Romeo & Juliet & Vampires (15 page)

The vampire didn't falter much—just a short cough—but his concentration broke long enough for Romeo to bring his head back and crash it against Count Paris, striking him between his blazing red eyes.

Count Paris stumbled backward and gave Romeo a little space to move, but Romeo remained in the vampire's clutches. Paris twisted Romeo's right arm so hard, Romeo thought it was going to snap.

“I will do whatever it takes to kill you,” the vampire said.

“Excellent, then I will live happily with Juliet in heaven,” Romeo proclaimed, plowing his left fist into the count's temple.

Paris was stunned, but quickly regrouped and landed a swift, hard kick to Romeo's left leg, causing it to wobble beneath him. Then the count swiped at Romeo with a fierce, monstrous hand, which spliced open his opponent's cheek.

As streams of blood trickled down his shirt collar, Romeo thought this might be the end of him. Perhaps he should give up. Yes, he wanted to see Juliet's body before he died, but if the vampire killed him now, he would be spared the agony of holding his love in his arms for the very last time.

However, when Count Paris growled into his ear, “If Juliet let a wretched Montague defile her body, then
it's probably best that she's dead,” Romeo's will to fight was renewed.

With a ferocious yell, he shoved the count away from him with his left shoulder, whipping his wrist out of Paris's hand in one rapid movement. He thrust his dagger straight ahead, but the vampire dodged it with a nimble duck.

“Well, that certainly lit a fire under you,” Count Paris said, laughing.

Romeo tried to catch him again, but Paris leaped up in the air like a vicious panther. When the vampire came down, he jammed his elbow straight into Romeo's collarbone, sending unbelievable pain through Romeo's arm and causing him to drop his dagger.

Romeo quickly bent down and tried to recover it, but the vampire planted his foot on the dagger and kicked it at least twenty feet away, under the wrought-iron gate and far out of Romeo's reach.

Count Paris rolled his neck back and forth, readying himself for his final assault. “Prepare to take your last breath, Montague!”

Romeo's eyes flitted about, looking for anything he could turn into a weapon. There was little around him, but behind Count Paris was an enormous tree with some low-hanging branches. Drenched in sweat and aching all over, Romeo didn't have time to consider a plan thoroughly. So when Count Paris came flying at him, he charged the vampire as well.

For a few seconds, everything slowed down in Romeo's mind. The count's pursuit seemed to freeze in time and he was able to exhale long enough to regain his strength. Then the world began to spin again and the vampire was speeding toward him.

At the last possible moment, Romeo dipped down to the dirt floor and slid underneath the count's legs.

The vampire spun around in the air as Romeo ran for the tree. Count Paris gave chase while Romeo reached up and hastily broke off a branch with his bare hands. As his pulse raced, Romeo snapped it over his knee and jutted the sharp, jagged edge of the wood directly in front of him. The lightning-fast Count Paris didn't see it coming. He flew at Romeo at full speed, the branch puncturing his chest and piercing his heart.

Romeo watched in relief as some of the life drained from the vampire's scarlet red eyes. But much to his surprise, Count Paris swiftly clamped his hands on Romeo's throat and squeezed.

“I'm n-not through with y-you yet,” he stammered as he choked Romeo with his fingers.

Apparently Count Paris had not been exaggerating about his powers. He truly was one of the strongest vampires in Transylvania, if not the strongest of all. But as he gasped for air, Romeo realized that he had one last chance to defeat the count. He remembered that there were two vials in his trouser pockets—one
that was filled with poison and another that was filled with holy water.

As he dug feverishly through both his pockets, Romeo's throat began to close up. Count Paris was putting every ounce of his depleting energy into tightening his grip on his neck. The two smooth vials slipped out of his fingers once, but he finally grabbed hold of the one in his right pocket. Romeo did not know which vial he had in his hand; however, he would find out as soon as he splashed the contents onto the vampire's face.

Coughing and wheezing, Romeo uncapped the vial and immediately poured every drop of the liquid onto Count Paris's head and body. The vampire instantly let go of him, screaming in absolute agony; then he fell on the ground, writhing around in pain.

