The Bonded (8 page)

She replies as if only seconds have passed since our last conversation. “Of course. We are nocturnal creatures and the sun will break soon.”

I think on that for a moment. “Will we catch fire or be burned alive if we are touched by the sunlight?”

She air laughs through her nose. “Those are myths based on some shred of truth. When we met, you wore sunglasses and I suspect it was for a couple of reasons. One, you were wearing them at night so I assume you were weary of confrontations or attention about the colorless green of your eyes?” I give a nod of approval at her perception and, damn it, I miss my MJs. She continues, “Two, you most likely had an aversion to direct sunlight.”

She paused, waiting for a reply. “I couldn’t even drive without shades because the moment sunlight entered my Jeep my eyes watered so much that I had to pull off the road. It was like that my entire life, but progressively worsened as I aged.”

“That’s interesting; none of our kind experiences that sensitivity until after the change. The sun will not directly cause our death, but we tire immensely during the day with near-drugged reactions. Our skin burns quickly, and our eyes are so sensitive that we can’t see without proper protection. The creation of sunglasses has helped us, but there is nothing we can do to avoid the coma-like slumber that we require on a daily basis. This immune system and metabolism have a cost, and we pay through sleep. We are like humans in this way as well; all memories are temporary until REM when they are stored long-term in our brain’s hard drive. The difference is that our memories are more accessible and less is forgotten, and that demands the deepest of rest. It’s like comparing our Blu-Ray mind with their reel-to-reel home movie brains.”

I turn and touch my forehead against the window, breathing raggedly. “I can’t forget tonight?”

“Can we talk about your appetite? Did you not feel satisfaction during your first drink?”

I recall our conversation concerning the younger ones and their little need for sustenance. I was curious as well and was hoping she would help me narrow this down a bit. “It just wasn’t enough. I’ve always been a fan of side salads, but even with ranch dressing, it was never enough to stop my stomach from rumbling. It was similar to that, and please forgive the light heartiness.”

“No need for forgiveness, Adriel. You are young, but at the very least, it seems you rival Cassius in your nutrition requirements. You also run at a higher temperature than the rest of us, which could explain your hunger, in part. I can feel that you aren’t psychologically prepared for this on a nightly basis, but for now, you will need to harden your emotions because you
will
feed again… and soon.”

I breathe in deeply through my nose and exhale, allowing some of that tension to release, and wince. The broken rib is healed, but tender. With lips tightly pressed, I reply, “I’m ready for bed.” And I don’t mean it in the good way; I am physically and emotionally spent.

So we spend the next twenty minutes individually mulling over the evening until the forest and dirt road present themselves. The tires crunch and launch small pebbles that ping against the car as we wander through the woods. When deer season would come around in the south of Alabama, I would climb the tree stand at 4 a.m. to assure I was settled and that my scent trailed off before the deer crossed my path. In those solitary hours, the cold was bitter friends with the dark and kept the forest quiet with its oppressive weight. No scurrying rodents, no scavenging animals, only the occasional owl hooting for attention. There was an understanding or perhaps a secret pact that all animals would seek refuge in the night. Every so many years, I would hear the throaty growl of a cougar and I knew that pact was for survival. But when the sun broke the surface of the earth, its light spread like a luminosity bomb had been triggered. Every creature was born again, whistling or chirping or rustling with life.

I peer into the forest and know there will never be another dark night for me, no bitter cold, no predators to flee, just the stillness… and occasional cougar.

Chapter 6

That evening I sleep as I have never slept before. There is no twitching or peculiar sounds to wake me from a light sleep. The blackness is complete with no hazy shades of grey to filter, just a deep and death-like slumber. I am grateful for the privacy and the pliant comfort of a king-sized bed with high-count cotton sheets as opposed to the damp and rigid coffin I was half-expecting. I languish in bed for several moments and evaluate my new,
temporary
room. I certainly have no plans to make this permanent, as I have never been one to settle or grow roots.

