The Bonded (7 page)

I loosen my grip, shake out my hands to hemorrhage a little tension, and take a couple of steps back to make certain I have enough speed to make the jump. I roll my neck and hear an overdue crack, bounce my knees in preparation, and as I begin lift off, my memory balks at the misuse. I muster all my concentration, persuading the wind to assist me, and I’m rewarded as I jump with uncontained strength while the wind wraps around me, nudging in appreciation of the unexpected attention. My ears pop from the shift in air pressure while rising with hands outstretched as if I am worshipping the wind god above. The exhilaration overwhelms me and is thanked with a grin of pure satisfaction.

That’s how I land, with shit-eating grin and hair tangled from a possessed blow dryer. I’d use ponytails, but I just can’t bear to relive the ‘80s. I land, expecting adulation, but find Percy in serious thought, piecing together a puzzle.

She asks, “How did you do that?”

Utilizing my
real
gift… annoyance, I answer a question with a question. “Are you saying that you can’t?”

“I’ve never seen one of us do anything like that. After what I witnessed earlier with your little moon jump, I was hoping to bring out your competitive nature and test your control. I must admit, you’re becoming very interesting.” Ouch, becoming?

Here we stand. She’s wearing the ageless black on black with a long coat to hide the slender katana resting vertically down her supple back. She is slightly pale, not like movie vampires, but from someone who has had long winters and works the night shift. I’m sure we look like salt and pepper as I chose to wear the white. Usually, I don’t give a damn about fashion, but what can I say? I like the white. White pants, white shirt, and long white coat to match. Hell, I even have white hair and am walking on white snow. OKAY, maybe it is a bit much, but I sure do feel cool. She hears my thoughts and shakes her head with disapproval. I kick the snow like an embarrassed child with my hands in my pockets.

We leap from house to house in what I suspect is an exercise of my new abilities. To be honest, I’m thankful as my speed and strength take some evaluation and retraining. Time passes, but I’m not aware of it as I flex, retract, and bend in discovery of my new and improved condition. I land with quiet precision after a lengthy jump from one townhouse section to another and find her kneeling on one knee near the roof’s edge when she beckons me. “We’ve found them.”

I look over the edge and discover four young men kicking trashcans and talking trash as well. Baggy pants, sideways baseball caps, and the ole’ chip-on-the-shoulder attitude. One of them gets distracted by a local bum shivering under a ragged wool blanket and begins to taunt him without mercy. I let slip a sigh of relief and she immediately inquires, “What?”

“I was hoping you wouldn’t want to feed on the families that live in these townhomes. I don’t think I can kill children.”

She studies me for a second and says, “We are not monsters devoid of emotion and humans are not animals to be abused. What would you think of a human who killed puppies or fawns when there were plenty of stags roaming the forests? I sense a certain pragmatism in you, but I also know that it was developed by necessity.” She touches my hair, unconsciously lifting it to her nose, and smells the scent of it. My mind takes a vacation, so she caresses my lips with her index finger. “Inside, you are tender.” Her face hardens. “But remember, and this is of paramount importance. We are all not so willing to spare the defenseless. Some of the older ones, and especially those who were born recently, do not share your sentiment. They see humans as cattle, to be bred, fed, and butchered for their palate enjoyment.”

She doesn’t let me sever the gaze and I understand. Her message has been unbroken:
trust is earned, not given.

Chapter 5

“Adriel, this can be traumatic the first time. You’ve been raised by humans and it could be rather simple to confuse feeding with murder. Now is the time to draw upon your pragmatism and realize you are no more human than they are chimpanzees. We are surely related, having emotions, self-awareness, and sympathy. We even appear similar, unless one is attentive to details.” She smiles with teeth hardened and long. “Fortunately, as a young one, you will not need to feed often; perhaps weekly will suffice until you begin to mature.”

I process that statement and inquire, “I thought it would have been the opposite. As we age, we require less food.”

