Crave (8 page)

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Authors: Karen E. Taylor

BOOK: Crave
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Chapter 9
W
hen I finally woke, I found myself naked, covered only with the heavy red brocade spread, lying on the carpet of our room in Cadre headquarters. My arms and legs twitched as I tried to remember what had happened to me. It would have seemed a dream, except that I knew I was no longer capable of dreams. And the stale taste of blood that remained in my mouth, the undeniable ache of the loss of a freedom now beyond my reach told me that what I remembered was all too real. I sat up and looked around me, my eyes narrowed, attempting to adjust to the limitations of this different sight.
“Deirdre?” Mitch rose from where he had been stretched out in one of the chairs. He was wearing only a pair of jeans and it looked like he'd been holding vigil over me for a while. “How do you feel? Are you okay?”
I shook my aching head. “I don't know. What time is it? And what happened?”
“It's just a bit before sundown. As far as what happened, well, you changed, transformed.” He smiled at me and held out a hand to pull me up to him. “Damn, it was incredible. You were beautiful.”
The spread dropped from my body. I shivered and he wrapped his arms around me. “Why am I naked?”
Mitch shrugged. “When you transformed, your clothes were destroyed. They're probably lying in a heap on the street where you lost them. Vivienne says that most vampires prefer to be nude before they begin the change.”
“I'll try to remember that next time.” My voice was dry and I moved away from him to the dresser, finding clothes to replace those that were gone. “If there ever is a next time. I don't really remember much about it. What was I?”
“A lynx.”
“A lynx?” I stepped into a pair of jeans and zipped them up. “But why?”
“Vivienne says that each individual has a different form, some even have two, one with wings and one without.” His eyes met mine and his excitement at these new revelations was completely apparent. This situation was a game to him, and one that he very much wanted to play.
“No, that's not what I mean. I don't give a damn what kind animal I turned into or why I chose that particular form. The question is: why did I change at all? I had no intention to. I certainly never wanted to.” I pulled on a black sweater and hugged my familiar human-shaped arms to myself, “And I never want to do so again.” Even as I said it, though, I caught the faint growl of disagreement in the back of my mind. Mitch was right, it was beautiful, it was wonderful.
He ignored my denials, concentrating instead on the specifics of the change. “Vivienne says that inadvertent change can be caused by extreme emotions: fright, hunger, hate. Or by the transformation of another vampire, either nearby or linked to the other.”
I sat down on the end of the bed and gave him a long calculating glance. “Then what exactly is my dear sister's assessment of the change?” My voice sounded brittle.
Mitch laughed a little. “You really are jealous of her, aren't you?”
“No, but the two of you seem to be getting very friendly. Considering you've just met.”
“You
are
jealous.” He smiled at me. “She's only trying to help.”
“Is there any reason why we need her help? I don't trust her. Quite honestly, I don't trust any of them. And neither should you.”
“Vivienne is harmless. The others, yes, you know how I feel about them. I hate them. For what they tried to do to you, for what they did to me. And yet . . .” Mitch's voice trailed off.
I could finish his thought for him. Had none of that ever happened, he wouldn't be what he was right now. And Mitch liked what he was—with almost as much fervor as I hated what he was, both for him and for me.
I sighed. There were reasons not to trust Vivienne; she had so very conveniently detained me the night of Larry's attack on Mitch. She may even have been involved in that attack. But it would do me no good to attempt an explanation right now. He was too excited with the prospect of his potential powers to listen.
“Besides,” he continued, “Vivienne's okay. She had nothing to do with the threats to me or to you. And she was one of the Cadre members who decided for you during the trial. So she's on our side.”
“You and me and Vivienne against the rest of them? How very cozy.” I rubbed my hand over my eyes and leaned my head against the bedpost, realizing that my anger was not really meant for him. “I'm sorry, Mitch,” I said, my voice softer now, “I don't mean to be so difficult. But my head aches, my body aches. And I'm very hungry.”
“Yeah,” he agreed, a predatory light gleaming from his eyes, “we should hunt tonight. Soon I should think. But before we do, I'd like to get reacquainted with your human form.” With a low laugh he crossed the room and sat down behind me on the bed. His hands began kneading my shoulders and I leaned back into him. “How's that feel?”
I didn't answer, just gave a long, low sigh. He pushed aside my hair and nuzzled the nape of my neck. I shivered slightly and he laughed again. “You made one hell of a wild cat, you know. You practically ripped my arm open to the bone.”
