A subtle disquiet
A SUBTLE DISQUIET
Celine
The next few hours go by slowly. I stay in the club, keeping an eye out for the drugs that Renata mentioned. I have to kick out two customers who are using it by one of the back tables. I make sure they’re both sober before taking them out through the emergency staircase.
“If we find you using again, you’ll be banned from Succumb,” I tell them firmly. They don’t need to be told twice. They scamper off into the darkness without a word.
I head back down to the club. But looking around at the undulating, frenetic bodies around me, I don’t feel the usual rush of hunger and desire. Being rejected by the bartender has soured my mood more than I’d like to admit.
The night is moving on, and the crowd is dwindling as breathers go home for the night or pair off with vampires who take them to more private places. I find a seat on a couch at the back of the bar and watch the dancing bitterly.
“Who pissed on your grave?” says Lexi, wrinkling her nose as she sits down beside me. She holds an enormous glass of red liquid, complete with a curly purple straw.
“ Pardon ?”
“You look so grouchy tonight,” she clarifies, taking a sip of her ridiculous drink.
“I’m not grouchy. I don’t get grouchy.”
“You’re a little bit grouchy. Are you mad because daddy’s gone? ”
“Don’t call him daddy. And I don’t care that he’s gone. I’ve watched over his business for two hundred years before you were even born …”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever. You know,” she turns her head in my direction, her long blond ponytail whipping into the face of the man behind her, who splutters and disentangles himself quickly. She doesn’t notice. “You’ve really got to chill out. This isn’t, like, the 16th century anymore. I get it…life used to be all brutal and whatever, but nowadays, we don’t need to worry about stuff like that. We have plumbing, and stable governments, and everything. You don’t need to be on edge all the time.”
I scowl at her. “I was born in the 18th century. And we have a lot to be worried about. This business is dangerous, Lexi. We can’t trust anyone.”
“Whatever, you’re totally missing the point. The whole stoic, emotion-is-weakness thing is completely passé. Nowadays, it’s all about being vulnerable, opening yourself up to other people, you know? Have you even ever been to therapy? You’re going to have a heart attack if you keep stressing out all the time.”
“I can’t have a heart attack, I’m dead .”
“You know what I mean! Like, an emotional heart attack. From not connecting on a deep level with anyone else, or, like, processing your trauma.”
I give her a skeptical look.
“Whatever, I tried!” she says, putting her empty glass down and throwing her hands up. She catches the eye of a breather across the dance floor, who gives her a little wave. “Well, I’m going to enjoy myself, because I’m emotionally mature !”
She disappears into the crowd.
I can’t believe she actually made me feel worse than I did before.
I have too many siblings.
Cementing my bad mood, I catch a movement on the couch to my left. It’s a member of our vampire guard, entangled in his latest breather, their limbs wrapped up like they want to absorb each other. But the vampire isn’t drinking from him. They’re kissing. A deep, passionate kiss that stirs a pain inside my chest. I realize that I’ve actually seen them together before.
With all my might, I pull my gaze away. And I’m greeted by a wonderful, familiar smell.
It’s the bartender, picking up the empty glass that Lexi discarded and putting it on her tray. She’s only a few feet away from me, looking over at the pair kissing on the couch.
It takes all of my willpower to dampen the urgent, powerful desire that rises inside me.
There’s something vulnerable, something longing, in her expression. A strange thought comes to me. I wonder if she’s feeling the same way I do.
She looks at me. Her lips part slightly, her eyes softening. Then she sets the tray down on the table. Her hands are trembling. Something shifts between us, almost imperceptible.
Slowly, she comes over to me, as though we’re the only two beings in the entire world. All that I can hear is her thrumming heart, like a drum pounding out an ancient rhythm. Primal and sacred.
She’s facing me, lit by the red and purple lights from behind. She looks like a goddess.
I have another strange thought. That I could look at her forever.
But breathers have such short, fleeting lives. I can’t entertain such silly fantasies.
Well, maybe just for one night.
She moves closer to me, and climbs on my lap, straddling me. She puts her hands around my neck and I reach around her waist. Her body steadies me, grounds me. Reverses my bad mood in an instant.
She whispers, her voice like the wind of a storm picking up. “I changed my mind.”
I tilt my head slightly.
“But…I still don’t want you to bite me,” she adds, her voice quivering slightly on the word ‘bite.’
“I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do.”
She swallows, a smooth ripple down her neck.
