Angel's Guardian: A Contemporary Vampire Romance (5 page)

Why didn't he think of that? There were dozens of places that offered ready-made meals for humans. The answer was that he didn’t frequent those places. He knew about food because he had a close human friend and often socialized with him. He knew about liquor because he enjoyed a stiff drink now and then. If you asked him where to find a good whiskey at midnight, he could think of a dozen places. Where to find a nice, juicy vein? No problem.

CHAPTER
8

The moon, white and voluptuous like a proud, fat bride on her wedding night, had just cleared the horizon. From the third-story window of his topside mansion, Vadim Denisov stood close behind his wife of many centuries. His arms held her close to him as they gazed at the moon like two young lovers. He breathed in the scent of her hair, so pleasingly familiar to him, and basked in the comforting warmth of her body.

He considered himself a very lucky man. A long time ago, he found the perfect mate. He fell in love with her at first sight, and in the usual vampire way, never stopped loving her. It was a blessing that she'd loved him back. Marriage, for vampires, could be heaven or hell. If you married for love, and both partners loved, it would last fresh and powerful until death.

Sometimes, the marriage was one of convenience. In some cases,  one partner married for love, and the other for ambition or whatever other reason. Nothing was as painful as knowing your beloved did not feel the same way, and seldom was a vampire partner able to fake what was not there. Such a union would be hell.

He hoped that someday his own children would choose wisely and build lasting and loving relationships, but he was not expecting that would happen now. His son and daughter were made from a different mold than their parents. Toma, from an early age, was prone to wanting what he should not want, be it power, position, or women. Lately, his son was going in directions his father could not allow.

His daughter, Ivanna, was beautiful but selfish and willful. As a young girl, she always ran after her cousin Maxim and he, in turn, seemed devoted to her. At one time, Vadim thought they would be destined for each other, but Maxim had proven otherwise. Maybe he'd been too aware of Ivanna's scheming nature.

“My love, you’re preoccupied tonight,” murmured his beloved Irina. “Is it the moon so beautiful keeping you awed and silent?”

Vadim sighed deeply. “No, my dear. I wish I could say that having you in my arms under a wishing moon has my thoughts turning to romance, but I refuse to lie to you. You would know the truth.”

“It's our son, isn't it? It has always been our son,” she sighed in resignation. “If only your brother Anton had not lost his two younger sons to the purge of our homeland's revolution, then it would not have mattered if Maxim refused to rule. One of his brothers would have stepped up, but the stewardship fell to you, his uncle. Toma, so close to power, was seduced by its lure and became obsessed with ambition.”

“Three brothers we were: Anton, me, and Sergei. Upon Anton's death, the crown passed to Maxim, his only surviving son. If Maxim dies, it passes to me. My death will mean that Toma inherits it. If Toma dies without male issue, my younger brother Sergei is next in line, followed by his son Luca. Not I, not Sergei, nor Luca burn to be king. Maxim runs away from the privilege and responsibility. In turn, Toma burns for it. It seems unfair to him, but I know full well that he is the last one who should have it.”

“I had the chance to speak with our daughter earlier,” Irina said. “I visited her rooms this evening and found her dressing to go out. She confided that she was meeting her brother tonight. I advised her not to go, warned her that her brother treads in dangerous waters and you’re well aware of it. She, of course, said the right words, but I know subterfuge when I hear it.”

“Yes, I fear our children go where we dare not follow. They’re young and realize not how easily things break and can never be put back as they were. I’m afraid that Ivanna too will throw in her lot with her brother's. Her dreams of marrying Maxim and becoming his queen have little chance of coming true now. I expect that Toma will make her promises.”

“I don't understand,” said his wife as she turned around to look into his eyes, her own clouded with worry. “Our union has been one of love and harmony. We have taught our children by word and action the meaning of family, loyalty, honor. The cousins all grew up together closer than brothers. Why are our children so unsatisfied when they have so much?”

