The Blood That Bonds (8 page)

Two gasped, panted, black
spots appearing before her eyes. She was dimly aware that she was
weeping, and the warmth below her waist had become a roaring blaze.
Closing her eyes, she pictured Theroen and thought,
Let it be him, and not this monster.

The vampire leaned his head down, settled
the points of his teeth against her neck, waited. Just as before,
the moment stretched out into eternity. The world became surreal,
painted in shades of grey and yet more vibrant than anything Two
had ever witnessed. She felt a tear grow on a single eyelash,
fatten, drop. It hit her face, warmth of her body fading quickly as
it cooled, leaving a track down her cheek. Her heart throbbed. The
vampire tore through the flesh of her neck in an instant, seeking
the blood forced through her veins by that thudding organ.

Pain again, like glass, exquisite, blinding,
maddening, and a spike of sheer ecstasy running through her like
before, like with Theroen, this caused only be Abraham’s touch,
Abraham’s teeth. Such power. Two leaned her head back, wailing in
terror, in pleasure, in fear. It was death, it was birth, it was
the coalescence of the entire universe in a single moment.

And then it was gone. The vampire pulled
back, Two fell to the floor, gasping, weeping. Her eyes fluttered
open and shut, trying to make sense of the myriad images before
her. Theroen, looking away, unable to watch what was transpiring
before him. Abraham, eyes closed, head tilted back, enjoying her
blood like a man tasting fine wine. The flickering candle on the
table cast light on the door, and now it seemed the flame itself
was a door as well, light from inside spilling out, like a hole in
the fabric of reality. Two wept at its beauty.

“
It makes me lightheaded,”
Abraham said. “The blood is tainted indeed, and yet so strong. So
delightful, ah, she will be a good daughter for you. Daughter,
sister, lover … whatever you choose to make of her. It will be many
years before she finds the strength to leave you.”

“
It … may be many years
before she … finds the strength to stand up.” Two heard herself as
if from down a long hall, and was aghast at her own blasphemy. To
speak, and so impertinently, in front of this creature who had
given her such pain, such pleasure. Surely now he would strike her
down.

But Abraham only roared his horrible,
mocking laughter, clapping his hands together. Theroen snarled
something, moved towards her, and Two understood in that instant
the hatred burning between master and pupil, father and son. Was it
like this for all of them? Would it be like this for her? No, Two
realized. Not for her and Theroen. There was no hatred there.

“
Or perhaps I am wrong!”
Abraham cackled. “Perhaps I am very wrong indeed!”

And then Theroen had her in his arms, and
she was resting her head against his chest, neck throbbing, wanting
only to sleep. She tried to speak, tried to tell him that she did
not feel defiled, that even as pleasure and pain had torn through
her body, she had thought of Theroen, and it had been clean. She
could not say so much, her eyelids so heavy, sleep forcing itself
upon her with clumsy, brutal hands.

She forced herself awake, took her hand,
held it to her neck. Fingers bloody, Theroen striding rapidly down
the hall, not running, only leaving, his fear lost in his anger.
The oak doors shut behind them and Two wondered if Abraham had
moved from his desk or closed them with only a thought. She pressed
her bloody fingers to Theroen’s lips, and he stopped, looked down
at her in surprise.

“
Not like that.” Two’s
voice was a whisper, and she was crying again. “Not like he
says.”

An expression of powerful emotion passed
over Theroen’s usually unreadable face. He made a sound, smiled at
her, kissed her fingers. Bloody white lips, bloody white teeth.

Two slept.

* * *

The bed held softness unlike anything she
had ever experienced. Or perhaps it was her skin, newly remade,
that made it feel that way. Silk sheets and pillow covers, heavy
down blankets enveloping her, warming her, giving her a sense of
comfort she had never before experienced.

Waking was as it had been before,
instantaneous, frightening almost in the sudden intensity of
consciousness. One moment, blackness; the next, total lucidity. Two
woke with Theroen’s name on her lips, a soft whisper, and she
smiled against the silk.