“While that is true of humans, it is not with us. Recall our conversation concerning the metabolism increasing with age. The more we burn calories, the more nutrients we need. I’ve seen some of the older ones feed daily, and Cassius, he requires even more. If we do not feed, our metabolism begins to burn earlier and our lives are shortened. You can imagine how important that is to an older vamp on the verge of death.” She waits a couple of seconds and allows her words to settle in, then continues. “It is a little premature for a young one, but you have tasted blood and the desire will be primal. Your mind will not permit you to have peace until you’ve completed the cycle. If you catch a scent of it, see the blood moving through thickened veins, hear the deep bass of a frightened heart, or any other sensual experience with blood, matters can become much more urgent. Choose your prey; you may not even need to kill him to satiate your appetite.”

With those words come visuals of the warm metallic liquid slipping in and out of my teeth and the rolled-back eyes of my prey. My heart starts a warm up, preparing for the race, and my ears tune to its melodic beat. I look at Percy as she is still talking and find her lip-syncing without background music. She stares intensely, narrowing her eyes into mine and she realizes I’m somewhere else.

It’s in that feral moment that I look at those four wannabes huddled in a circle, discussing their midnight plans to hurt the destitute or perhaps to rob the corner girl. I hear amped up voices, each with distinction and their own specific vibration pressing against my ears. I smell the sweetness of alcohol and for a moment thank Dionysus for the favor. Without thought, my tongue rolls over my bottom lip in anticipation and retreats with no reward. In livid response my upper lip snarls with incensed rage and I feel the guttural growl of blood lust rise from within. Percy reaches for my arm, but it’s too late. I drop three stories to the ground with no problem. I will myself to leap, landing with an angry thud in the center of their circle for dramatic effect. My arrival shocks them as they jump back a foot or two in surprise. But they’re tough and recover quickly with, “Who the fuck are you, boy?”

I strain to hear their words because my heart is pounding wildly. My target’s left carotid artery is throbbing in his neck, begging me to slice it open and enjoy the spoils of battle. So I oblige by grabbing his face with my left hand and squeezing so tight I think his eyes will pop out. I then shift my hand counterclockwise to expose that pulsating artery, bear hug him with my remaining arm, and dig in. I feel his friends hitting and kicking me with idle threats.

When in Mogadishu, Africa, the rain was scarce and would take its time to build in immensity. When the storms finally arrived, it was announced with thunderous booms and a hard rain that pelted the naked skin. It didn’t really hurt, but it wouldn’t go totally unnoticed either. That’s what I feel with their muted beatings. I swear I hear the outlying rumble of thunder rolling toward me. The thunder is silenced by my slurping and I feel the heat of blood explode down my throat, trickling into a stomach that churns in thankfulness. I press harder and can’t contain my need until his flailing arms become limp. The blood stops gushing and in blazing agony I raise my head and roar in dissatisfaction. With blood dripping off my chin, red-streaked hair, and the fierceness of a madman in my eyes, I see the other three are teary eyed and paralyzed from fear as they get a good look at me.

Percy is still on the rooftop, watching in bewilderment, when I target the man who antagonized the homeless person. He realizes his predicament and sheds all remnants of street cred as he begs the others to help him. His buddy with the black Ravens cap reaches in the back of his jeans and pulls out a 9mm. Apparently, he has watched too many gangster movies and aims the gun sideways, then begins the dialogue about getting the fuck away or he’ll put a cap in my ass, etcetera, etcetera. I take a step forward, daring him. He accepts, and with an incredibly loud boom to my hypersensitive ears, he fires the bullet, which impacts perfectly centered on my chest. I guess sideways does work. The pressure is sharp and intense, and I hear a bone crack in capitulation, but the bullet doesn’t penetrate my skin. With preternatural speed, I catch the bullet as it falls and deliberately raise my closed hand toward the shooter. In stunned calmness, he watches me leisurely reveal the hot bullet smoking in my unfurled hand. As if that wasn’t enough to frighten him, my chest moves, snapping and cracking in a slow and frustrating journey to heal itself. The pain is a distant scream.

