PRETTY WHEN SHE DIES
A VAMPIRE NOVEL
Rhiannon Frater
Copyright @ 2008 by Rhiannon Frater
www.rhiannonfrater.blogspot.com
Cover Art by Rose Munoz
http://www.myspace.com/excentricvision
Edited by Connie Frater and Kody Boye
Proof Copy Editing by Julie Murray
Paperback version published through Createspace and available at Amazon.com and through the author's online store located off her blog at www.rhiannonfrater.blogspot.com
ISBN/EAN13: 1440429634 /9781440429637
This is a work of fiction. The characters and situations are from the author’s imagination.
For all the vampire lovers out there
Special thanks to Kayda and Ceres for giving me their insights into the original draft of this novel
As always, dedicated to my two most ardent supporters,
my mother and my husband.
Glossary of Names
These are a few names you will encounter in the novel.
This is how the character would pronounce their name.
Amaliya- ah mal lee yha
Cian- key inn
Etzli-its lee
Innocente – inn oh cent tay
Santos- sahn toes
Sergio- surg ee oh
Sumner-sum nor
The Beginning..
Chapter One
When she began to stir from her deep slumber, she had no idea she was buried under several feet of moist, dark earth. Curled into a tight ball with one hand over her face, she shivered as her brain slowly switched on. Flashes of random memories full of distorted images burst through her mind.
Time to wake up, a voice whispered.
Her eyelids fluttered.
Before she could fully awaken, her body was seized tight in a spasm of pain. Her body contorted in on itself as her hands trembled around her face. The seizure released her and, slowly, she opened her eyes.
Darkness greeted her.
Trembling, she strained to see into the blackness that enshrouded her. She could barely make out the outline of her fingers curled over her face. Something heavy and moist was pressing down on her.
Suddenly claustrophobic, she thrust her left arm upward in a desperate attempt to throw off whatever was covering her.
Dirt poured into the tiny space around her face and filled her mouth and nose. Terrified, she plunged her arm into the earth, trying to push it away. She tried to roll onto her back and shoved upward with her other hand. Warm, wet earth pressed down all around her body.
For a horrible moment, she had no sense of up or down and feared she was frantically tunneling deeper into the ground. Shoving fear aside, she clawed at the dirt desperate to be free.
To her relief, her hands and arms broke through the soil and into the empty space above her. Managing to get her feet under her, she shoved her body through the earth. She broke the surface of the forest floor and stood, blinking in the moonlight. Standing in what was left of the hole that had been her prison. She raised trembling hands to sweep back her raven hair. Her blue-gray eyes blinking hard, she tried to take a deep breath. She choked and gagged, then fell onto her hands as she threw up streams of muddy liquid. Coughing, she wiped her mouth with her dirty fingers and let out a whimper.
Around her, the night whispered softly. Tiny animals scurried through the underbrush around her. An owl hooted in a tree nearby. The moon shone down brightly, its full face glowing in the sky. Falling onto her hip, she lay in silence for a long moment.
Try as she might, she could not draw her thoughts together. She wasn't even certain of her name. How she had come to be buried alive in the forest was beyond her comprehension.
Pulling her legs slowly out of the grave that had entrapped her, she lay on the ground shivering.
Her long, milky-white fingers clawed at the ground beside her and she looked at her hand in dazed confusion.
Need to go home, she thought.
Slowly, she rolled to her knees and bowed in silence, almost appearing to pray. Pressing down on the ground with her hands, she slowly rose to her feet. Her muddled brain took in her soiled jeans and boots slowly. Her white T-shirt was caked with dirt and what appeared to be dried blood. Her hair fell unfettered to her waist, full of clumps of dirt, twigs and bugs. Shaking her head vigorously, she tried to get the forest crude out of her tresses.
“Home,” she whispered.
Her own voice startled her.
Her first step was hesitant. She wasn't even sure her legs would support her, but amazingly, they did. Slowly, she made her way down through the trees. Her stride became increasingly steady as she walked forward in the direction that felt “right.”
Her hand fluttered over her hair as she walked. She could not remember her name, but a dim memory of extraordinary pleasure filled her mind. Scrunching up her nose a little, she hesitated and stood looking around her in confusion.
A glow over the treetops called to her.
Home lay that way.
Feeling a bit steadier, she trudged on. Her jeans were stiff with all sorts of crap. She craved a hot shower.
My brain isn't working. This isn't how I should be reacting.
She wasn't sure what her own thoughts meant.
As she reached the bottom of the hill, buildings bathed in soft light swam out of the darkness.
The college, she thought.
She stood at the edge of a pool of light and gazed dreamily through the limbs of the trees. Voices whispered in the distance and, somewhere, music was playing. Suddenly, horribly aware of her appearance, she decided not to venture down to the sidewalk below. Home lay nearby, but she could reach it by staying in the shadows.
Not certain how she knew where she lived, but not her own name, she frowned deeply. Once more, she ran a hand over her soiled hair, then moved down into the shadows of the large red brick buildings of the college.
It was relatively easy to avoid people and she hid whenever anyone walked down the crisscrossing sidewalks that connected the buildings.
It's Easter weekend, she thought. No one is here.
A long narrow building beckoned to her with its familiarity. She trudged toward it through the gloom. Most of the windows were dark. The dirty yellow light, from the broken outdoor lamp fastened over the double doors, was a welcome glow.
Stepping out of the cover of the trees, she shivered as she was suddenly exposed to the view of anyone cutting across the courtyard. She hugged herself tightly and peered through the glass panes of the doors into the long narrow hallway beyond. It was intimidating in its length, and only the dark, chipped dorm doors surrounded by stickers, posters, photos and other ornamentation broke up the impression of it being never-ending.