There are no paintings on the walls, just pictures of semi-interesting art bought at retail stores and mass-produced. Still, they do catch the eye and cause me to wonder what the artists meant with a series of pictures of a couple on the street, holding each other in some sort of strange dance of death, unnoticed by crowds that dismissively pass by. I guess the masses don’t pay attention to details or what’s plainly in front of them as they scurry to important meetings or check their smartphones for social updates. I recall the vamps subdivision, the interior decorating, even some of their fashionable clothing and realize that the pictures reveal their strategic plan for coexisting with humans. They hide in plain view.

Culture has evolved with a scientific worldview that is no longer the slave of folklore or magic. Myths are regulated by religious fanatics and explained away in academia, while the majority of humans listlessly meander through life, ambivalent to any real concern of one or the other. “Vampires and werewolves are simply myths that describe our deepest fears, anxieties, and sexuality,” my philosophy professor had once said. I read a book on Quantum Physics several years ago, explaining that after decades of study, the most brilliant minds on the planet are baffled that the quantum world does not operate under the same rules that govern our world. Subatomic particles teleport, communicate over universal distances, and electrons are strings that pop in and out of existence. I’m certainly a product of this age, but always leave room for the unexplainable.

Combine that with our growing need to up the ante on individualism with piercings, implanted vampire teeth, colored contacts, and green hair. Why would anyone give vampires a second look? They blend in, fly under the radar, and if anyone has serious concerns… well, they get a chance to dance in a crowded street.

* * *

I hop in the shower, throw on some darker clothes this evening (in case I get sloppy again), and head out the bedroom door to the stairs. I push the door open and am greeted by one Mr. Cassius, sitting, legs crossed, on my brown leather recliner. Without hesitation I kindly say, “Good morn… evening.” This is going to take some getting used to. Having lived in the South for a while, I’m partial to southern manners. He doesn’t even attempt a smile to lessen the awkwardness of my greeting. I mentally shrug my shoulders and choose the sofa across from him as my seat.

“I understand you fed well last night, Adriel.” I let my poker face slip for a moment in mild surprise. He knew my name and was aware of my
little
feeding problem. He savors the small victory. “You have learned much for one evening, but not nearly enough if you’re going to survive this war. Beginning immediately, you will train with our Weapons Master for the first three hours after sunset, and then you will continue your lessons on hunting with Persephone, or as you Americans say, Percy.” I fight a half grin off with all my might and he stares coldly. “I would have replaced her if she were not the best we have. After several days or weeks of this, I will summon you to my home and continue your historical education. There are things you will need to know… and things I need to learn from you.” He speaks the last stanza with emphatic threat.

I ask with brevity, “Why don’t we just start the history lessons, now, while you’re here?”

He thinks for a couple of seconds, places his palms on both knees, and slowly rises, clasping his hands behind his back, assuming the position of teacher. I guess he wants me to be his pupil. I consider my options and, fuck ‘em. I stand as well, to even the playing field. He snarls in distaste, but continues, “You have never been one of us and could not possibly be aware of our customs or culture. So, I will forgive your insolent behavior this once, Adriel, but you will give me the respect I demand or I will violently take it from you.” He seethes with acrimony as the pressure builds and I know this is not the time to test his resolve or his strength.

“I understand,” I say with an ambivalent monotone, but I don’t sit down.

He casually moves on as if that altercation never happened and begins his pace toward the window, looking at the other vamps that have congregated for the evening briefing. “They are suspicious after last night’s events and don’t trust you.” His head tilts back as if he’s nobility.

I already have a dislike of this guy, but answer, “I don’t blame them. You heard what Quilici said. Honestly, I’m starting to suspect myself of something, too. What did he mean, Cassius?” I ask as a pupil asks a teacher, not as a king demands his court so that his ego is appeased and I may receive a more thorough reply.