“I don't know, love. Maybe because our own union has been perfect, life must somehow take from somewhere else, balance the scales. I don't truly know, but I fear the outcome. I’m in terror that in the end, I will have no choice  but to break our hearts.”

“Hold me. Hold me tight and keep me sheltered. I want to be oblivious to all but your love tonight. I fear the future.”

“There is little sense in fearing what you can’t evade. Fear only causes you to delay action and prolong the misery of fearing. I have feared and delayed for too long. Tonight, I have sent for Luca. He should be here shortly. I have a mission of some urgency for him.”

“Can you trust Luca?”

“Yes, I can. Luca has a sense of honor and loyalty I have yet to discover in my own children. He may not be happy with Maxim, but he is loyal to me.”

******

“I need a message carried to Maxim and I need it done secretly because I fear that the messenger may run into danger should his purpose be known.”

“Assassination?” You fear the messenger may be killed? Surely, you’re becoming unreasonably paranoid. We are family. We do not murder each other.”

Luca was the epitome of the handsome, noble vampire. His silvery, long hair fell like a waterfall of silk over the sleek, elegant Armani suit. His sculpted face and silvery eyes were beautiful in the way an Angel's might be. Luca was the son of Sergei, Vadim's younger brother. Maxim, Toma, and Luca were first cousins and had been best friends throughout their early years.

“Our history is riddled with instances of murder in families and always for one reason: power. Even in normal families without royal blood there are murders for money, status, jealousy. If I’m paranoid, you’re naive. Naive people do not see betrayal coming. A warrior can never be naive.” Vadim placed his hands on Luca's shoulder, squeezing to emphasize his words.

“I understand, Uncle.” Luca sighed and relented at the seriousness of the man's words. “You know I’m your man. I will go and do the job whatever it might be.”

“I knew I could count on you, nephew. It is family business after all.”

“Is Maxim still in New York? Still leaping the parapets covered in hair and fleas?”

“Yes,” answered his uncle, going to the sideboard and pulling out a bottle of vodka. The younger generations had given up vodka for the more trendy scotches, and even those that still imbibed the traditional spirit, opted for the newer foreign brands. “He still refuses to accept or even acknowledge his place within the vampire nation.”

“He ever was different, even as a child,” observed Luca. “He was introspective,  romantic, softer. He never reacted to taunts or ridicule. Strong in that way. Invulnerable, almost. It used to anger Toma.”

“Yes, and he was always too curious about the human world, attracted to its technology, refusing to see its danger.”

“So, you want me to travel to New York City, find my wayward cousin, and give him a message. What would that message be and when do I leave?”

“You'll leave as soon as possible, tomorrow night.”

“Why such short notice?”

“Because I fear that Toma's men are already on their way and will get to Maxim within days. You might not find him alive.”

“You know this? It is not just a fear?”

“I know it. I have spies too. Toma plots to kill his cousin, hoping his own father will become king instead of steward and pass him the crown in succession.”

“The murder of your own blood is anathema to vampires. Surely, Toma has not traveled that far into his ambition.” Luca seemed shocked at the revelation.

“Take with you a few men you can trust. Be cautious and expect trouble. At the least, expect to be spied upon. Once there, keep out of sight of Toma's men, but protect your king if the need arises. No matter how unkingly he may seem, he is what he is. And tell him that he must come home. I need him here, now.”

“Yes, Uncle,” chuckled Luca with unexpected humor as he raised the glass of vodka to his lips. “I will do your bidding while I make every effort to dodge the fleas.”

CHAPTER
9

He looked down on the woman through the tangle of his unkempt hair. He was lucky to have found an open-all-night pharmacy.

“For a fever,” he asked. “What do you have for a fever?”

“Child or adult?” the pharmacy assistant asked, watching him over her metal-rimmed glasses.

“Adult. A human female.”

“A human female? Are there other kinds?” She gave him a strange look.