She took a breath and tried to open the door. It was firmly locked. Confused at first, she jiggled the doorknob. Reason pushed through her murky thoughts and she fished in her jean pockets. A simple ring with a few keys was in her right one. Slowly, she tried each key in the battered lock until, at last, one slipped in easily. The knob turned.
A slow, icy chill flowed down her back. She tossed her hair back from her face looking sharply behind her. The sensation of being watched pricked over her skin. She pushed the door open and took refuge in the long, stark hallway. Nothing stirred out in the courtyard except a pink flyer. It must have torn loose from a bulletin board and now danced in the night wind.
Fear trembling at the bottom of her stomach, she turned and moved away from the locked doors. The narrow hallway was strangely familiar. Her footsteps echoed around her as she walked. In the distance, she heard the very soft hum of someone's radio. It seemed to take forever to reach the middle of the long hall. A small room crammed full of vending machines sat at the base of the stairs. The handicap elevator stood open. She glanced inside to see that it was empty before starting up the narrow staircase that led to the second and third floors. The ugly, faded, formerly buttercup-yellow paint on the walls was covered in flyers and posters for events around the campus. She briefly glanced at them as she trudged upwards. The words and pictures were nonsense to her numb brain.
The second floor hall lights were flickering when she reached the landing. Feeling another cold shiver of fear, she looked up and down the stairwell, but there was no sign of another person.
Home was nearby.
She started to turn right, then corrected herself and turned left. Drawn toward the end of the hallway, she shuddered. Fear once again gripped her tightly and, for a moment, a vivid thought flashed through her mind.
I'm dead. There is nothing here for me.
She froze in mid-step and reached out to stabilize herself. The thought repeated itself over and over again until she let out a desperate sound and pushed it down. Insanity lay in that sort of thinking.
Gathering up her strength, she pushed on until she reached a door surrounded by stickers of sexy devil women, vamps and an assortment of band photos. Sid Vicious snarled out of her from one, while Ozzy Osbourne howled at the devil in another. Laying her hand on the doorway, she read the name stenciled onto red paper in black marker and taped with electric tape to the door.
“Amaliya,” she breathed. It was her name. Her grimy fingers traced over the letters. She whispered the name again. Yes, that was her name. She remembered people called her Amal. That nickname bugged her.
Pulling out the ring of keys, she leaned against the door, a sense of relief washing over her. Her mind felt full of thick muddy water with flashes of light beneath the waves. But she couldn't concentrate too long on those flashes or her whole body began to hurt.
She needed to bathe, then it would be okay.
The key with the skull sticker slid into the lock and she pushed open the door. Her room was very narrow and sat at the end of a long, dark hallway. It was simply furnished with a twin bed in one corner, a desk under the long window, and a battered dresser on the wall across from the bed. The walls were covered in posters of long-haired rock stars. None of them seemed familiar. An enormous poster of Angelina Jolie was on one wall. Around it was pictures clipped out of magazines of other beautiful women dressed in sexy outfits.
Amaliya shut the door behind her, drinking in the familiarity of the room. She remembered every detail. Its battered furniture. The tiny fridge tucked at the end of the bed that made gawdawful noises when she tried to sleep. The dirty laundry thrown at the bottom of her closet. This was her personal space and she felt her shoulders sag with relief.
Her one luxury in the dorm was her very tiny bathroom. It was one of the perks of paying more money and being on the second floor.
She walked down the narrow little hallway, past the open sliding doors of her closet, and into the room itself. Shoes, most of them pretty battered, were strewn at her feet. Her bed was a crumpled mess. Silently, she leaned over and pushed the button on her old stereo. Johnny Cash's voice filled the room. On her bathroom door was an enormous poster of the Man in Black. She automatically touched the brim of an imaginary hat to salute him. His somber, craggy face did not change as she shoved open the bathroom door.
The bathroom was so small the door barely missed hitting the toilet and the bathtub when she opened it. All she could think of was the bath. She was caked in dirt and grime. Leaves, twigs, dirt, and a few insects were twisted around in her hair. Her body was so filthy she could barely see her creamy, pale skin.
“Yuck,” was all she could think to say.
When she turned on the hot water in the shower, a tremor rocked the center of her body. It started just above her stomach, then rolled through her chest and limbs. She slightly gagged, then leaned over the tub and threw up again. Mucous and mud trailed from her lips. Again, she shuddered and fell into the tub, fully clothed, the warming water sloshing over her.
Tears exploded from her eyes and she let out a desperate wail. The seizure arched her back and sent her sprawling before abruptly releasing her. She lay there, on the cold, chipped bottom of her tub for a few minutes before she felt strong enough to wiggle out of her clothes. The jeans were hard to get off. She struggled with her boots. Finally, she was naked and the water was hot.
Standing up slowly, she reached out, grabbed the showerhead, and pulled the tiny switch so the hot water would stream over her. She didn't let go, but held on for dear life. The hot water sluiced over her, washing away the muddy remains of her grave. She closed her eyes and tried not to focus too hard on the memories trembling just below the thin layer of confusion. If she tried to think too hard, it only hurt.
Using nearly half of the shower gel and a good portion of shampoo, she scrubbed her body and hair clean. The scalding water and loofah soon had her skin looking red and raw, but it felt better than before. Her fingers traced over the tattoo decorating the lower portion of her belly. Intricate vines and flowers made a lovely pattern against her skin.
Why the hell would you do that to your body? Do you want to look like a whore? The male voice whispered, then faded away.