“Which one?”
He held out his arm and I lightly traced my nails down his naked skin. “No scars.” I sighed. “I miss your scars. Did it hurt?”
“Just for a minute. I was so relieved to find you before dawn that it hardly mattered. When you didn't come back in an hour or so, I started to worry. And then I felt you almost like you had climbed inside me. Felt your rage, your confusion, your hunger. I thought I'd go crazy, until suddenly there was a blankness, as if you'd been snuffed out of existence. That was even worse.” He wrapped his arms around my neck, rocking me slightly back and forth. I could feel the muscles of his chest play against my back. “I practically knocked down Vivienne's door trying to get an explanation of what was happening to me and to you. She was not pleased,” Mitch chuckled and continued, “and neither was the guy she'd been playing with.”
I laughed with him. “Well, fair is fair, after all. It serves her right. Anyone we know?”
“No one I've ever seen before. He was very young, very blond and very human.” The last word sounded scornful, demeaning.
“But, Mitch, it hasn't been that long since you were human, too.”
“Yeah, I know, but I'm better now.”
I pulled away from him only slightly, but he noticed immediately. “Deirdre, I was only joking. I know how remaining human has always been important to you. It's just that this whole thing is so exciting for me. You should remember how it was.”
I thought for a minute before answering. I remembered all too well my initial brush with what I had become and it was anything but exciting. I'd had no one to counsel me, to support me; I had managed to survive by my wits alone, and through the intercession of a bloody and mindless war providing me with an endless supply of dying bodies on which to feed. It had been an initiation only into death and decay and the despair of unending life. For me, there had been no excitement, no joy, no hope.
“Yes, I do indeed remember how it was.” I moved out of his embrace, got up from the bed, went to the door and opened it. “I have to see Larry.”
 
It took some time to locate the administrative offices of the Cadre. The entire area below the Imperial was like a maze, endless corridors of closed doors through which I padded, barefoot, guided only by an inner sense of where I would place such offices. The halls were empty and as I walked I imagined scores of Cadre vampires prowling the streets of the city in search of prey. The thought first made me shudder, then drew a grim smile to my face. For ten years I had lived in this city believing I was alone, the only one of my kind. Had I only known then, would it have made a difference to my life? Would it have made a difference to the choices I had made?
“Choices?” I muttered to myself, following the faint noise of activity and voices I'd finally picked up. “When was I ever given choices?”
“Deirdre?”
I looked up and saw Ron, standing in an open doorway. “I want to see Larry.”
He looked at me and shook his head. “Well, you sure won't find him here.”
I paused for a moment, collecting my anger, centering it and met his eyes with a cold, direct stare. “Look, Ron, I've had enough of all of this bureaucratic secrecy. I have a right to speak with him, I need to speak to him. If you won't tell me where he is, I'll pull this goddamned place down around us. So help me God, I will.”
“Deirdre.” Victor's smooth calm voice preceded his entrance. “No need for violence, my dear. If you want to see Larry, then by all means you shall. Ron would be happy to take you, wouldn't you, Ron?” The nuances of his tone merely infuriated me further. Humor her, they said, give the little lady what she wants so that she'll go away and leave us to our important business.
Ron laughed, the sound a combination of nervousness and eagerness. “I'd take Deirdre anywhere. She should know that by now.” Then he looked down at my feet. “Where are your shoes? It'll be cold where we're going.”
“Gone,” I said simply, “and it's cold everywhere, Ron.”
“Deirdre.” Victor nodded a dismissal and turned to retreat into his office, then spun around. “Oh, and sometime after you are done speaking to Larry, you and I will need to talk about the trial. At your convenience, of course, but we should make it soon.”
“Fine,” I agreed, “I'll come back afterwards, if that's all right.”
“Watch yourself, my dear.” His face twisted into a grimace, “I understand Larry's been highly agitated these past few hours.”
“I can take care of myself, Victor.”
He laughed. “Yes, so I've heard. Until later then.”
Ron touched me lightly on the elbow after Victor went into his office and closed the door. “Are you sure you don't want to put on a pair of shoes, Deirdre?”
I shrugged and gave him a small smile. “Cold feet are the least of my worries, Ron. Besides, my favorite pair got lost on the streets last night.” At his questioning look, I shook my head. “It's a long story. And one I'm sure others will be happy to tell you. For now, let's go. I don't really know why I feel compelled to talk to Larry, but I would like to get it over with as quickly as possible.”
