Beautiful Death (9 page)

“Hmm?” he asked, eyeing the tea as he got a whiff of it again. He really wasn’t going to touch that.

“Thank you.” When Tristan looked confused he added, “For giving me your trust.”

“Yeah, sure,” he answered, giving a dismissive wave but deep down he really appreciated the gesture. “Now get out.” Ash gave him one last look and left, leaving him to the quiet of his room. Finally alone with nothing but his thoughts, Tristan took in a deep breath and relaxed back on the bed for a moment.

So, Ash was a vampire. Did that really change things? Guess not. Well, so long as he didn’t lose it and eat him or turn out to be really on Malik’s side. Though, something told him that wasn’t the case. Ash’s mission to hunt and kill Malik, maybe even all bad vampires, seemed genuine. Ash saved Haruka, and more recently Tristan, when he didn’t have to. Ash was a nice guy, even if he was socially horrific. But some of that seemed to just be his mask, a pretense he used to hide his true feelings. In the end, it seemed like Tristan’s only friend was a vampire. How fucked up was that?

Tristan gave a small snorted sort of laugh and climbed out of bed. He stumbled the first few steps before catching himself. His whole body felt like one big wet noodle, ready to dump him to the floor at any moment. On the way to the bath, he stumbled a few more times, almost falling into the stone fireplace head first.

Just as Ash had said, there were clean bandages on the sink counter. Mixed in with the assortment of cotton and tape was a small, unlabeled glass jar. Tristan removed the lid and was greeted by a pungent, sordid smell. The muddy, shit-brown cream looked like ointment, but smelled like fresh earth after a heavy rain mixed with the scent of moldy fall leaves that have been sitting on the ground too long. But, under those two very overpowering, unpleasant scents was something else, something almost... alluring. It was sweet and held a bit of a tang that tickled his sinuses. For some reason it made his mouth water.

He carefully pulled the soiled bandages from his right arm and left side. The gauze stuck where the ointment and other fluids had dried into a biological paste. He cringed when it finally gave and peeled away, pulling at his tender skin and threatening to reopen the wounds.

Considering a vampire had its way with him, the outcome could have been worse. He was just lucky he didn’t die. The big gash on his left side had only a few tiny stitches that might not even scar. There were dozens of other tiny scratches covering his chest and arms, surprisingly none worse than a paper cut. The worst of the damage by far was his right arm. Aaron had practically opened up his forearm to the bone. The wound was jagged and had more stitches than he wanted to count. Despite Ash’s careful attentiveness with the tiny stitches, there’d be a gnarly scar to show for it later. He’d have to remember to thank him for the purple thread.

There was a baker’s dozen worth of small bruises over his ribcage and upper arms, but it was his back that really ached. Remembering the flying leap he took with the vampire riding him like a snowboard, he put his back to the mirror, looking over his shoulder and winced. He had a whole world map of purple and green. It was no wonder he hurt so much
.

The large soaking tub in Ash’s guest bath caught his eye, but he never had the patience for things like baths. Besides, Ash was waiting to talk to him. To tell him
what
he was. After a tribute to Austin Powers, a much needed relief, he jumped into the shower for a quick refresher. He dressed hastily in the gray dress slacks and black knit top left for him, and redressed his wounds with that nasty shit Ash called ointment and fresh bandages. He opened the bathroom door to find Haruka standing over the dinette table, setting out dinner. She turned at hearing him exit the bathroom and presented him with a low bow.

“Oh, hey, Haruka.” He fumbled around trying to remember the Japanese word he wanted and finally managed a muddled, “
Hajimemashite
.”

She shook her head, corrected his pronunciation, and the usage of the word—which wasn’t entirely correct—and then said, “
Konbanwa
, young Master.” The whole time her gaze was fixed on the floor away from him.

His stomach growled loudly as the smell of dinner wafted over him. “Thanks,” he said, motioning to the table and she actually looked up, meeting his gaze. He offered her a warm smile when she didn’t look away, took a step closer. “You can call me Tristan, you know.”

Haruka looked away quickly, shaking her head gently. She started for the door and he dropped his shoulders feeling as if he just lost some little unknown battle.