She dragged her long hand over the tattoo perched on her upper arm. It was an intricate design with vines and roses with little cherubs holding scrolls that read “Beloved Mother.” Frowning, her fingers slid over the rough scar in the center of the tattoo. There had been something here, she remembered that.
Tears began to stream down her cheeks as she remembered the pain of getting this tattoo. Her heart had hurt so badly the pain of the needle had not mattered to her. It had been for her mother, her broken, sweet mother. The one who had named her Amaliya. There had been-
“A cross,” she whispered, her fingers tracing over the roughened edges of the white scar.
Sliding the clear shower curtain back, she stared from the depths of the shower into the fogged mirror over the sink. For a moment, she thought nothing was reflected in the mirror.
Stumbling out of the shower, she ran her hand over the mirror, her blue-gray eyes coming into focus. Her clean, black hair hung loosely around her face, framing a face with a strong chin, high cheekbones, a sharp slightly hooked nose, and full, bruised looking lips.
Her fingers slid down over her features, then over her neck, down to her breasts. The piercings in both nipples glinted in the florescent light. Slowly, she turned and looked over her shoulder to see her back was still adorned by angel wings, her freshest tattoos. Her waist tucked in above her full hips. She ran a hand over her curvy right cheek slowly.
Need to lose weight, she thought.
For a moment, she was filled with self-loathing. Her upper body was long and lean, with shapely breasts and a small waist. Her lower body was fuller, but her legs seemed too short for her body. Endless jogging, avoiding potatoes and other starches had never rid her of her wider hips.
She started laughing. It was a startling sound to her ears when she heard it, and she sank against the wall, cold and wet.
I'm insane, she thought. I've lost my mind.
Forcing the crazed giggles away, she dried off, then checked the mirror again. The tiny diamond tucked into the side of her nose twinkled back at her. She slid her dark hair back behind her ears. The six hoops in each ear were intact. Her fingers pulled back her hair and she studied her roots intently. A faint line of gold was visible along the part.
She would have to dye her hair again soon. At least her eyebrows were naturally dark.
Her legs were a little shaky as she walked into her room and pulled a pair of jeans out of the laundry basket resting on the cluttered dresser. A pair of pink bikini-briefs came with them and she pulled both items on. Rummaging around in the basket, she found a white tank top and shrugged it on. Collapsing onto the bed, she leaned over and opened the refrigerator. The tiny thing creaked open and revealed it was empty, save for a soda and bottled water.
She was hungry. Very hungry. Famished.
Shoving the door shut, she ran her hands over her damp hair and stared down at her feet. The chipped red polish on her toenails was the norm. They were cut short and slightly ragged. Shrugging, she leaned down and snagged a pair of battered Bettie Page heels. She always tried to wear heels to make up for her shorter legs.
Her stomach coiled tightly as she stood. She gasped in pain. Her vision swam and she stumbled forward.
She needed to eat, and soon.
Looking up into the battered mirror above her dresser, she stared into an empty room. She gasped then, suddenly, her reflection winked into view. Blinking hard, she watched it blink out again, then shimmer back slowly.
Terror gripped her. She grabbed her keys off the floor and rushed to the door. She would eat and then she would be fine. She'd stop feeling like this and she would understand what had happened to her.
She just needed to eat.
That would do it.
Yes, to eat. That would be salvation.
She just needed to…feed.
***
Amaliya felt weak as she maneuvered down the stairs, then trudged down the long dim corridor to the outside world. Beyond her feebleness, she felt strangely unreal. It was as if she was moving through a dream where nothing felt connected to her in any way. Her surroundings seemed faintly familiar to her hazy mind, but instinct drew her toward her destination, not memory.
Her high heels clicked against the sidewalk as she moved toward-
She stopped for a moment, her thoughts shifting, then she remembered.
The parking lot lay beyond the jumble of buildings nearby. And she had a truck, a beat up blue truck. She nodded and started walking again.
A door opened to a nearby building, where a young Asian man hurried out. He didn't even glance at her as he moved around her, hastily walked toward one of the far buildings.
Turning slowly, she stared after him. No, she didn't know him, but he made her feel warm inside. She considered following him, but then shook her head.
He was not enough to make her hunger go away.
Frowning, unsure of her own thoughts, she turned her attention back to her destination and started walking again.
The old, red brick buildings of the college rose around her, imposing in their aged facades. A few more modern buildings were tucked back behind them, squat and ugly. She looked at the darkened windows with trepidation
Turning a corner, the long sidewalk wound between buildings. In the distance, she could see the lights that illuminated the parking lot. Rubbing her arms with her hands, she moved through the shadows.
Music, jarring with its tribal beat, glided on the night wind, where it swirled around her. Tilting her head, she listened. The music grew louder as she concentrated. For some reason, she felt drawn to the pulsating beat. Turning toward the source, she saw that it was one of the fraternity houses that sat on the edges of the campus. The windows were darkened, but music still drifted from the building.
Something dark and desperate whispered through her mind that she needed to go there. It was important. It would make her feel better. It would make her feel real.
Scowling slightly, she moved across the wide green lawn, toward the old Georgian style house. Her heels sunk into the damp earth. The smell of dew filled her nostrils. Her drying hair flowed around her shoulders and down her back as she walked.
Again, a slow chill slid down her spine and she turned sharply. Only shadows trailed over the sidewalk. There was no sign of anyone anywhere, and yet, she knew, deep inside, she was being watched.
With that horrible feeling tormenting her, she made haste toward the fraternity house. Ducking under tree branches that lined the side yard, she maneuvered cautiously over the roots gnarled at the base of the trees. Her heels crunched across the gravel drive as she followed the sound of the compelling music. Moving into the darkness looming around the structure, she easily found the side door to the imposing house. It opened easily for her and she slipped inside. A large, very dirty kitchen greeted her, but it gave her no feeling of belonging. There was no sense of familiarity at all. And yet she felt drawn to go deeper into the house.