Had there been dreams? Visions of her life
as an immortal? Had she dreamt of who she might be, what she might
do? Two’s heart raced as her mind pondered these things. There was
time, now. Time enough to see all of the art that ever she could
desire. Who cared if she was no longer a part of the web of
humanity that produced it? Could one not stand outside a house and
still admire the decor within? Was it not possible to appreciate
certain strains of music that the ear could not, in truth, even
process into a coherent whole?

I’m falling in love with
him,
she thought,
and in love with what he is.

Though she sensed the tragedy in this
thought, as if some instinctive part of her warned against so
seemingly easy an answer, she could not deny the truth of it.
Abraham be damned; Theroen was not like him, never would be. She
was sure of this. She’d seen Theroen’s face as she pressed her
blood to his mouth. Not greed or hate, not even hunger, but only
overwhelming desire.

Love? Or at least the beginnings of it, as
she was now feeling herself? Two thought so, yes, and that was
enough.

The click of a latch. Two felt no fear. Not
Abraham, then. Theroen, of course. She turned, sitting up before he
could speak. She didn’t want him to speak. Not now. Catching him in
her bright green eyes, now luminescent from the vampire blood in
her veins, trying to hold him there.

An interminable moment, but
sweet, as they looked into each other’s eyes. Theroen’s face held
that same gentle smile with which he seemed always to look upon
her.
You are all I have
wanted
, his eyes told her,
since the first time I beheld you.
Two felt this echo in her own soul, and she broke
out into a grin.

She let the sheets pool in her lap. Bare
skin, bare breasts, not embarrassed. She laughed as his eyes
flicked down momentarily, and back again to her face. It did not
anger her, this look. It brought her only the joy that comes with
being desired.

“
Lovely,” he said through
his smile, and she knew he meant not only her breasts, but
everything else. Filled with warmth, she closed her eyes, lay back,
enjoyed the feeling of silk on skin.

Theroen sat next to her in a large wooden
chair with a padded cloth back, as relaxed as ever she had seen
him, and yet so still. So composed. She wondered aloud if it was
the effect of immortality.

He smiled, shook his head. “No.”

“
Just you?”

“
Just me.”

She looked up at him from the bed, let her
eyes tell him that if the chair was uncomfortable, other
arrangements could be made. Theroen laughed out loud.

“
Oh, if only I could, Two.
But I haven’t the time that I’d like to spend.”

Two frowned in disappointment, but accepted
this without comment. They had forever, perhaps.

“
Perhaps?”

“
Are you reading my mind?”
She questioned, a mischievous grin surfacing, pretending to be
offended. “Is that another crazy thing you can do?”

Theroen smiled. “Your mind is a fascinating
place. I find it hard to draw away.”

“
Where are you going? Why
can’t you stay with me?” She had meant it as another playful
question; the spurned, jealous lover. Another game, nothing more,
but she saw a momentary flick of something on Theroen’s face.
Frustration? Anger?

He sighed, examined his fingernails.
“Abraham requires my services. I would must do ask he asks,
particularly now.”

“
Why?”

Theroen looked up at her, the expression of
one in love stamped clearly on his face, eyes locked again with
hers.

“
He didn’t kill
you.”

“
Did you think he
would?”

“
I did not
know.”

Theroen looked away from her, ran a hand
through his hair. It seemed that this admission, more than any
other, hurt him. Two tried to understand the reason for his pain.
She reached out, touched his hand, drew it between her breasts,
held it against her heart.

“
I did not know. Two. I
have not feared anything, at all, in centuries. Not even Abraham.
Nothing alive, nothing undead. Not until we approached his chamber.
And to see you in his arms? Under his spell? Terror.
Terror.”

“
He couldn’t hurt me, in
the end, you know. That’s what he wanted, and I didn’t give it to
him. I wasn’t thinking of
him
at all.”

“
No?”