Max realized his error and moved quickly to correct it. “I meant a woman female. I meant to say a woman. I’m originally from Russia. My English is not so good.” He smiled but, through all the hair, it was hard to tell.

“I understand. Is the fever accompanied by coughing, headache, body pains?”

“No, just sleeping and moaning.”

The woman looked at him strangely again. He hurried to amend his answer.

“I mean yes, pain. Body pains, but no coughing,” he corrected himself.

“Usually, fever is a sign of infection, and it’s important that the person be seen by a physician. Only a physician can prescribe antibiotics for an infection.”

“She will see a doctor tomorrow, but I want to do what I can now,” he lied.

“You might try giving her some aspirin. Keep her cool. Give her cold Ginger Ale to drink.”

“I also need to feed the baby. She's too sick to feed him.”

“Is this your wife?” The assistant observed the unkempt, tangled hair, the overgrown beard that pretty much hid the entire face, the large, hulking, intimidating physique, the brusque manner, and the language problem. She seemed doubtful he could score a wife. 

“No, no. She’s my visiting sister from Seattle. She became sick on the way down. I know next to nothing about babies, and he'll need feeding tonight.”

The woman looked at him with sympathy in her eyes. “I understand. It’s not good for a sick mom to breastfeed a baby. We have excellent formulas that are easy to prepare. In fact, you'll be better off with a ready-made one that all you have to do is pour it in the bottle.”

“Yes,” he piped up brightly, “lots of those. Bottles too and anything else you have for babies.  Diapers. Lots of them.”

“What size?”

He looked at her in confusion. “Size? Baby size. I said it’s a baby.”

The woman looked at him with pity this time. “Is it a newborn or a six-month-old or a toddler? Its weight determines the size of the diaper.”

Max was at a loss, his confused expression giving away his ignorance on the topic. “He’s about this big,” he said, holding his hands about a foot apart.

“You don’t know how old your nephew is?” 

“Oh, six months,” he answered, taking a wild guess.

“And he’s only about a foot long? Usually, they’re born between 18 to 22 inches long.”

“Maybe I misjudged,” he backtracked, looking sheepish. “It is hard to tell when they curl up and sleep all the time. Besides, I have not seen my sister in a long time. I did not think to ask about the baby’s age. I’d guess he weighs about ten pounds.”

“Well, then I’d suggest you take the size after newborn. If they don’t fit, you can return and get the next size.”

“Yes, that’s a good idea,” he said, eager to escape the overly helpful woman. Max would have agreed to anything at that point, feeling incompetent and embarrassed by the woman’s pitying expression.

He left the drugstore minus a hundred dollars. He placed his purchases just inside his front door and rushed out again. At McDonald’s, he stood in line reading the menus and watching what other people ordered. When his turn came up, he faced an overweight teenage girl who did not look happy with her job.

“I want food for a child for three or four days.”

The girl looked at him in confusion. “We don't sell food by the day. Children usually like our happy meals. They like the little toy that comes with them.”

“Is the toy edible?” he asked in shocked disbelief.

The high-school girl looked him up and down. “Ha ha ha. Very funny.”

He was smart enough to realize that he was showing his ignorance and making a fool of himself once again. “I was joking,” he backtracked. She probably thought he was one of those homeless people with mental problems. “Happy meals, they sound good. Give me half a dozen of them.”

“You’re buying for six children?” Her snide, superior tone made him want to open a vein. Hers.

“No, just for one child.” He imagined himself reaching over, pulling her over the counter and draining her just to change her attitude.

“Must be a very hungry girl,” she said in that very smug tone that made him grind his teeth.

“All right, then, make it half of that. Three happy meals.”

“What would you like in them, Sir?” Her “Sir” sounded like an insult.

Was this a trick question? “Food, of course,” he glared at her. At this point, the people lined behind him snickered and laughed. The girl stared at him as if he was mentally deficient.

“Our happy meals come with hamburgers, cheeseburgers, or chicken nuggets,” she informed him haughtily as she pointed at the listings up behind her.