She stepped into the hallway that led from the kitchen and looked up as she realized the music was coming from above. Moving through the darkness, she found her way to a staircase and slowly ascended.
Another tremor rolled up through her body. She gripped the banister as her vision swam. She needed to eat soon. She was famished. Her stomach clenched inside of her. It hurt so terribly she could barely concentrate.
If I'm hungry, I should go to the kitchen.
But the driving force inside of her told her otherwise. She began to climb the stairs again. The hallway at the top of the stairs was dark and empty. All the doors leading off of it were closed. Hesitantly, she took a step forward, not sure where to go. The music was louder now, but all she could hear was its heavy tribal beat.
This place was not familiar, yet she knew she had to be here. Something here held the answer to what was happening to her. Turning her head, she suddenly knew where the music was coming from. She could feel it in her jawbone and in her fingertips. The sensation was odd, almost painful.
Walking down the hall, her gaze fell on a large oak bookcase at the end of it. It was loaded up with books, DVDs and magazines. As she drew near, she felt the music began to pulse in her chest. She slowly ran her fingertips over her lips. Looking behind her, she stared down the hallway to the other end. The door on the other side was closed and solitary.
Her gaze returned to the bookcase. She reached out to grip the side of it. She pulled and it slowly swung forward, like a door. Though not visible from the front, there were wheels under the bottom of the bookcase. As it rolled away from the wall, a doorway became visible.
Biting her bottom lip, she touched the doorknob. She could feel the beat of the music pulsating through it. Gripping the knob tightly, she tried to turn it, but it resisted. She tried again, and still, it resisted.
Desperation gripped her, nonsensical but overwhelming. She banged her hands against the door.
“Please,” she whispered, but did not know what she was asking for.
The door swung open from within. A striking black man stared out at her. His brow crinkled as he studied her, obviously mystified by her presence.
“What the hell are you doing here, freak?”
She parted her lips to answer, but the words would not come. She wasn't even sure why she was here. All she knew was that whatever was in this room, she needed it. Reaching out, she gripped the back of his neck with one long hand and leaned into him. He looked startled, but did not resist her.
“I need,” was all she could manage to say.
“Damn, girl. What are you on?” He stared at her face, into her eyes, then slowly smiled. “Well, who invited you?”
His skin felt warm and inviting under her hand. She slowly became aware of the fact that he was only wearing a very skimpy silk thong. She stared down at the obvious erection pressing against the fabric, then slowly dragged her gaze over his muscled chest, up to his face.
“You,” she answered.
Grinning, he drew her into the room and shut the door.
“Well, I always thought you looked kinda freaky with all your tats and piercings. But tonight, damn Amal, you look hot. What did you do to yourself?” His hands were sliding up and down over her body as he pulled her further into the room.
It was full of people in various states of undress or just plain nude. The smell of wine, pot and sex filled her nostrils. A red glow filled the room. She realized that the source was all the crimson light bulbs in the lamps and overhead lights. The sheets on two massive king-size beds shoved together were also crimson. All around her bodies were writhing and intertwining.
She smiled. This was exactly what her father thought college was. One big orgy.
The young man nuzzled her neck and ran his hand up her stomach to cup her breast. She tilted her head away from him and closed her eyes as his lips played with her skin. A shiver of excitement swirled through her as he licked her throat, then nibbled.
Yes, this is it, she thought. What I need.
Gliding around in his arms, she wrapped her arms around his neck and drew him down for a long deep kiss. His strong arms enfolded her. His hands grabbed her buttocks, drawing her sharply against him.
Her sense of reality was weakening. All she could feel was a terrible ache in her mouth and stomach. She licked his lips.
“You're a total freak, aren't you?” the young man said with delight.
She smiled at him and said, “You say freak too much,” then she buried her face in his neck, breathing him in. Her nails dug into his back as she took a bit of his flesh between her teeth. He shuddered.
“Oh, yeah, bite me, vamp babe,” he said huskily.
And she did.
Before she knew it, her mouth was full of his flesh and she was sucking hard. Rich, thick warmth filled her mouth. He staggered back, gripping her tightly against him. They hit a wall. He moaned with delight as she pulled harder on his neck.
I'm so hungry. This is what I need.
She took more and more from him as he writhed against her, grinding his hard cock against her belly. His blood filled her, overwhelmed her, but she needed more. She was so hungry, so very hungry.
He was spent and gone the next minute, her t-shirt wet where he had come hard as he died. She turned and looked into the darkness of the room.
Yes, what she needed was here.
She moved easily across the room, stepping over people, moving toward the bed. In the midst of desperate, crazed sex was the quarterback of the school with a pretty little blond. Gripping his shoulder, she yanked him off the girl. Startled, he began to protest. Then she was on him, her mouth consuming his in a hungry kiss. His hands gripped her to tear her away, but then he melted into her touch as she overwhelmed his senses. Beneath them, the girl twisted and screamed at them.
Amaliya ignored her and pulled the young man's head to one side, biting deeply. She hit his jugular. Blood sprayed the blond. The angry girl let out a startled sound, then realized what was happening and began to shriek.
With deadly swiftness, Amaliya gripped the girl's throat in one hand and dragged her upright. Without hesitation, she bit the girl as the quarterback fell back from her grasp.
It was then the others in the room realized what was happening. They saw the raven-haired girl perched on their leader, drinking hard from the throat of the blond, and the body of their famed quarterback with his throat ripped open. The stampede to the door began immediately as screams filled the room.