Romeo shuddered in disgust when he saw clouds of smoke rising off of the count's skin. His flesh was burning right off of his bones. In less than a minute, the vampire was reduced to a pile of bloody pulp, and Romeo was finally victorious.

Rubbing his aching neck, Romeo surveyed the ground. He looked everywhere for a glint of a turquoise stone, and after only a few minutes of searching, he found it in a patch of dry grass. He picked the ring up, blew off the dirt, and rubbed it on his cloak until it shined.

Then, the smell of death billowing up into the evening sky, Romeo Montague went in search of his wife.

A
fter the funeral, Juliet had been laid on a flat slab of marble in the center of her tomb, with her hands folded neatly on her chest. She had been dressed in the gorgeous silk dupioni gown her nurse had laid out for her the night before her unconscious body had been found. The clergyman had closed her eyes shut before he began the proceedings, so all she could do now was hear.

And Juliet had heard plenty during her eulogy. More weeping from her inconsolable mother and nurse. Her father had cursed her soul more than once. But what was still ringing in Juliet's ears was the whispering from the other vampires who had come to her funeral to pay their respects.

“You have to admire the girl for sticking to her principles,” one gentleman had said.

“I would have admired her more if she had married Count Paris,” a woman had replied. “I doubt he will help us with Prince Radu now.”

Juliet knew that the woman had spoken the truth. The count had been so upset by his future bride's suicide that he'd left before the funeral had concluded. But as much as it hurt to accept that her actions carried such great consequences for others, if Juliet was given the chance to repeat the last twenty-four hours, she would not change a thing. What she had done was done in the name of true love—none of the Capulets, not even her repentant mother, would ever understand.

Just then, the sound of footsteps created a large booming echo inside the crypt. Juliet knew that it was Romeo, coming to fetch her, just as Friar Laurence had promised. Oh, how she wished that she could move any part of her body. She would have given anything and everything to wake up from this trance and run to her husband. She couldn't bear being in this strange state much longer.

As the footsteps came closer, Juliet imagined what her life with Romeo would be like once the friar performed the purification process. She would be her true self again—a young, vibrant, happy woman, not a vampire. She would bear children with him and grow old with him. They would build a cottage with a stone chimney and have a flower garden, somewhere in the
hills, far away from Transylvania. They would read to each other by the fireplace, and hold each other in bed as they drifted off to sleep. To Juliet, there was nothing more perfect and beautiful than this daydream, and as soon as the friar's potion wore off, it would become reality.

Any second now.

The sound of footsteps stopped just outside the tomb's entrance, and there was a long-drawn-out pause. Juliet's heart was pounding with anticipation. But then she was startled by a deep, distraught cry—one that she had hoped to hear emerge from her father's mouth, but never materialized, not even at the funeral.

Juliet's excitement turned to fright as the sobbing became louder. This could not be her Romeo. He would have been bouncing off the tomb's walls with happiness, knowing that they were only hours away from being free and together forever. Perhaps it was her father, finally coming to his senses and mourning his only child. However, once the crying subsided, the voice she had waited all night and day to hear whispered softly and tenderly, right into her ear.

“Juliet, my love. What have you done?”

It was Romeo, without a shred of doubt.

“Why would you not wait for me?”

Juliet's mind was flooded with an ocean of confused thoughts. All she had done was try to save herself,
and she was waiting for him—just like the friar had instructed. Juliet tried to move her lips and respond to Romeo, but she was still paralyzed, from the tips of her toes to the crown of her head.

“Oh, God, I cannot take this any longer. My wife, my friend, my everything is dead,” Romeo muttered.

Juliet let out a bloodcurdling scream, and yet there was nothing but silence. How could Romeo think she was actually dead? Did he not know of Friar Laurence's plan? Had there been some kind of misunderstanding? Juliet's dream was quickly turning into a nightmare from which she was desperate to awake.

The potion should be wearing off soon. She prayed over and over again that Romeo would stay here in the tomb until it did.

“Juliet, I made a vow to love you in all ways and for all seasons,” Romeo professed, his voice drained of its natural light and luster. “Since you are no longer of this place and time, I will join you in the next realm.”