He strokes his chin in rehearsed manner. “I do not know. Quilici is old and very cunning, a worthy adversary. As I told the others, I presume he said what he did to divert our attention from his true purpose, which was to steal my sword. One of my informants warned me minutes before they broke our defenses that he was on his way to either kill or abduct you. I assumed you were somehow important and decided to protect you to thwart his plan.” This explanation is tenuous at best, but challenging him now would be a mistake, perhaps a fatal one for me.

“Do the others agree with you?”

He smiles menacingly. “They had better.” That threat puts me on DEFCON 3. “They will not harm you, but don’t expect favors.”

“What if I just leave?”

He cocks an eyebrow and tilts his head slightly. “Yes, yes you
could
leave. Of course, you would no longer be under my protection.” He quickly examines my expression to judge the threat’s effectiveness and is disappointed, but recovers with, “And you would never learn what you want to know about our history, perhaps even some of your personal history. I have lived a long time, Adriel, the eldest of all vampires, and have many resources; you will never have this opportunity again.” Hook, line, and sinker… damn it, I’m caught.

He uses that as the bookend to our friendly chat and leaves without another word. I casually follow him out the heavy-stained wood door, and this time, I’m greeted with hostile questions that go unspoken. The numbers have grown to about twenty. They must have called for reinforcements, knowing an imminent threat is near. The meeting must have just ended as the crowd begins to wander off in twos, using the buddy system to ensure no one is caught alone as they make their plans for breakfast.

It seems odd that they don’t meet in the houses and would rather huddle in a dirt cul-de-sac crystalized under a blanket of fresh packed snow, but as I search my own feelings, I know that we are creatures of nature that will never be placated by modern conveniences. They imprison the mind and sense of adventure. There is no fear of the temperature, no fear of wild animals, just the tranquility that only the outdoors can offer.

I see my old buddies and say, “Hey, Hanz. Hey, Franz.”

They quickly turn a soft red as laughter erupts and the tension dissipates into the cool air. One of the new vamps says with lightness, “We’re going to pump you up!” Now the crowd is nearly in tears and I shake my head once again. Vampires who watch
SNL
? Seriously? I regret saying it, not because they’re embarrassed, but because it was my private joke meant only for my top-secret enjoyment. I have a feeling that I will never know their true names as this will stick for another thousand years.

Hanz says to Franz, “Let’s get out of here.” He never breaks the stare as he pummels my shoulder on his way to his pickup truck. I turn to watch him while the sarcasm builds in the background and start to feel a twinge of remorse. That is, until he reaches through the open window and turns around, slowly placing my Maui Jims on his lumpy nose.

I shout, “Hey, asshole, those are mine!” Before the word “mine” is uttered, he is in the truck with the engine started, shifting into drive. Damn!

I feel a pat on my back as the laughter subsides. “You’re alright by me, young one,” says the new one as he reaches out his hand in a kind gesture. I give him a shake. “My name is Bryn. They said you were a tad strange, what with the white hair and those eyes, but I always liked a little variety.” His Australian accent is a thicker contrast to Cassius’s tailored and annunciated English, but much warmer. His hair is the deep darkness of black tar, striped with the occasional muted grey. His eyes are framed with crow’s feet, earned from years of laughter, and the chiseled face reminds me of physics—all interesting angles. A good-looking guy, even if he does eat people.

“Thanks, I think.”

“Not all of us are so uptight, Adriel. There is no doubt that we are in serious times, but what is a long life if it cannot be enjoyed?” One hand clasping my shoulder and the other still lightly in my hand, we seem like old friends. I disarm and my shoulders relax. He smiles, never breaking eye contact. Without moving, he says to a vamp ten feet behind, “Seth, you may have bitten off more than you can chew.”

I wish he wouldn’t have said that. Surely he realizes that Seth will make me pay for that one. Bryn cups my hand in both of his and, with a pat, let’s go while drifting away with a smile that’s half humor, half mischief. I decide to greet my new mentor, rotating to face him in trepidation. It feels like I’m back in the old dojo with my former master when I start the process of bowing by instinct and catch myself before the full respect is given. Seth must understand this tradition and is offended by the lack of follow-through—great.