Ron nodded. “Yeah, I hear you. Larry's one real strange guy. Gives me the creeps.”
I said nothing, but allowed Ron to lead me back through the corridors and to the elevators. Once inside with the doors shut, he opened the control panel and, taking a key from his pocket, inserted it and dialed in a code on a computerized key pad. The elevator started down with a bit of a jolt, throwing me off balance and into Ron's steadying arms. We stood for a second, his hands on my shoulders and I blushed, remembering shared intimacies with this man.
I hadn't known what he was at the time; had no idea of who he really was and why he'd befriended me. He was, I thought, just another man, a source of blood and comfort, one more in an ever-expanding list. And he'd made himself available during a time when I had desperately needed someone. Finding out that Ron was working for the Cadre was a betrayal, but no more of one than his finding out that I was married to a then mortal man. I thought that the scores between us had been evened.
“Deirdre,” his voice caught on my name as his hands reluctantly let go of my shoulders. I stepped back from him, and our eyes met. In a brief flash I felt my mind laid open in front of him; my recent fears and insecurities about what Mitch had become, my uncertainty about our future together, underneath all of which flowed a strong undercurrent of love. In Ron's mind there lay a submerged anger and a passion that he feared would forever go unsatisfied.
“Ron,” I reached up, gently touched his cheek and the moment's intuition faded, leaving only a wash of sadness in its wake. Of all beings, I knew what it was like to be unloved, to contemplate centuries of aloneness; I had lost Mitch once and upon finding him again, had made a conscious decision to accept losing him eternally in his death. It was true that circumstances and an impetuous act had taken that decision out of my hands. Somehow, to contemplate loving him for all eternity, to have him in front of me, visible and live, and not be able to act on that love, was truly horrible.
“Oh, Ron, I'm so sorry.” My voice was soft and I brushed away the forming tears as the elevator doors opened on our final destination: the holding pens of the Cadre.
Chapter 10
R
on was right; I should have worn my shoes. The floor was made of rough concrete and my feet were still tender from the abuse I had inadvertently put them through the previous night. And with one step off the elevator I felt a bone-chilling coldness sweep up my legs.
I followed him through dimly lit, winding corridors, totally different from the ones found on the upper levels. This area was almost like a cave, with no doorways, no windows, and the concrete block walls painted gray. I tried very hard not to imagine how far underground we were, but failed and the claustrophobic feeling that I'd felt earlier returned, stronger than before, overwhelming in its intensity. By the time we arrived at the end of the maze and Ron was unlocking the door, my pulse had quickened and my breath was coming in shallow gasps.
“Not very pleasant down here, is it?” He smiled at me, his one hand on the knob of the heavy metal door, his other brushed my shoulder in a gesture meant to reassure.
“No,” I said, as he pushed open the door. “But then jails aren't supposed to be pleasant, are they?”
A flood of light spilled into the hallway from the room. I squinted and shook my head. “Why is it so bright in there?”
“Sun lamps,” Ron said, reaching his hand around the doorjamb, finding the switch and turning them completely off. The sudden absence of brightness seemed like a blessing. I rubbed my hands over my eyes and I noticed that Ron did the same. “There's something about the particular intensity of the light that acts as a deterrent.”
“Deterrent?” My voice rose slightly and echoed down the hallway. “Deterrent? Hell, it seems close to torture.” I began to have second and even third thoughts on the benign nature of the Cadre's justice system. “Is this where I would have been held had I been found guilty?”
Ron gave me a curious glance and nodded.
“Jesus,” the word escaped my lips almost unconsciously. “Hundreds of years locked away down here in an airtight cell, no food, no escape, and sun lamps? Sun lamps?” I started to laugh, “No wonder everyone in the Cadre is so obedient to Victor's every whim. No wonder many people choose suicide over detention.”
“Well, I admit it seems rather bleak, but vampires have survived it. . . .”
“Bleak, Ron? Bleak doesn't even come close.” I shuddered violently, still hesitating in the doorway. If this was the Cadre's version of “humane” punishment, I hated to contemplate the other alternatives. “At least a stake through the heart is quick and clean. And kinder.”
Ron shrugged. “This is the way it is, Deirdre. The way it's always been.”
“Well, that doesn't mean I have to like it.”
“And whether you like it or not doesn't matter. Do you want to go in, or not?”
I nodded. “Yes, let's go in.” And we entered.