These words of misery and hopelessness gave Juliet a new wave of panic. Inside, she was wailing and begging God to spare her husband. If she could open her eyes and mouth, everything would be fine. Then she felt it—a slight tingling sensation at the bottoms of her bare feet that was gradually traveling up her calves toward her knees.

“This world would never accept us. Our families would rather see us dead than married,” Romeo said
bitterly. “But in heaven, we will be what we should have been, and more. So now I sip this poisonous brew, and lie down and die right beside you.”

The tingling sensation had moved through the upper half of her body, almost reaching her neck and head. Juliet willed every limb and sense of hers to come back to life. She had to get to Romeo before he reached the point of no return.

Juliet's hands were the first parts of her body to become mobile, then her arms. She reached down toward her belly and felt Romeo's head, lying there, still. She ran her fingers through his hair, hoping this would rouse him, but it did not. Her legs were given back their circulation, and soon after that, she could sit up somewhat.

Although every part of her ached all over, Juliet's heart hurt worst of all, especially when her eyes fluttered open and she saw Romeo slumped over her. There was a large cut on his face and an empty vial lying on the floor near his boots. Juliet had not regained her speech yet, so she shook Romeo as hard as she could. There was no response.

Juliet put her ear next to Romeo's lips—she could feel no air passing through them. Then she put her hand on top of his chest, which was no longer rising and falling. Once she realized just how bleak Romeo's fate was, her mouth hung open and out came the most calamitous and pitiful shriek. Tears poured out of
her red eyes and down her white cheeks as her shoulders shook and head hung low. Finally, her voice had returned.

“Wake up, darling! Wake up, I am here,” Juliet whimpered as she kissed Romeo on the back of his neck. “It is time to see the friar. He's going to make me human again.”

However, with each moment that ebbed away without any movement from Romeo, Juliet lost hope that he would ever awaken or that she would return to Friar Laurence. For why would she want to live—as a human or vampire—in a place where her dearest, most precious love would never be with her?

“This is pure torture,” Juliet moaned as she gently rolled Romeo off of her and placed him on the ground. “It hurts to talk or see or even breathe.”

After running her hand down the side of his bloodstained cheek and the center of his chest, she frantically reached for the vial from which Romeo had taken his fatal sips.

“I could wait hours to starve, but I am not that strong,” Juliet said to herself.

She dipped her head back and opened her mouth, tapping the vial above it with her fingers so that she could swallow a few drops. Unfortunately, the container was bone dry.

“God, whatever sin I am being punished for, please,
take me now and end my suffering!” Juliet shouted through another surge of tears.

There was no sign sent down from above, so Juliet leaned over her husband's body, laying her head down near his shoulder. She did not hear it at first, for the sound of her crying was reverberating throughout the cold tomb. But when she finally settled down, she was able to hear a faint rhythm coming from her beloved's heart.

This was an absolute miracle, but Juliet had no time to rejoice. There was only one way that she could save him, and that was to turn him into a bloodthirsty vampire. When she thought about doing this without Romeo's consent, she felt a throbbing ache in the center of her chest. But when she considered the alternative, the ache penetrated every part of her.

So Juliet closed her eyes and summoned a power that had been flowing through her body for days, a power that she had hoped she would never have to use. Juliet craned her neck back, feeling a hot spring of energy explode inside of her. With all of her strength, she pulled Romeo toward her, his head hanging back.

She inhaled deeply and opened her mouth. Two of her top and bottom teeth transformed into fangs. She brushed a lock of Romeo's hair away from his neck with her long fingernails and stared at a purple vein winding down from behind his ear toward his collarbone.
Then she leaned over, skimmed her lips against his skin, and dug her pointed teeth into his neck.

With each drop of Montague blood that she swallowed, Juliet could feel a larger, more significant transformation taking place inside of her. While she could sense that parts of her body were shutting down—including her heart—other parts, like her bones and muscles, were swelling with a type of kinetic energy that was completely indescribable. It made her feel like she could climb to the top of the highest peak in the Carpathian Mountains or swim across the ocean in a matter of minutes. She prayed that the same thing would happen to Romeo after all this was over.