But a darkly garbed man who smiled with feral delight met them at the door as they drew near.
“Now, now,” he said in proper British tones. “You mustn't leave. She's not full yet.”
Chapter Two
Amaliya gasped with delight as her body was finally sated. The hunger was gone and she felt wonderful and strong. Arching her back, she knelt on the bed, running her hands over her blood soaked clothing, up over her breasts.
Strong, cold hands gripped her thighs. She gasped as a long tongue trailed up her stomach before biting one nipple through her top. Those same hands gripped her hair and dragged her against a strong chest.
Mesmerized, she gazed into the dark blue eyes of the man holding her. His white-blond hair fell over his brow as he peered down at her.
“I know you,” she whispered softly.
“Yes, you do,” he answered.
Falling back on the blood soaked bed, she wrapped her arms around the one who made her. She clung to him as he hastily undressed her. Her drunken mind struggled to understand, but she could not fully comprehend this insane, wild dream.
He had made her; she was his.
He was so lovely, with short fair hair, pale skin, and beautiful eyes. He kissed her body, then bit her neck. His body was so cold when he pushed deep into her, making her drink from him.
This isn't real, she thought.
Her voice was ragged with passion and need as he fucked her senseless. When he finally came hard into her, she let out a desperate, terrified scream.
Then the darkness came.
***
“We are death,” a proper British voice said into her formless dream.
Wakefulness tugged at her eyes. Slowly, she opened them.
What am I doing here?
The room made no sense to her. Her last memory was of meeting Professor Sumner for coffee. They had been walking back to his car and then-
“It is our instinct, you see. To feed. We need to feed. Especially when we are first reborn,” Professor Sumner's voice continued.
Slowly, she sat up. Her body felt oddly refreshed, yet crusty with some vile substance. The room smelled odd, like copper.
“It is not uncommon for a newly-transformed vampire to be completely mad with the hunger. Sometimes, they do not ever recover, even after feeding. So, how are you, dear? Are you mad?”
Amaliya looked toward the sound of his voice. He sat in a chair next to the bed. His suit was completely black, even the shirt beneath it. His blond hair was swept back from his high forehead and his keen eyes were resting firmly on her face. For months, he had been her secret obsession. His every class had been like worship to her. She adored him. When he had asked her to coffee, all she had wanted to do was rip his clothes off and find out if everything she dreamed about was true.
For twenty-four, she was at times, incredibly stupid.
“Where am I? What the hell are you talking about?” she said in a low voice.
“You are in a fraternity house on the edge of campus. What the hell I am talking about is about what you are now. Three nights ago, correction, four nights ago, I killed you and buried you in the woods.”
Like a slap, the memory of her date with him returned with brutal clarity. He had seduced her behind the dorm. Shoved her up against the wall and had frenzied sex with her. She remembered how cold he had been against her. At some point, she had become afraid and tried to push him off of her. He had not relented and drove his teeth into her.
“You bit me,” she said softly.
“Yes, I did.” His voice, always so melodic and warm, was still mesmerizing, but now it seemed cruel. “I drank from you as I had for two nights before our little date when you were sleeping. But this time was much more interesting because you fought me. And this time, you died.”
Blinking slowly, she remembered how her life drained away. The disbelief she had felt as his sharp teeth had ravaged her and her blood spilled over her breasts. It had not felt real, yet her world had grown dark. Her vision had narrowed as her heart became sluggish. Her life had become a narrow little window of consciousness, a window that had been filled with the handsome face of her killer.
“As your heart beat slower and slower, I gave you my blood. It doesn't always create the change. I wasn't too sure if I had actually managed to feed you in time. You died faster than I thought. Then I took you into the woods and I buried you. And I waited. Waited for you to rise. And you did, last night.”
“You're my Psychology professor,” she protested.
None of this was making sense, yet it was. Memories of her fight out of her grave filled her mind. The shower to remove the grime from her body, the strange flashing in and out of reality her reflection had done in the mirror; she remembered it all.
“And now your Master.”
“I don't understand,” she whispered. Her full lips trembled. Tears hovered on the edges of her lashes. She was lying. She did understand. She may not truly believe it, but she did understand.
“Now, this is the interesting part. What will you do next? You're in a room full of dead people. There are exactly thirteen bodies strewn about you. You're naked, covered in dried gore, full of fresh blood, and just awakening to this life.” He smiled, tilted his head, and settled back in the chair with his arms crossed over his chest.
She stared at him aghast. His strong aristocratic features seemed so cruel and harsh now. His beard made him look like a devil. Slowly, she looked around the room to see people lying around her.
Tears quivered in her eyes. She swallowed hard.
Looking down, she saw that she was covered in dried blood. Flakes of the brown stuff came off her skin as she drew back the covers.
Slowly, she understood. It all made sense. Her great need last night. Coming here where there were plenty of people from which to feed. She had hunted last night without realizing it, and now, they were all dead.
“Ah, I see you understand. You're awakening to the reality. Yes, last night you rose as I watched you. I followed you to see what you would do. I have to say you have reacted better then some of the others I have created. You went home, cleaned up, and then you hunted. Look at the wonders you found yourself. A secret orgy. Perfection.”
She tilted her head to regard the professor with growing horror. “What did you do to me?”
“Why do you ask if you already know the answer?”
“What did you do to me?” Her voice was shrill.
He stood and brushed off his clothes. “Now to see what you will do. You know what you are. You are fully transformed now that you have fed. You are just at the beginning of your new existence. But, you have difficulties. Such as the room full of bodies and the inability to venture out in the sunlight.”