My initial instinct is for her throat - if not to sink my fangs in it, at least to gently suck the soft, vulnerable skin there. But as I look into her hazel eyes, full of sunshine and strength, I’m struck by an unfamiliar feeling in my chest.
“Can I ask you a question?” I say, before I can stop myself.
“Sure. ”
“What’s your name?”
She tilts her chin down a little, like she’s deciding how much to reveal. Something about the gesture comforts me. She understands that her name is as precious for her to give as it is for me to receive.
“Amara,” she says, her lips dancing over the word.
It’s the most beautiful sound I’ve heard in a long time.
I take my pointer finger and run it along the line of her jaw, a gentle caress that she leans into. Then I guide her mouth toward mine, kissing her lower lip softly, slowly.
Her hips move over me, edging closer, a subtle but intimate shift. I respond in kind, pulling her waist to me with my other hand, my fingers traveling underneath her tank top. She’s warm, her skin vibrating with life and vitality. It heightens my senses and whets my appetite for her.
Now I become more insistent, a soft bite on her upper lip, not enough to draw blood, just to make her moan. She leans into my kiss, exploring my mouth with her skillful tongue, burying her fingers in my hair.
I can’t wait any longer. I stand, taking her with me. She laughs, holding onto me tightly, her thighs wrapped around my hips.
I head for the elevators, not toward the back of the club.
Her heart thumps a bit louder. “Where are we going?”
“My crypt.”
A concerned expression crosses her features for a brief moment, before disappearing quickly.
“Do you not want to go?” I ask.
“No, I want to go…” she glances around self-consciously. We’re going past the bar, then the security desk.
“Embarrassed to be seen with a vampire?” I ask her with a smirk.
“I’m just…I’m not used to it,” she says, her eyes avoiding mine.
“Nobody is, until they are.”
“I suppose that’s true.”
She pulls herself a little closer. I hold her weight in one arm as I use the other to push the elevator button. There aren’t many guests left, but the ones that are still here make room for us.
“I can walk,” she offers.
I give her an insulted look. “I can carry you easily.”
“I’m not used to that either.”
“Perhaps you should get used to it.”
The elevator chimes. I want to set her down on the pillowed bench, take her right now. But I tell myself to be patient. There’s privacy and comfort in my crypt. We’ll have the rest of the night until sunrise.
She buries her face in my hair and I can feel her muscles relax. Almost like she trusts me. Almost.
I don’t speak. I know the value of silence. And I wouldn’t have the right words for this moment anyway.
I press my index finger into the elevator button.
“Isn’t that for the club?” Amara asks.
I hold the tip of my finger against the button and the elevator moves down. “The button is a fingerprint sensor. If I hold my finger against the button for long enough, it takes me to my crypt.”
“Your fingerprint?” she says, wrinkling her nose as though she doesn’t quite believe me.
I raise an eyebrow. “You’ve got to be a little impressed.”
She almost rolls her eyes. Then the doors to the elevator open with a chime.
The Thornblade family has owned this hotel for the past several decades. We’ve had lots of time to decorate. And I’ve had lots of time to transform my crypt into a sanctuary where I can escape from the stress of running a massive mafia empire.
The ceilings are high, almost cavernous. But the resemblance to a cave ends there. I might be a centuries-old vampire, but I have modern tastes. The main living area of my suite is decked out with sleek couches, a full bar, a record player, and a grand piano, of course.
The walls and carpet are in dark, gothic hues. I'm still dead, after all.
Amara wiggles out of my arms and over to the record player. For a moment, I'm almost offended. I'm eager to continue what we started upstairs. But then I see the expression of pure joy on her face as her fingers move swiftly over the records, her eyes scanning them with such speed, you could mistake her for a vampire.
“You've got so much Billie Holiday!” she says approvingly. “I don't even recognize some of these recordings.”
“You won't find them anywhere else. Can I get you a drink?”
I move toward the bar. This is a familiar routine, although usually my guests aren't so comfortable so quickly. Am I losing my touch?
“Wine, please,” she says absentmindedly, pulling a record from out of the rack. She puts it on the record player gingerly, careful not to scratch the delicate surface. The first few notes fill the space with timeless resonance, a crooning voice reaching out through the decades.
Amara closes her eyes as I pour her drink, a wide smile over her face.
“This is the only way to listen to recorded music,” she sighs. “No offense to the Succumb DJ.”
