next month. She clicked it open, then frowned at the contents. Someone had withdrawn a key piece: a 15th-century Hungarian blade allegedly used in vampire hunts.

"Interesting reading?"

Tarah jumped at Antonio's voice. He stood in her doorway again, as if materializing from the shadows themselves. She hadn't heard him approach.

"Just some drama about our Prague exhibition," she said, closing the email. "A collector withdrew a piece last minute. Something about it being too controversial."

Antonio's face remained carefully neutral, but his hands clenched imperceptibly at his sides. "The Báthory blade, I assume?"

"How did you—"

"I have some experience with Eastern European art." He moved into the office, his movements fluid and controlled. "That particular piece has a... complicated history."

*Prague, 1752*

*The blade gleamed in the torchlight as Countess Báthory's descendant raised it high. "You cannot hide among us forever, creature!"*

*Antonio wiped blood from his lips, the dying guard at his feet evidence of his true nature. He hadn't meant to feed – decades of careful control undone by a moment of weakness. But the guard had discovered him studying the Báthory family records, searching for a way to end his curse.*

*"I wasn't hiding, Viktor," Antonio said calmly, though his heart raced with bloodlust. "I was researching. Your ancestor's journals hold the key to—"*

*"To making more of your kind!" Viktor spat. "We found your notes. You seek to turn humans!"*

*"No," Antonio's voice carried centuries of weariness. "I seek to become human again."*

*The blade wavered slightly. "Impossible."*

*"Your great-grandmother found a way. Before she was imprisoned, she discovered—"*

*But Viktor's hesitation ended. The blade flashed down, catching Antonio's shoulder before he could fully dodge. Silver-infused steel burned like holy fire.*

*The fight that followed destroyed centuries of records and left Viktor dead – not by Antonio's hand, but by his own zealotry. He'd fallen on his blade while lunging for Antonio, leaving the vampire to burn evidence of both their presence.*

*The Council had not been pleased.*

---

"Antonio?" Tarah's voice pulled him from the memory. "You went somewhere else for a moment."

He forced a smile. "Merely remembering some art history. Shall we head to dinner?"

The restaurant he'd chosen was intimate and dark, with private booths and unobtrusive service. Perfect for a vampire trying to hide his inability to eat human food. He'd called ahead to arrange a special "medical dietary restriction" menu for himself – essentially a raw steak that he could pretend to eat while actually storing in his napkin.

Tarah looked radiant in the candlelight, her blue dress making her eyes sparkle. "So, tell me about yourself," she said after they'd ordered. "You seem to know so much about art history, but I know almost nothing about you."

Antonio carefully constructed his reply. "I come from an old Italian family. We've been collecting art for... generations. The Venetian piece in your gallery actually belonged to my grandfather."

"That explains your connection to it." Tarah took a sip of wine. "And now you represent artists?"

"Among other ventures." He watched her throat as she swallowed, fighting back his baser instincts. "My family has diverse interests. Art, antiquities, historical research."

"Like the Báthory blade?" Her question was innocent, but it made him stiffen slightly.

"Yes." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "That piece carries a dark history. Its withdrawal from your exhibition is... probably for the best."

"You sound personally invested."

"Let's just say I've had some unfortunate experiences in Prague." He needed to change the subject before she asked too many questions. "But I'd much rather talk about you. How did you end up working nights at the Morrison?"

Tarah allowed the deflection, launching into a story about her art history studies and early museum work. Antonio listened intently, genuinely fascinated by her passion for art and history. If only she knew how much history sat across from her.

Their food arrived – her pasta dish aromatic and steaming, his steak practically raw. He made a show of taking small bites while actually slipping the meat into his napkin.

"Not hungry?" she asked, noticing his barely touched plate.

"I had a late lunch," he lied smoothly. "But please, enjoy yours."

As she ate, they talked about art, history, and travel. Antonio carefully edited his stories to exclude anything before the current century, but found himself sharing more than he intended. Something about Tarah made him want to be honest – a dangerous desire for a vampire trying to maintain cover.

"You know," she said thoughtfully, "the figure in the Venetian painting... it looks remarkably like you."

Antonio's hand froze halfway to his wine glass. "A coincidence, surely."

"Mmm." She studied him over her glass. "Like how it's a coincidence that you know so much about Eastern European history? Or that you have jewelry from exactly the same period as the painting?"

"You're very observant." His voice carried a note of warning that she ignored.

"It's my job to be observant." Tarah leaned forward, lowering her voice. "There's something different about you, Antonio. Something... old."

He should leave. Now. Before she got too close to the truth. Before the Council discovered how much he was revealing. Before his growing feelings for her – and his perpetual thirst for her blood – led them both to destruction.

Instead, he found himself leaning closer. "Perhaps I'm just an old soul."

"No," she breathed, close enough now that a human would feel her warmth. "It's more than that. Sometimes, when you think I'm not looking, you seem... almost from another time entirely."

"Dangerous thoughts, Tarah." His voice was soft but intense. "Some mysteries are better left unexplored."

"I don't believe that." Her hand found his under the table. "And I don't think you do either."

The warmth of her skin against his cool flesh was electric. Her pulse thundered in his ears, calling to him. It would be so easy to lean across the table, to let his lips find her throat, to—

No. He pulled back abruptly, standing. "I should get you home. It's late."

Disappointment flickered across her face, but she nodded. "Of course."

The drive to her apartment was quiet, tension thick in the air. When he walked her to her door, she turned to face him, key in hand.

"Would you like to come up?" Her voice was soft but certain. "For coffee?"

Every fiber of his being screamed yes. His fangs ached to extend. His cold heart yearned for her warmth. But the memory of Viktor's accusations rang in his ears. *You cannot hide among us forever, creature!*

"Not tonight," he managed, though it cost him dearly to say it. "But I would very much like to see you again."

"Tomorrow?" The hope in her voice nearly undid him. "I have the night off. We could—"

"Tomorrow," he agreed before she could finish. He caught her hand, brushing his lips across her knuckles. Her pulse jumped at the contact.

As he walked away, he heard her whisper, "The Prague exhibition opens in three weeks. Will you tell me the real story then?"

He didn't answer, but they both knew he would. Just as they both knew this thing between them was rapidly becoming impossible to resist.

In the shadows across the street, Lucia watched her brother's internal struggle with growing concern. The Council would need to be informed. But as she observed Tarah's fingers lingering on the antique bracelet, saw the way Antonio's shoulders tensed with the effort of walking away, she wondered if perhaps some rules were meant to be broken.

After all, the Báthory journals hadn't been completely destroyed that night in Prague. And if anyone deserved to find a cure for their curse, it was her brother.

She melted into the darkness, deciding the Council could wait. For now.