He thought back to the orders others had placed before him. “Cheese burgers. My niece loves cheese.”

He was never so happy to leave a place as he was to leave McDonald’s. Never had anyone made him feel so stupid as that teenager. She probably thought he was retarded. If only she knew. He was tempted to come back at closing time and make a happy meal out of her. That would get the smug look off her face.

It was almost nine pm when he made it back to the house. The baby was having another tantrum. This time it was hunger, he was sure.

“Nina, here, I have food for both of you. Help me get his bottle ready first.” The lady at the drugstore said that the ready-made formula did not need heating at all. She’d told him what to do.

He twisted the lid open and screwed on the nipple top. Within seconds, the babe was guzzling his formula. He held the baby gingerly, walking up and down the wide, living space while Nina dug into her happy meal with relish. She laid the little plastic bag with the small toy by her side to enjoy later. She definitely knew it wasn't edible. At the moment, her cheeseburger and fries were all that mattered.

With the baby feeding contentedly in his arms, and the girl with her cheeks bulging with food, Maxim felt in control for the first time in days. He had confronted overwhelming obstacles, and he'd conquered each one of them. He even bought a smaller shower hose for when the baby pooped again.

“You'll have to burp him,” the raspy voice said. He looked down, and the mother’s eyes were open. She still looked feverish, but she was awake and talking.

“Burp him?”

“Yes. When he’s done drinking, you prop him up against your shoulder and tap him gently on the back until his gases come out.”

“That sounds disgusting.”

“It will keep him from getting gas pain and crying all night.”

“Burping sounds like a great idea. Can you force yourself to eat and drink something? If you want to live and take care of your little ones, that is.”

She turned on her side and with much effort, sat up. Nina brought her the McDonald’s bag and began to unwrap a cheeseburger for her. The woman sat holding herself up with one arm, holding her food with the other. Her daughter held the straw up to her mouth.

“How old is the baby? I don’t think the diapers I bought are the right size for his age. The counter lady asked, but I didn’t know and had to guess.”

She stopped to swallow. “He’s almost two months old. Nina just had her sixth birthday. A very old six,” she smiled wistfully. “She’s had to learn fast. I’m so sorry. I need to be up and tending to my children.”

“You need to be getting better. I have wasted enough time waiting for you to die. It has finally become clear to me that you’re not going to, and that I’d be better served by helping you recuperate so you can take your brood and go on your merry way. I have it all figured out. There is enough formula and diapers for weeks. The baby got his first bath today. I don't know how to cook, but ready-made food is easily available, and Nina seems to like it.”

“Thank you, from the bottom of my heart. My name is Angelica Ferrars, but they call me Angel. You’re holding little Marco.”

“I know. Nina told me. I’m Maxim Denisov, but you may call me Max. You said you have no home. Where is their father?”

“Dead. He can't help us anymore. I have been running ever since he was taken. The baby was born at the city hospital. I took him and ran as soon as I could. I have a friend who held on to Nina until I could pick her up. If I go back to my friend now, I’ll put her life in danger.”

“For now, you’re safe here. It’s a temporary situation, and you must be ready to leave as soon as possible.”

“I understand. I’m deeply grateful for your help and hospitality.”

“I have lived alone for many years, and I detest company. By choice, mine is a very austere life with few frills. I have internet, but no TV. The house is spacious, but there is little furniture, and the windows must be kept shuttered during the day. There is a kitchen, but I do not cook. I work and sleep most of the day and stay out all night. Silence and privacy are what I value most.”

She nodded her head. “We will keep out of your way.”

“By necessity, it’s best that you do. I will keep out of yours.” He looked at the almost empty four-ounce bottle, dropped it on the pallet, and placed little Marco against his shoulder. He patted gently, until a burp worthy of a grown man was heard. Nina nearly fell over laughing.

“Disgusting,” he called out holding little Marco at arm's length. “He spit up all over my beard.” Nina laughed even harder.