“None taken. In fact, I quite agree with you.”
She inhales deeply, her eyes still closed. She exudes a calm peacefulness that I envy. And one that I rarely witness.
What is it about her? It’s so strange. It’s nothing to do with the way she is, but because of the way she is around me. She's clearly wary of me, as she should be, and as I'm used to, but…she has an odd familiarity that I can't place.
Her eyes flutter open as I approach her, and she takes the wine with a nod of thanks. She sips it, her eyes coming back to me.
She’s swaying a little to the music, and I take the hand that’s not holding her glass, placing my other hand on her hip. Our bodies merge in the dance immediately, our cheeks touching.
She exhales, her soft breath caressing my skin. But rather than alighting a fierce spark within me, it heats coals that had gone cold long ago. A slower, more agonizing burn.
“I imagine,” she whispers, reaching over to place the wine glass on a nearby table. “That it must be strange to watch the world change and go by. I can understand why you appreciate a record player.”
Her words strike an uncomfortable chord. She inserts herself back into my arms, although there’s a stiffness to my embrace that wasn’t there before.
“Can I ask you a question?” she says.
I don’t respond. . She doesn’t notice.
“What colour did your eyes used to be?” she asks. “Before they turned purple for good? I haven’t seen many vampires with permanently purple eyes.”
A sting of anger rises in my chest. Correspondingly, my fangs elongate, pushing themselves out over my lips. It’s an instinct that vampires rarely master, even old ones like me.
She catches the shift and her body tenses immediately, a flush across her chest.
In response, I pull her closer, finding my mouth again with her’s. If we’re kissing, we can’t be talking. It’s been a long night already, and the sun will soon be up.
She doesn’t question it further, leaning into my kiss, her tongue nervously avoiding my fangs. She presses her body closer to mine, weaving our thighs together.
I pick her up again, and carry her into the bedroom without a word. The ceilings are lower here, the walls draped with thick velvet. A large four-poster bed dominates the room, imposingly elegant, with curtains of dark crimson. I put her carefully on the bed and quickly undo her jeans, pulling them off along with her panties. I’m a little disappointed to see she’s not wearing the ones I gave her, but I suppose this night was a surprise to both of us.
And I can’t start getting possessive about this breather. Especially since she works in the club. It’s not smart for me to get so attached to a bartender.
No. I’m not getting attached. I don’t get attached. This will be the last time. Learning her name was far enough.
I start to kiss her, beginning at her ankle and trailing up her leg, licking and kissing her smooth calves and thighs. She lies back against the plush bed covers with a happy sigh. She pulls the scarf from her hair and her tank top over her head and throws them to the ground unceremoniously. I feel a shiver of anticipation pass through her body. It makes me want her so much more. Her desire spurs me on.
I kiss the supple skin of her inner thigh, so close now. I wish I could pierce it with my fangs, drink from it to satisfy my urgent thirst, but I respect her wishes. It’s enough to fulfill my other desires. My mouth finds her wetness, lapping her up hungrily. She moans and wriggles tantalizingly on the bed, her legs wrapping around my shoulders. I lift her up slightly, so that my tongue can tease her opening.
I want to spend hours here, even days. But the nagging sunrise is approaching and our time together is limited. So I bring my hand up to her, inserting two fingers inside. My lustful urgency is satisfied as I enter her, as we’re bound closer together. She moves in tandem with me. We’re like one creature, with one sole drive, one sole desire. She is slick and ready, and I add another finger. Her tightness is wonderful.
She comes quickly, in several, steady waves, over my hand. Then she falls back again, her sweet sighs pleasing to my ears.
She looks up at me, another question in her eyes. I answer it by taking her up in my arms and bringing her around to the side of the bed, tucking her under the covers.
“At this rate, I’ll never have to work again,” she chuckles. In another few moments, she slides easily into sleep, her lashes pressed against her luminous cheeks.
I wish I could rest so easily. My own slumber is full of tension and bad memories. Lives I wish I could unlive, or at least forget.
Her heart beats slower, a gentle pulse under her skin. Once I’m certain that she’s asleep, I whisper, “I don’t remember what colour they were. I wish I did. But I remember that my hair would turn red in the sun, during the summer. Not anymore, of course.”
She buries her face into the crisp silk pillow with a peaceful smile. The tug of the oncoming dawn pulls me away, to my coffin in my crypt.
With only sad memories to keep me company.