“It's night time,” she said, her dull reply automatic. She wasn't sure how she knew this, but she did.
He smiled slowly. “Yes, it is. Frankly, I am curious to see what you will do. Will you try to hold onto your old life as so many of my former children have? Or will you strike out on your own?”
Amaliya slid off the bed and looked around for her clothes. To her dismay, she saw they were soaked in blood. “Give me your jacket.”
“What?”
“Your jacket. Now.”
With a little smile, he slid it off and handed it to her. “Just this one time of assistance. No more.”
“Fuck you,” she answered. She pulled it on. Trying not to panic, she stepped over the bodies until she found her shoes. They were black, so blood was not immediately noticeable on them.
“You're not like them, you know? It's not the tattoos, the piercing or your rocker girl persona; it's your strength. How old were you when your mother died and your father married your cousin? Ten, was it? Living in a house full of boys and knowing that your father was fucking your cousin while your mother lay dying of cancer.”
“Shut up,” she growled. She had to escape this nightmare right now. Her thoughts were jumbled. She needed to get away to think.
“You went to work at what age? Thirteen, wasn't it? Saving for college. But everyone made fun of you. That wasn't what the daughter of Samuel Vezorak was supposed to do, was it? No, no; you were supposed to get married and have babies. School grades were sufficient, but not enough to get you a scholarship. Yet you managed to get one through your drumming. Off you went to Austin, to the University of Texas, where you dyed your blond hair black, got a few nifty tattoos, and learned how to rock with the best of them.”
Buttoning up the coat, she brushed past him. She ignored the ache between her thighs. It was hard to forget how insanely good he had felt inside of her. Being around him made her feel weak and wanting.
She had to get out of here. Away from him and this room of -
She stopped in her tracks.
“They're dead,” she whispered in shock. “I killed them.”
“It was when your younger sister, half sister really, got the terrible cancer, just like your poor mother, that you gave up your scholarship and went home. Now, years later, you are at a second rate college in East Texas, hoping to God it isn't too late to claw your way out of your bayou existence.”
Whirling around, Amaliya screamed, “Shut the fuck up!”
“You see, fate had other plans for you. I have never made a child with your background. I honestly have no idea how you will fare, though I’m absolutely excited to see what you will do.”
“Leave me alone!”
“Oh, I intend to. And that is the reality of it now, you see. You are on your own.” His fiendish smile made his attractive face much crueler.
How could bagging a hot professor end up this badly?
“I don't need you,” Amaliya snapped, pushing past him.
“We'll see,” he said in a mocking tone.
Not looking back, Amaliya whipped open the door and ran out.
The professor smiled with satisfaction, tucked his hands behind his back, and followed.
***
Amaliya struggled across the vast lawn that led to her dorm. She stumbled every few steps as her heels sunk into the moist, dew drenched soil. When she reached the nearly-empty employee parking lot, her foot got caught in a small pothole and she tripped. She hit the asphalt on all fours. Grimacing at the pain, she pushed herself up on her battered hands. She managed to get her feet under her with a little difficulty. Brushing the grit off her bloodied knees, she began to run again.
The stinging in her hands and knees faded. Glancing down, she realized she had already healed. Only gravel and smears of blood remained on the smooth heels of her hands. The sight of her restored flesh horrified her. A quivering moan of despair fell from her lips. Her mind felt incapable of understanding what was happening to her.
Behind her, she heard a car door open.
“Amaliya,” Professor Sumner's voice rang out.
Despite herself, she turned toward him. Her black hair flowed around her pale face. She stood trembling, hands held up before her. She dropped the bloodied clothes she had tucked under her arm. Her murderer was perfectly framed between her healed hands, and she clenched them into hard fists.
“Good luck,” he said with a rakish smile.
“Fuck off!” She gave him the finger to emphasize her words, then turned away.
His laughter tormented her as she snatched up her clothes. She darted behind a building and tried to put as much space between them as possible.
The dorm windows were completely dark when she skirted around the building to the side entrance. Fishing her keys out of her blood- encrusted jeans, she bit her bottom lip. She rubbed the back of her hand over her eyes to wipe away her tears, fighting back a desperate sob of despair.
“Stay calm,” she whispered.
Her fingers shook as she tried to fit the key into the lock. She failed to line it up with the keyhole. Exasperated, she leaned her forehead against the door.
“Stay calm,” she uttered again, her hands steadying. She pushed the key toward the tiny slot again.
The key slid into the lock. The knob turned.
She entered the dorm through the entrance under the stairs. It was empty and dark, with no sign of any of the other girls who inhabited the long, squat building. Quickly, she sprinted up the cement steps, her heels making a dreadful clunking noise the whole way up. Reaching the second floor, she turned and ran down the hall, hoping to God no one would open their door to see what the noise was about.
It's Easter weekend, she thought. No one is here.
Shit!
She was supposed to have gone home Saturday night to attend services with her family on Sunday morning.
After unlocking her door and slipping into her room, she steadied herself with one hand against the wall. The room was still a mess, but now she saw the mud and gunk she had left behind the night before.
“Oh, God,” she whispered, moving down the narrow hallway into her bedroom.
Dirt littered the floor and bits of foliage skittered in front of her. It had really happened. She had crawled out of her own forest grave. Slowly, her gaze descended to her body. She unfastened the jacket with quivering fingers. Beneath the black fabric, her pale skin was caked with blood.
Closing her eyes, she pressed her fingertips to her eyelids. She had killed tonight. Hunted down and killed people for blood. She had done that.
Sinking to the floor, she whimpered as the tears that she had tried so hard to hold back began to fall.