Not only was dinner a big pile of red potatoes and two vegetables, there was also two steaks—one a medium rare filet mignon, the other a seared tuna. He didn’t know how she knew how he liked his steak, but he didn’t care as he dove into it mouth first, barely chewing. He wondered if she made the American meal just for him. He thought that maybe she really did like him, but that she was just shy… in addition to being messed up in the head from Malik. He’d feel weird hitting on her though.

As his mind started to wander, he went from Haruka’s sexy legs to thinking about the last woman he was with. Then he remembered how he ended up with her. In the end, as always, his thoughts stopped with his parents. He wondered why they had to die. He wasn’t so naïve to think that people never died, but they were so young. He was so young. No one should lose their parents so young.

Suddenly not so hungry anymore, he got up from his meal. He opened the door to leave his room and was slapped in the face by fierce piano music. He almost stepped on Pandora and jumped step back, startled. “Hello, sweetheart. What are you sitting here for? You smell my food? It’s cooked, dunno that you’d want it.”

She blinked blue eyes up at him and he smiled
.
Barefoot, he padded towards the Great Room, Pandora in tow. Outside of the doorway, he stopped and leaned against the wall. Pandora trotted into the room leaving him behind. He shut his eyes and let the sound of the piano fill his head, feeling the sorrow Ash emitted through his fingers. It was as if he played to release his misery, not knowing any other way but through his hands at the keys. He understood now why Ash was so solemn, so... sad. He didn’t choose his life, to be a vampire. He hated what he is. He played in lament to his lost humanity.

The music trailed to a stop and Ash’s soft voice filtered out of the room. “You are being rude.”

Busted. Tristan wondered how long it would take to remember Ash could hear him, even when he kept his big mouth shut. Tristan sighed and turned the corner of the room. All of the lights were out. A fire had been lit earlier in the evening, leaving the dying embers fighting to illuminate the large space and the room smelling like burnt wood. He gave Ash a tired smile and sat down on one of the chairs in front of the piano, facing him. Pandora was already in the other, tongue hanging out happily as if everything was just peachy, as if the air in the room wasn’t dense with emotion. Tristan didn’t know exactly what it was, but he swore he could feel Ash’s mood, infectious and slowly sapping the life from him. Their conversation was going to be that bad, huh?

“Perhaps,” Ash said softly, plucking the thought from his mind. He turned on the piano bench to face Tristan and sighed. “I do not know where to start.”

“Dude, seriously, who talks like that?”

“Like what?” Ash asked pointedly.

Tristan had jabbed at the other man about it before. “
I do not know..
. What are you, a lawyer? Conjunctions, my friend, use them.”

“I learned English a very long time ago.”

“What, ten years ago? You’re twenty. Seriously, you talk like English isn’t your first language.”

“Point in fact, English is my…” He stopped, eyes rolling up as he thought and then settled again on Tristan. “Fourth language.”

“Oh. Really? I thought you were American.” His English was perfect enough, even if it was overly proper. Then again so was his Japanese.

“
Είμαι Έλληνα
ς
.” He smiled when he saw the look on Tristan’s face. “I am Greek.”

“Greek, huh? I thought Greeks were supposed to have darker skin. You’re paler than a hotel towel.”

This got him a raised eyebrow and a concealed smirk. “Such as the fate of my kind.”

“Your—oh right. Vampire. How’d I forget?” he said with a sly smile. He knew he was just putting off the inevitable “bad talk” with Ash, messing around like this, but he couldn’t explain it. He liked the guy. He wasn’t nearly as scared of the vampire as he should have been. There must have been something wrong with him. “So then, you’re what… fifty?”

“I have seen countless great wars between countries across the world—World War one, The French Revolution, The Turkish-Greek War, the fall of the Ottoman Empire.”

Tristan wasn’t sure if he believed Ash. It just seemed so impossible. “The Ottomans… wasn’t that three hundred years ago?”

Ash nodded and made a small noise of confirmation. “Just about.”