“
No.” She sat up, leaned
forward, kissed his lips. “I was thinking about someone
else.”

Theroen touched her cheek, touched her hair,
held her head in his hands, kissed the skin of her forehead.

“
That comforts me,” he said
at last, “and you make me regret heeding Abraham’s summons this
night. There is much else I would rather be doing.”

Two smiled at this. It echoed her own
thoughts.

“
Go, then. Do what he wants
and come back soon.”

“
So quick to dismiss me?”
It was Theroen’s turn, mock hurt in his voice, a grin on his
lips.

“
I’m afraid if I don’t, I’m
going to jump you whether you like it or not.”

Theroen laughed, deep and rich, and stood up
to go. But Two called him back. One last kiss, long and deep this
time, and during, Two bit deep into her own lip, felt the blood
seep from the wound, shared it with him. The taste of it was like
fire, like nectar, like life and death and dreams.

And oh, how those mental ties to humanity
seemed like candles in a strong wind, blinking out of existence,
one after the other.

* * *

Pain lanced through Two’s midsection,
stomach knotting, muscles cramping. She sat up, doubled over,
gasped. In the depths of her body, a need that had nothing to do
with blood, nothing to do with her new nature, reawakened.

Heroin, the pain cried out to her, and Two
felt tears standing out against her eyes, thought these themselves
felt dry and burned. No. This was over. This was her past. She had
left this behind.

Another spasm. Another cramp. Two cried out,
arms wrapped around her stomach, Abraham’s words coming back to
her.

“
She is
unclean.
”

Theroen’s protest, that the change, her
rebirth into immortality, would cleanse this need from her.
Abraham’s deceptive chuckle.

Suppose it didn’t? Suppose now she would be
trapped in this addiction for the duration of her immortal life?
Two thought that if this were the case, such a life would end more
quickly than expected.

And so it went. Two could not remember when
Theroen had left her, could not remember how long it had been, had
no conception of time. She cursed herself for not remembering to
ask for his blood. She cursed Darren for ever giving her the drug.
She cursed God for putting her on this earth. Pain and thirst
ravaged her. At times it seemed she burned, at others chills
wracked her body like physical blows. She did not call for Theroen,
though she wanted to. She was afraid only the thing she had met
last night would answer.

Just as it seemed she could take it no
longer, that she would leap from her bed, dress, return to the
city, return to Darren, return to it all in exchange for the
syringe which would numb this pain, she felt a presence in the room
with her. Her fear gave her a momentary respite from the pain, but
this was not the abject terror that she had experienced in
Abraham’s presence, nor the quiet awe that Theroen inspired. It was
something in between.

“
Who?” She asked the
darkness at the end of the room.

“
Melissa,” said a voice
from the shadows. Two could make out a pair of gleaming eyes
observing her. She tried to think of an adequate greeting. Words
failed her.
Hi, I’m Two. I need some
heroin.
It was almost enough to make her
laugh out loud.

Melissa came forward into the light. She was
a study in contrast. Her hair was jet black, long and straight. Her
brown eyes had not been lightened by vampirism, only intensified
into deep black pools. Her skin was white porcelain, her lips a
deep, sensual red. She was beautiful, taller than Two and well
built, wearing a pair of black jeans and a cream-colored blouse.
She appeared concerned.

“
Don’t take this the wrong
way, but you look terrible,” she said, sitting in the same chair
that Theroen had previously occupied.

“
I’m not … doing too good,”
Two admitted.

“
Sick?”

“
Withdrawal.” Two felt a
slight flush of shame at this admission, but what did it matter
now?

“
Withdra—Oh!” Melissa’s
eyes grew large as she realized what Two meant. She pushed her hair
back behind her shoulders unconsciously, bending over Two, seeming
equally curious and worried.

“
Theroen?” Two asked,
trying not to let her voice sound as weak as she felt.

“
I don’t know. I’m sorry. I
wish I did. I’d get him.”