Juliet knew that she had to pull back at some point, but when? No one had ever told her how to turn someone, so she would have to go with her instinct, although right now her instinct was pressuring her to ingest every bit of Romeo's blood. She watched her husband's complexion and how its color was fading away. She could also feel that his skin was icy cold when she touched it with her fingers. Using every ounce of restraint she could muster, she slowly let go of his neck.

“Romeo. Romeo,” she murmured, gently kissing the two pink marks that her teeth had left on his skin. “Please come back to me.”

Juliet stared at his face, willing his eyes to open or his lips to move. She repeatedly said his name, much like a magical incantation, and held him tight against
her chest. But Romeo did not come back, not even for one brief, fleeting moment. There was no mistaking what had just transpired—all of Juliet's efforts had failed and Romeo was dead. She let out one last agonized cry.

The sound of rain pattering against the roof of the crypt slowly eased Juliet into a serene, almost catatonic state. Her mind was void of all thoughts, until one came into stark focus. She tenderly laid Romeo down on the floor of the tomb. She dug into his boot and took hold of his parrying dagger, then ascended and staggered toward a wooden sculpture of Vlad the Impaler, holding up the severed head of a Montague by the hair.

“This is thy sheath,” she said plainly.

Juliet steadied her trembling hands and stabbed the dagger directly into Vladimir's chest, chipping away at the wood and sending a few jagged shards fluttering to the ground. Juliet got down on her knees and sifted through the wood, looking for the largest, longest, sturdiest piece she could find. Once she found one that was of the desired size, she ran the serrated edge across the palm of her hand to see if it would be sharp enough to penetrate both her ribs and her heart. It was so sharp that it scratched her skin deep enough to draw blood.

Juliet winced a little, but forged ahead, her soul in far worse anguish than any kind of physical pain a person could ever endure. She crawled over to Romeo's body and sat next to him, kissing his forehead as
though they were just beginning an ordinary night's sleep. Then she pointed the tip of the shard at her heart, closed her eyes for the last time, and said, “Let me die.”

But before she could plunge the self-made wooden stake into her chest, a quaking hand grabbed one of her wrists. The instant she felt it, Juliet let go of the shard, one finger at a time, until the object fell out of her grasp. When she opened her eyes, they were met by Romeo's, which were loving and alive and shining like red crystal.

Juliet gasped—elated that Romeo had not died—but then she realized that for him to fully transform, he had to drink some of her blood. She was so relieved to have remembered this step—she would certainly have lost Romeo forever otherwise. Juliet held her bloody palm to his mouth and said, “Drink, my love, please.”

Romeo nodded and sipped Juliet's blood out of her cupped hand. Within moments, the wounds on his face slowly began to vanish and his skin turned the palest shade of white.

Realizing that she had brought him back from the brink of death, Juliet laughed in relief and crumbled on top of him so her cheek pressed against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her and caressed her back with his still-quivering hands.

“I thought you had left me,” he whispered.

“It is a long story, but I was under the spell of a powerful potion,” Juliet responded, her voice cracking with joy and agony in every word she spoke. “Friar Laurence was supposed to have sent a messenger to you.”

Romeo stroked Juliet's hair delicately, as though it were spun from gold. “Moldova has been quarantined. Smallpox outbreak. The messenger must not have made it past the border.”

Juliet placed her hand on her chest and realized that her heart was no longer beating—and it never would again. With a quarantine in place, the friar would never be able to reach the shaman in Moldova. The window of time they had to perform the purification process would close before they could devise another plan—Tybalt's corpse would soon be unusable and who knew when another dead vampire would turn up? If Lord Capulet was successful in getting Prince Radu to revoke the peace treaty, then that could be never.

She and Romeo would remain vampires forever. But as she gazed upon her loving husband, Juliet thought perhaps that might not be the worst thing in the world.

“I might not have made it either, if it had not been for you,” Romeo said, touching Juliet's chin. “I owe you my thanks.”

“You do not owe me that,” Juliet said, taking his hand in hers. “Because of me, we are now both sentenced to a life of everlasting depravity.”