Playtime is now officially over. I snag his 9mm with such swift stealth that he doesn’t realize it is gone until I throw it against the brick wall. The velocity plus impact bends the snubbed-nose barrel, rendering it useless. The magazine pops out and bullets ping and pang as they bounce on the ground. It is in this moment he knows—they all do. My focus is on him; his blood is singing a personal melody to me about seduction and pleasure. It is hypnotic as the others fade into nothing. All that remains, all that matters, is that I give into his blood’s temptation. I pounce on him before I can think. My teeth sink deep, smacking the unguarded flow of blood. It is sloppy and barbaric, but I couldn’t stop anymore than one could stop… Percy. I pull away and let his lifeless body drop on the pinkish snow, wincing as his head thumps against the concrete.

I frantically gauge the situation and seem to have my faculties back in working order. I hear distant screaming from both remaining guys as they near the corner of the alleyway. Their raised voices bounce off walls and magnify due to the eerie silence. Porch lights turn on like dominos falling in sequence, signaling the resurrection of the slumbering neighborhood. I decide to prioritize and narrow my response down to:
kill them before all hell breaks loose
. I gather my strength and I’m grateful for the control and concentration I command. Nutrients have benefits! I break into a run and arrive with a thought to find Percy with her hand around one of the asshole’s throats. She slings him twenty-five feet in the air and he limply hits the ground, sliding another ten, unconscious from the fall with what I’m sure is mild head trauma. With no hesitation she advances on the other thug and her left hand cups the back of his head and she slams his face into the nearest brick wall. The explosion of dust and bone creates a small puff of smoke. I cringe at the brutality. She lets go and his face peels away, leaving fragments of teeth and remnants of flesh embedded in the mortar. Blood is everywhere and I can’t even recognize him… What am I becoming? I find her gaze and see the soft side of remorse and the solidity of committed resolve.

She peers at me and says, “I’ll handle the other one. Then we must leave.” I didn’t have time to register what was said before she is on him, straddling his back while she takes no pleasure in the kill. I have already made my way around the corner when anxious neighbors begin shouting for others to call 9-1-1. But I hold in my panic, knowing that in the city, people don’t trust the police. They really are the last resort. I turn the corner, walking with cautious control to avoid attention and silently laugh at the absurdity of it all—white hair, wearing a blood-stained white suit, and taking a stroll through Baltimore’s crime-ridden neighborhoods after midnight…

Percy sneaks up from behind, unnoticed. Man, she’s good. She urgently states, “Now’s not the time to contemplate or discuss what happened. I’ve eliminated any evidence that would trigger questions concerning what we are, but there are still dead bodies lying around. We need to leave before the community starts a witch hunt.” And with that, we pick up the pace and return to the rooftops for a hurried trek back to the Inner Harbor.

The snow has grown thicker with the night, falling in chunks rather than the cute snowflakes that whimsically linger in the air. I shake my hair in protest, prying loose a blanket of ice. No humans, no animals, nothing but small ripples lapping against the frozen sections of the harbor sound out. Its ghostly serenity is in direct opposition with my thoughts. Now that the hunger has been sated and the moments of unquenchable rage have been siphoned off, my heart and mind engage in battle. Those men may have been killers, at the very least thugs, but what I did to them is unimaginable. I bow my head in shame as I continue to meander by the Baltimore Aquarium.

Percy senses my anguish and gently speaks. “Adriel, what you feel is natural to our kind. Do you want to talk about it?” She is prepared to listen. I know that. A man would offer suggestions and utilize logic to fix whatever situation occurs, but women have a unique ability to simply listen and allow life to care for itself without direct intervention. I guess I should be thankful for having such a hot psychologist at my beck and call.

“I understood your words before the hunger overwhelmed me. I had planned on mercy tempered with moderation. Perhaps even scaring off the other three and permitting my prey to survive, but I couldn’t help it! The temptation is to claim that the ‘real me’ was trapped inside, screaming in defiance at the horror show, but the reality is that the monster and I were in it together. I did maintain
some
control, as I’ve had a lifetime of pushing away my demon, but it just wasn’t enough. I’m not looking for sympathy. I’ll deal with it. It’s just… frightening.” She ponders my monologue and says nothing else, so that I can work this out on my own.

* * *

It’s now 4:00 a.m. On the drive back to our pristine little subdivision of vampires, the quiet has become strangely awkward. I yawn and speak, but it translates into some new language similar to a Wookie’s. Eyes half shut, I apologize and relent from my catatonic state. “Should I be this tired?”