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The fog surrounding me was deliciously thick, so thick human eyes could hardly penetrate it within a few feet. I’d learned long ago vampyre sight could see for much longer distances and much more clearly than our mortal counterparts, and it was an interesting adjustment in the first few years. My eyes cut through the fog without much trouble at all to the trees bathed in the eerie gray-green light. Simply ethereal.
Yorkshire was not to welcome me much longer; two years was the longest I ever attempted to remain in one area. Over the last few years I’d found myself straining to stay put longer, the sadness of never having roots planted hung onto my ankle, dragging with me to each new location.
William's words rang in my head,run from yourself,and I flinched at his memory. It had been so long since I had seen him but I remembered it all as if we had just parted. William's gentle kisses and strong hands, his sudden mood swings, and secretive ways.
I would see his face almost every night when I closed my eyes, haunting me, a ghost. There were times I would wake in the night, reaching out for him after all this time, feeling the wall in my chest I had built crack under the pressure of the realization he wasn’t there. He never would be there.
Some years were easier, human men and women alike became a decent distraction if I did not become too attached to them. Sometimes there would be more than one at a time, and sometimes they would never leave that bed again. What would William think of me now, I wondered? What would he think if he knew how many times I’d cried out his name in ecstasy and not the partner who brought me there?
Every single time William entered my mind, the warring agony would follow. Somehow I hadn’t run into him in these last thirty years. Most importantly, I had not run into Noel or Adam. I tried hard to convince myself that I hated William as much as the two of them, that I could live this forever long life without ever gazing upon them again. I often told myself it did not bother me at all to live with them all as pictures in my memory.
Somewhere in the distance of the mist came the clumsy footfalls of a human, pulling me from my reverie.
Breakfast.
The man’s stride slowed, likely spotting my figure in the mist. He stepped through the remaining layer of fog between us, and I almost immediately recognized him. What a happy surprise this was, indeed.
The gentleman before me was a man of high merit, a Mr. Allen; one I had seen in the streets a few times before, collecting payments or procuring investments. He had an air of confidence about him, a man made of money and one who knew just how highly sought after he was in society. Dressed in a light tan suit, his hat tall, he had a well-groomed gray mustache.
Beneath his impeccably manicured facial hair, he moistened his thin lips. I eyed his disproportionately large belly and lanky limbs, a slimy sensation coating over my skin from his arrogant stance. A light breeze wafted his spice-like aroma, something like nutmeg. I sniffed, fixing my features into that of pleasantry.
“Oh gracious, good morning, madam!” he said happily in his northern accent. I tilted my head down, as ladies do.
“Good morning to you as well, Mr. Allen.” I coaxed him with my convincing imitation of an English accent. There was a gift to be had in vampirism for luring one’s prey and part of that was the ability to perfectly adopt an accent. Mr. Allen held his hand for me to take, blissfully unaware of what I was about to do to him.
“Would you join me for this very early stroll, my lady?” he asked kindly. I took his hand, tucking my book under my arm as we began our stride. A few yards away, leaping over the waters of the river, was a small stone bridge. He directed us toward it, asking my name.
Answering him, I still used my married name. Even after all these years I used it, sometimes wondering why it was so difficult not to. Mr. Allen nodded, noting my wedding ring—that for the past how many years sat on my finger despite everything.
“Are you married, then?” he asked.
I shook my head. “Widowed, sir. He passed shortly after our wedding.”
“Oh, my dear. I cannot fathom how difficult that must have been for a lady so debonair.”
“It feels it was terribly long ago!” I said, though it honestly was. Mr. Allen glanced at me from the corner of his gray eyes. We stopped at the top of the bridge to admire the view.
The park had been gorgeous before but now we had entered a fairyland. The dark water flowed noisily underneath the stone bridge, splashing against the rocky shore every now and again. The air beyond was heavily misted, sheathing the world in its cloak of splendor. I took a deep breath, letting the scent of damp earth and fresh spring fill my lungs.
I knew Mr. Allen pegged me as easy, which was why he took such interest. It was true I had made my rounds amongst the wealthy men and women of the area, either for blood or sex, and I may have referred tomyselfonce as ‘easy’ in conversation with them. Such was the culture, though they would most certainly have the rest believe otherwise.
Vampyres could lead a lonely existence at times, and the carnal desire for intimacy had not been lost in my death. I unlaced my arm from Mr. Allen’s, undoing the top buttons of his shirt with adept fingers. His eyes widened as I pulled his tie from the collar and winked, he sucked in a ragged breath. Widening his shirt collars, I exposed the skin of his neck and his heart took off in a sprint. The melody of his racing heartbeat pushed his blood faster throughout his body, beckoning me. I drug my nose up the side of his neck, inhaling the musky scent of his lust.
“What will you do to me?” he croaked, cheeks flushing bright red. I did not answer him, opting instead to simply giggle and kiss the flappy skin of his neck. Mr. Allen pulled me into his arms, placing one hand on the small of my back and the other in my hair as he tilted his head toward me, searching for my mouth.
I removed his hat, taking his coarse hair into my hand and yanking his head back with such force he was immobilized. Working quickly with fangs released, I bit into his neck, right into the vein which flooded the most blood into my mouth. I sucked hard, letting the warmth wash itself down my throat. His flavor had a spice to it, like holiday bread. I killed him in less than a minute.
His ashen body had long since turned limp in my arms, and yet I felt no remorse for this one. Mr. Allen’s eyes gazed off at nothingness, his mouth eerily agape. Served him right, I supposed. To dispose of his body, I first slit the skin of his throat with my talon-like nails. It was an easy thing to do, the skin was so papery and thin there was little resistance. It became part of my process to rid my victims of any damning puncture wounds. This one was particularly gruesome to look upon.
Sometimes when I killed people, it ravaged me inside like a battle raged between my humanity and my instincts. But men like him, they left little or no guilt at all. Mr. Allen, I knew, had often committed adultery, he was corrupt and cruel. In a way, I did his wife and the community a favor. Easily heaving his body up and over, I tossed him into the dark water. His lifeless form bobbed up and down as it was carried away by the current. No doubt they’d find him this morning.
Full of his particularly thick blood–he’d obviously been well fed–I sprinted to my apartment, my muscles singing with the energy of a fresh feed. When I reached the flat, located on a little side street in York, I locked myself inside before the sun could really come through the clouds. People in the city were beginning to start their day's work, meandering down the streets to whatever task they’d planned for the day. I watched them all from my window, peeking through the gauzy curtain like a hermit, waiting for the sun to set.
The sun, as I had come to find from William, was not lethal at first. It would begin as a headache–even if I was well fed–and the longer I stayed in the rays–or the less well fed I was–the pain would become excruciating. A swelling pressure would begin, blurred vision, and confusion would follow. Soon, thirst would become unbearable and the instinct to feed or hide in the shadows until nightfall would take over. If that instinct was still ignored, the Withering would begin.
I tried to avoid the sun at all costs, being so young a vampyre I had not yet mastered disguising that uncomfortable pressure. I wasn't sure how William had done it, even Horris most notably living in the south.
I laid across my green upholstered settee inside the small flat, toying with the novel I’d yet opened. Murdering such a high-profile man in the town would mean I would have to leave Yorkshire soon, find some other place untouched. I just was not sure where...