Even had I not known what this area of the Cadre's quarters was meant for, I could have surmised its purpose from the furnishings. A metal desk and a few uncomfortable chairs were scattered around what looked like a reception area. The desk held only an empty in-out basket, a calendar blotter, and a telephone. With the sun lamps off, the lighting consisted of a few overhead fluorescent fixtures. Everything was utilitarian and nondescript, unlike the flush luxury of the personal living quarters. It was a waiting area.
So were the glass booths I glimpsed beyond a partial wall. We entered the actual cell area and once again my feeling of pent-up anxiety returned. Not for me this time, but in sympathy for the hunched-over figure occupying the very last booth.
Larry sat on the edge of a narrow bunk, his elbows on his knees, his head resting on his hands, his shoulders shaking. I rubbed my hands nervously over my pant legs. Why did I feel I had to see him? Wouldn't I have been better off not knowing his condition?
“No,” I said aloud and Ron looked at me in confusion. “Sorry, just a little argument with myself. Can I talk to him?”
“Sure,” Ron said, walking over to the wall and throwing a switch. Suddenly the room was filled with the whistling sound of air being forced into the chamber. Starting low, then growing louder and louder as the air filled his lungs, we could hear Larry sobbing. I gasped. The sound system obviously worked both ways because he heard me and raised his head. Our eyes met and some of the despair in his demeanor lifted, to be replaced with a glimmer of hope. He jumped up from the bed and flung himself at the wall, fingers splayed on its surface, his face so close that his features were distorted in the thick glass.
“Deirdre.” There was no mistaking the relief in his voice. “Shit, I'm so happy to see you. Hell, I'd be happy to see anyone right now. Even Mitch's ugly face. How long have I been here? And what took you so long?”
“I'm sorry, Larry. I wasn't sure they'd let me see you. . . .” The lie was apparent, even to him.
A twisted smirk replaced the pleased smile that had been on his face. “I know, and you didn't exactly rush to find out, right?” Larry shrugged and laughed. “No, it's okay, really, why should you? I mean, what am I to you that you should care?”
I sighed. This wasn't going to be easy. “Larry, you are my responsibility. One that I have neglected, I confess. And I apologize for that. But I'm here now and I want to help if I can. We can talk; you can communicate with me, tell me your needs, your fears.”
“You're here now? Actually, you're there and I'm stuck in here. How can we communicate through this wall? I mean really communicate? And shouldn't I have gotten bail or something? I haven't been convicted of anything yet. What happened to innocent until proven guilty?”
Ron laughed. “That's not a Cadre rule, Martin. Don't push your luck.”
Larry struck at the glass wall with his fist. The noise was amplified through the microphone and I jumped. He continued punching to emphasize his words. “Oh, that Ronny is a brave one.” Thump. “It's fucking easy to laugh when you're on the other side, isn't it, buddy?” Thump. “Let's trade places and see how much you like it.”
“No thanks.” Ron made a grimace of distaste and turned to me. “Deirdre, are you sure you want to talk to this creature?”
“Yes, I do, Ron. I want to. I have to.” I gave Larry a quelling glance, which seemed to calm him, then looked back to Ron. “And I'd like to see him inside the room, if I may.”
“Jesus, Deirdre, I'm not sure you should do that.”
“Are there rules against it?”
“Well, no, not really. But he's a strange one. He might hurt you.”
I threw my head back and laughed. “Ron, what on earth could he possibly do to me? He has no weapons, and no defenses. I think I can reach him, make a difference to the way he is, but I can't do it through a wall of glass.” I reached out and touched Ron's arm gently, looking up into his face, studying his eyes. “We've been friends, good friends, all things considered. You may stay and watch if you need to, but let me go in. And turn off the microphone. This should be a private discussion. Please.”
It was the last word that settled him, I think. And although I could tell he was not happy about the situation, he agreed. “Stand back, Martin,” he said in a sharp voice. Larry moved quickly to the end of his cot. “Okay, Deirdre,” Ron said, his hand resting on another switch on the wall, “the door will open for just a few seconds. Once you're inside, you'll be sealed in with him. And when I turn the microphone off, the air goes, too. Although there should be enough in there for at least a half an hour of conversation.” He looked over at Larry and back at me. “Are you really sure you want to do this?”
“It's the only way, Ron.”
“Okay,” he said reluctantly, then grinned at me, “you always do this to me. Talk me into doing things I don't want to do. It's not fair, you know. And Victor will have my ass for this if anything goes wrong. But you know I've never been able to resist the pleas of a lady in distress, especially yours.”