Tristan stared at him a moment to see if the guy was lying. When he realized he wasn’t, he let out a long sigh and slumped back in his seat. “You really have seen a lot, haven’t you?”

“Three hundred and forty to be precise, so yes. I have.”

“And me? You’ve seen what I am?”

Ash nodded. “Aaron did have some information to offer—”

“Whoa, wait. Aaron? That limey bastard with the Wolverine claws and pointy teeth that tried to eat me?”
Bastard
. “I don’t remember him telling you anything, before you... killed him.”   

The corner of Ash’s mouth pulled up. “No. I knew he would not tell me if directly asked. I had hoped to do what I needed away from you. I had never intended for you to see that.” Tristan nodded when Ash paused, looking at him with imploring eyes. Ash was genuinely sorry. “As I was saying. Aaron, had some information to offer. And I know what I learned from him to be true because it was from his blood. Blood never lies.”

Tristan gave him wide eyes. “His... blood?”

Ash sighed, shifting uncomfortably on the bench. “Just as we have the ability to read minds, we can also read one’s blood. There is no greater truth than what is found in blood. When I bit Aaron, I learned from him the memories of everything I needed to know. Well, all that Aaron knew anyway, which was not much, I am sorry to say.”

“So, you know what people have done or said just by drinking their blood?”

Ash nodded in confirmation, vivid eyes locked with Tristan’s. “Yes. And I saw Malik and his pythia, Lilith.”

“Yeah, what the hell is a pythia?”

“The race of pythia has been in existence since the birth of humanity. They are powerful in foretelling the future. Their blood is unique in that they can give power to spells created of plants and other natural materials. Great alchemists, masters of spagyric art. I consult with one in China on a regular basis. She made the restorative tea for you.”

Tristan tried hard to not think about the tea he left sitting behind in his room. He hadn’t even taken a sip. “So, magic oracles, got it.”

Ash shook his head at the American’s simplistic definition, but it was one that worked well enough. “Lilith is very wise. She saw a future filled with death. She saw the rise of an ancient bloodline. One that would lead to Malik’s end. Perhaps the end of all vampires.”

Tristan shifted uncomfortably, not liking where the conversation was leading. “And you saw all of that in Aaron’s blood?”

“Yes. The only way this special human can exert their influence however, is if they were turned into a vampire themselves. Malik fears the accidental creation of such a creature. I suspect,” Ash said, straightening his shoulders and placing his hands into his lap, “Malik believes your lineage is of such potential.”

“Well fuck me.” That’s what he was afraid of. “Okay. So what? You gonna make me vampire then? Use me to get back at Malik, at all vampires? Sorry, but not interested... I don’t want to be like you. I don’t want to die.”

“Neither did I!” Ash burst from his seat, fuming.

Tristan tensed, sitting back in his seat, pulse suddenly pounding. Okay, so maybe he could have put it a little less bluntly.

“I would never make you one of us, even if it did enhance my arsenal. Being made into this, especially against your will, is exceptionally cruel. Malik forced this life, this hell onto me.” Ash started to pace a small line between the piano and Tristan’s seat and the American couldn’t help but look over to the exit. So he was a little afraid of Ash. It was the smart thing to be anyway.

“Malik deceived me, made me believe he was human. That he cared.” Ash stopped pacing and hung his head, sending his long hair around him like a white curtain of silk to hide behind and whispered, “He made me believe that he truly loved me after I had so much heartbreak...”

Tristan gave the other man wide eyes. Did he just say he loved Malik? Knew it, the dude was totally gay. It fit him, though and didn’t really shock Tristan. Then again, at this point, what else could there possibly to shock him? He’d already been attacked by a jikininki and a vampire. Seriously, what else was there, because Tristan would have liked to know before they came for his head.

Ash jumped into motion again, startling Tristan. Pandora’s head popped up from her resting spot to watch. “He stole so much from me. I
will
see him and every last vampire he created dead and to dust before my time is up.” Ash stopped abruptly in front of Tristan. His long hair billowed around his face, free and wild. Tristan couldn’t help notice again how much he looked like his dream woman, fangs ‘n all. “No. I would not wish my ill fate on anyone. Ever.”