The phone rang near the bed. She ignored it as she fell over onto her side and curled up into a tight little ball. The harsh sound of the ringing phone made her head hurt. She covered her ears with her hands.
Finally, the archaic answering machine clicked on.
“You've reached Amaliya Vezorak. I can't come to the phone right now. So leave a message and if I feel like it, I'll call you back. And if this is you, Jimmy, you owe me 20 bucks.” Her voice sounded rough and a little slurred. She had recorded it drunk and just left it as it was.
“Amal, it's your Daddy. Where the hell are you? We waited all day for you. Your Grandmama is not happy about you not showing up for church. I'm not happy about you not getting my truck back here. Our agreement was that you could borrow it until you got your student loan. You got your damn money so buy your own clunker and get mine back here, girl. Where the hell are you? If this is your attempt to get me to buy you one of those damn cellphones-”
The machine, thankfully, cut off the rest of his message.
Pushing herself up, Amaliya's hot tears returned. As far as her father was concerned, she was a fuck up. She laughed bitterly as she realized she was now an undead fuck up. He would just love that.
Getting to her feet, she managed to get herself into the bathroom. The bathtub was ringed with grit. Stripping naked, she got into the shower and turned on the water. It hit her icy cold, but she didn't care anymore. She just wanted the dark brown blood off her body. Bracing her hands against the cold, scummy tiles, she wept as the water washed over her.
How had it come to this? How had her life spiraled so out of control? Sliding her fingers through her caked hair, she felt the matted strands give way with a painful tug. All she had wanted, her whole life, was to find her own path, to walk to the beat of her own drum, to live a life of adventure. But that had been continuously sidetracked by death, family drama and the severe lack of money. Nothing she had done to get her life out of the hole it was in had ever worked. She seemed forever doomed to just barely make it by.
Her fingers traced down her sternum. She drew in a quivering breath she wasn't even sure she needed as she sought out the beating of a living heart. Tears flowed down her face as she felt nothing for a terrible, panicking moment, and then she felt a thump.
“Oh, God,” she gasped with relief, falling back against the cold tiles. Both hands pressed tightly between her breasts, she both heard and felt the steady, slow beating of her heart. Swallowing hard, cold tears slid down her cheeks to mingle with the hot water. Looking down, she saw that her tears were turning the water a slight pinkish color. Frightened, she rubbed her fingertips under one eye and drew them back from her face. They were tinged with what looked like blood before the hot water washed it away.
Crying out with the sheer terror, she fell to her knees and laid her forehead against the stained bottom of the tub. The hot water beat down on her as she gave in to the overwhelming despair inside of her.
***
The mirror was empty. Not a whisper of reflection was there.
Amaliya blinked slowly. She stared into the empty mirror, willing herself to see her image. But there was nothing; just the empty shower behind her. Reaching out, she pressed her hand firmly to the fogged surface.
Nothing. Not a flicker.
She pushed harder, as if she could literally shove her reflection into the silvered glass, but nothing happened. Her hand remained against the empty mirror without a doppelgänger’s hand pressing against her own.
Closing her eyes, she lowered her hand and slowly took hold of the sink. Her whole body trembled as she tried to gather her wits about her. The horror of her new reality washed over her, fresh and terrible. Opening her eyes, for a moment, she thought she saw her reflection. A brief, stark image of a woman with dyed, black hair laying heavy and wet against her neck and shoulders, staring with desperate need into nothingness. The image flashed out of existence. She reached out a desperate hand. The mirror shattered as her fingers slammed into the reflective surface. The shards tinkled into the sink. Sobbing, she sat sharply on the edge of the tub.
She ran a hand over her wet hair as she sat in silence, her lips quivering. She could just go to bed and go to sleep. This wasn't real. None of it was real. She was sick. Maybe she had the flu. It was all a dream. A horrible, terrible dream. There were no such things as vampires. She didn't even have sharp teeth! She couldn't be a murdering, bloodsucking fiend! Vampires didn't exist.
Shoving her fingers into her mouth, she ran the tips over her teeth to fearfully search for sharp little teeth. Nothing. She felt nothing. Just the smooth edges she should feel.
“I just need to go to bed and wake up,” she decided.
Pulling a towel securely around her body, she walked into her messy room and sprawled across the narrow twin bed. The alarm clock lay right in her view. Its bright red numbers stated it was nine o'clock.
Red like blood, she thought idly, then shoved the terrible allegory away from her thoughts.
Rolling onto her back, she stared up at the poster over her bed. Trent Reznor of Nine Inch Nails glowered down at her in all his dark beauty. Closing her eyes, she lay her hand over her face and willed herself to sleep. If she slept this would all go away. She would wake up and...
What?
She would suddenly not be living dead? Her battle to be out of the grave would suddenly not exist? Her blood soaked clothes wouldn't lie in a heap on the floor?
“Dammit!” She sat up and shook her head.
Drops of water splattered over the wall and clock as her wet hair fanned around her. Gripping her hair with both her hands, she pulled it over her shoulders and held onto it as she rocked back and forth. She could not stay here. She knew it. Too many questions would be asked. They would find the bodies. For all she knew, they would be able to track her to the scene. The police had all sorts of fancy ways of tracking down killers nowadays.
Oh, God, she was a killer. Her teeth had torn into the flesh of humans and she had drunk blood.
Blood!
The memory of that first bite filled her thoughts. Instead of repulsion, she felt the sting of pleasure. It had been exquisite. An erotic pulse of power rippled through her as she leaned back slowly on her bed. The lovely sensations she had felt as she had fed overwhelmed her senses. Her panic faded away. She relished the memory of the blood, the fear, the power; it had been delicious and wonderful.