I smiled back at him. “Yes, I know, Ron. Don't worry; I'll take full responsibility for any consequences.” I stretched up and kissed his cheek. “Thank you.”
He motioned me to the corner of the cell and I stood there waiting, until the glass slid aside, leaving a very thin opening the height of the cell. I squeezed through quickly and heard the panel thump closed behind me with a finality that echoed through the room.
Larry still stood placidly at the end of his bunk. “Nice place, huh? I bet the room they gave you and the hubby is just a little bit better furnished, but I suppose they figured this is good enough for the poor relatives.” Then he held out his arms in a welcoming gesture. “But I'm forgetting my manners, please, sit down.”
I settled in on the edge of the bed and Larry walked over to the outermost cell wall. He knocked on it. “Okay, Ron, you can turn off the mike now.” Ron's eyes met mine across the room, I nodded and the switch was turned. The whistling sound dwindled, then stopped; other than my low breathing we were surrounded by total silence.
“So,” Larry moved over and sat next to me. “To what do I owe the honor of your visit?” His voice was sad without any trace of anger or vindictiveness.
“I've been doing a lot of thinking, Larry. And I've come to the conclusion that what you have become is my fault. I shouldn't have left town knowing you were here, knowing what you were. Of all of the Cadre, I'm the only one who can understand the total solitude you've been experiencing, the confusion, and the fear, because I have done to you what Max did to me.”
“Oh.”
I don't know what kind of explanation he'd expected to hear, but from his reaction this hadn't been it. Still, I continued. “I am truly sorry, Larry. I should have stayed. I should have helped you, taught you, led you the way you needed to go.”
He brushed off my words. “None of that shit matters now. But do you think,” his voice wavered and I was afraid he would begin to cry again, “I mean, can you get me out of here? Please, Deirdre,” he reached over and touched my hand, then grasped it in his. “This is horrible. You can't imagine how awful it is, to be locked away in this stinking place.” He dropped my hand and jumped up, pacing the room. “You should have let Mitch kill me. It would have been better. Anything would be better than this.”
“Larry, I'm sorry, I thought this would be, well, more bearable. I really had no idea.”
“You promised me it would be okay.” Larry's voice grew petulant, whining. “You said that it would be okay if I came with you. That you would help me, take care of me. And then you calmly let them take me away and lock me up. Down here where there's no sound, no air, no food. Just the damn lights and eternity ticking away a second at a time.”
I lowered my head and opened my mouth to speak. “Larry, I . . .”
“Oh, I know,” he interrupted, spinning around to snarl at me, “you're sorry, so very sorry. Fat lot of good that does me. You say you're responsible for what I've done, but hell, you go scot-free and I'm the prisoner. How long, Deirdre? How long do you think you could handle this situation?”
“Not very long, Larry. Probably for less time than you have already. But what can I do now? Until the trial, you have to stay here. I've no control over it anymore.”
“Oh, but you do.” He came over and knelt before me, taking my hands into his again.
“What can I do now?” I repeated. “I can't fight the Cadre. Jesus,” my voice rose, sounding strangely dead in the static air, “I couldn't even fight them for myself. The only reason I'm not occupying the cell next door,” I shuddered, “is because Max's ghost spoke for me.”
“Well, I don't imagine I'll be that lucky. But there is something you can do.” Larry's voice lowered to a whisper and he glanced over his shoulder to see if Ron was watching. He was, but not intently. He was confident that both Larry and I were under his complete control and his relaxed stance confirmed it.
Larry shrugged and looked back up at me. “You could kill me. Kill me and put me out of my misery. This is hell, Deirdre, a hell you sent me to. Kill me, now. Please. I won't even try to stop you. I'd do it myself if I could.”
“Oh, God, Larry.” I pulled my hands away from his and covered my face, pressing in on my eyes, trying to prevent the tears. “I don't think I can. Not in cold blood. Not even if you beg me to.”
“You're too soft, Deirdre. But you could have Mitch do it. He'd do it if you asked him to. Hell, he'd be overjoyed to kill me, he already said so. The only thing that stopped him from killing me was you.”
I shook my head and gave a humorless laugh, dropping my hands back to my lap. “Yes, you're probably right. But I don't know, Larry. I just don't know.”
“Deirdre,” he grasped my wrists and brought my hands down to his face. “You have to help me. You just do. Here, feel how it is, see how it feels to be me.”
I tried to pull away from him, but he was strong. I made the mistake of raising my head and meeting his eyes. And I fell deep into his madness.

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