Her tongue scraped against something sharp in her mouth. She bolted upright. She shoved her fingertips into her mouth again. She gasped as something sharp tore them open. Staring at her bloodied fingers, she ran her tongue slowly along her teeth. Amaliya shivered as the tip of it discovered two sharp teeth pressing down on either side of her mouth.
“Fuck,” she blurted, launching herself off the bed.
What had just happened to her? She had lost herself in the memory of her feeding. Dammit, she had enjoyed killing and she knew it. Looking back at the event through the bloody pleasure of her need, she felt no remorse. Panicking, she pulled deep inside of herself to find guilt and fear. She mentally shoved away the part of her that had relished her killing bites.
“I have to get the hell out of here,” she muttered.
In a frenzy, she shoved clothes, underwear, shoes, and anything else that looked remotely useful into her large duffel bag. Realizing she was naked, she dropped the bag. She snagged a clean pair of jeans and a tank top from the laundry basket. She looked around the room, trying to collect her thoughts into a workable plan. As she slid her tank top on, she abruptly remembered her father's phone call. Her student loan had come in!
“Oh, yeah,” Amaliya breathed.
She fell to her knees beside the dresser. Pulling out a drawer, she felt under it for the envelope that she had duct taped under it. Her searching fingers found it and yanked it off with a sharp tearing sound. Inside the little envelope was over $5,000 of student loan money. It was all the money she had in the world. In her bank account was just a few dollars. Her paycheck from her work-study wouldn't hit until tomorrow.
Opening the envelope, she quickly recounted the money, then thrust it into her jeans. It would have to do for now.
Shoving a few more pairs of thong underwear into her bag, her gaze swept over the room one last time. The bloodied clothes and forest grime lay at her feet. She started to reach down, then hesitated. Unsure, her hand hovered over the bundle.
She was a vampire now. Fuck it. Let them come after her. She must have some sort of superpowers. Besides, maybe if she left her clothes here, they would think she was dead.
Tears were threatening again, but she fought them.
Time to go home. Time to get help. Time to-
She hesitated as she picked up her keys.
“Time to sort this shit out,” she decided, heaving the bag over her shoulder.
She walked out of her dorm room for the last time.
Chapter Three
The road was nearly empty of cars. It was still early; people weren’t heading home from their Easter festivities. It would be a late night for a lot of families, as they enjoyed barbecues and family time.
Sweeping her hair back from her face, her gaze flicked to the rear view mirror. A sole car followed behind her. Biting her bottom lip, she drew her bag a little closer to her. The possessions shoved in her bag were all she owned in this world. She felt fragile and afraid.
You're a vampire, the professor's voice taunted.
Her tongue slid over her teeth for the hundredth time. The sharp teeth she had felt earlier were now gone. Maybe they only came out when she was hungry.
The steady hum of the road was soothing to her frayed nerves. She resisted the urge to turn on the radio. The wind pouring in through the rolled-down windows tossed her hair into disarray around her face, but was effectively blow-drying her tresses.
The car tailing her flipped a turn signal on and disappeared down a side road. The road was barren ad dark behind the truck.
The night was so dark. She couldn't remember it being this foreboding before, but maybe she was just working herself up again. Now that she thought about it, she could see very well. In fact, she could see perfectly into the velvet darkness surrounding her, but at the same time the world seemed-
“More ominous,” she decided.
It's him. He makes it like this. So horribly dark and wrong.
How could she have been so stupid? How could she have given into him like that? And now her life was gone, just like those students at the frat house, she was dead, too. Nothing she had worked for mattered anymore. Her hard work, her sacrifices, her triumphs, her failures, everything she had ever done, was now wiped out. Years of saving for college swept away. The years she spent working at crap jobs, with hardly any pay and bosses' roving hands, were for nothing. The time sitting at her sister’s side, nursing and loving her as she slowly faded from the world didn’t seem worth it anymore. And her friends, having gone off to get married and have children, seemed like a cruel joke. She had sacrificed her own happiness, but for what?
“He owes me,” she hissed.
She realized as soon as the words left her lips that she was talking about her father. Not Professor Sumner.
He had guilt-tripped her into going home from Austin when her sister had been diagnosed with cancer. Her brave little sister had actually insisted that Amaliya stay in Austin and finish her schooling. Despite her sister's urgings to remain in school, Amaliya had been so devastated by her father's berating that she had come home.
What followed was three years of sheer hell. She watched her sister struggle to win a battle that she seemed destined to lose from the moment she was diagnosed. It had been the hardest thing Amaliya had ever done. Throughout the ordeal, she had told herself that she would one day go back to the University of Texas and get her degree in psychology, but her sister's illness hung on and her scholarship expired.
Amaliya had stayed out of love for sister, but also because her father had made it damn clear that it was her responsibility to take care of her sister. After losing his first wife to cancer, Samuel had wanted nothing to do with his youngest daughter's treatment. He had staunchly avoided even dealing with the illness and rarely visited his sick daughter. In the end, little Rachel had died wondering if her father loved her.
Wiping a tear away and letting out an angry noise, Amaliya set her jaw. She would go home, tell him to sign over the truck, tell him not to say he had seen her if the police asked, then instruct him to forget she existed.
Cold tears began to flow down her cheeks. It had always been like this with her family. Tense and coarse. They both had little or no tolerance for each other and lived in an uneasy truce. She believed he loved her, but hated who she was. She had always been different from everyone else in the family. It wasn't just because she was the only girl until her sister Rachel had been born; her entire being just seemed at odds with her family's culture.
“Spic blood,” someone had once said to her father. “It just made her lazy and weird.”