Authors: Karen E. Taylor
Crave (6 page)
I wanted to say something, wanted to cry out in protest, wanted to throw myself into Mitch's arms and take comfort there. But there was no comfort to be had. Larry was my creation, my child. And I was fully a part of the atrocities he had committed. I closed my eyes tightly against the tears that were forming and sat straight and rigid on the sofa.
When the voice spoke again, I wasn't entirely sure that it wasn't mine. “And then I realized that this was what life truly is. It isn't the deceptive beauty of the night or the enhanced senses, it isn't the perfection of the body or the immortality of the soul. It is the taking, it's the seduction, it's the blood and the death.” Larry laughed and broke the spell his story had cast. “And ever since then, I've been fulfilling that destiny. Living this life as it was meant to be lived. Although,” he came away from the window and sat back down on the couch, pulling small pieces of glass out of his palms, “you know, sometimes I still wonder if what I am living is reality or fantasy.”
Mitch cleared his throat slightly and his voice sounded hoarser than normal. “Well, it sure as hell isn't a fantasy for the people you murder.”
Larry looked over at Mitch, a surprised expression on his face. “But it's not murder,” he said confidently, “it's survival. And I think you're wrong, it is a fantasy, it's all really nothing but a dream.” His expression changed suddenly. “But, you see, the hunger,” he said, a hard, driving anger now coloring his words, “the hunger's not a dream, it's a nightmare. I could probably live this life forever and love it, if it weren't for the hunger. There are times when it's so deep and so cold, it's like falling into a dark pit or a grave. Times when the hunger is so strong, it tears me up inside, eating my guts, gnawing at my brain. And that's why I agreed to go along with you, and why I'll let you take me in for judgment. Maybe you can take away the nightmare and cure the hunger.”
Chapter 7
L
arry had put his face into his hands and slumped down on the couch. His shoulders trembled slightly and I sat staring at him, conflicting thoughts running through my mind. I desperately wanted a shower, with water hot enough to wash his evil from me. I also found myself wanting to comfort him, remembering when he was still human, remembering the time he'd made a declaration of eternal love for me. Had I offered him comfort at that point, could this entire situation have been averted? But I'd done nothing then, and I did nothing now, sitting silently on the couch, looking at him. Finally I felt in control of my emotions enough to raise my eyes to Mitch's face.
arry had put his face into his hands and slumped down on the couch. His shoulders trembled slightly and I sat staring at him, conflicting thoughts running through my mind. I desperately wanted a shower, with water hot enough to wash his evil from me. I also found myself wanting to comfort him, remembering when he was still human, remembering the time he'd made a declaration of eternal love for me. Had I offered him comfort at that point, could this entire situation have been averted? But I'd done nothing then, and I did nothing now, sitting silently on the couch, looking at him. Finally I felt in control of my emotions enough to raise my eyes to Mitch's face.
I had expected to find revulsion there and was not disappointed. But there seemed to be something else, sympathy perhaps, or even empathy. Maybe even agreement with Larry's summation of our life. I attempted a smile, managed only a trembling twist of my mouth, but Mitch seemed to understand and nodded at me.
“Let's get this damned thing over with.” Larry jumped at the sound of Mitch's voice and removed his hands from his face. Small drops of blood tracked down his cheeks. Tears, I wondered, or just the tracings from his glass-splintered palms? His eyes held no clue as they fastened on Mitch.
“So,” Larry said, his voice arrogant and assured once more, “what's it going to be, Greer? Kill me or turn me over?”
“I told you already,” Mitch hissed at him, “I'd just as soon kill you dead as look at you. And your story certainly did nothing to convince me that you're anything other than scum, but Deirdre doesn't want you dead.” He turned to me. “Unless you've changed your mind, love?”
I shook my head. “Let the Cadre deal with him, Mitch. I don't want his death or his spirit on my conscience.”
Larry glanced at me. “But you'll still speak for me?”
“I promised I would, didn't I? I won't break that promise. Are you ready to go?”
Larry shrugged, got up from the couch and headed for the door. Mitch moved after him quickly. “Just a minute, Martin,” he said in a stern voice, “if I have to hand you over to those bastards at the Cadre instead of killing you, I want to make damn sure you get there.” Mitch reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a pair of handcuffs. Larry gave a smirk and held out his arms. Mitch snapped one of the cuffs on him, and put the other on his own wrist. “Now, I feel better. Let's go.”
It was a silent cab ride back to Cadre headquarters. Larry sat, docile; Mitch was edgy and nervous; I looked out the window. And when we arrived, Victor was waiting for us at the lower elevator doors. I registered his presence there with shock, wondering how he knew we were coming. He seemed to read my mind.
“Fred called me, of course.” Victor raked Larry with a scornful glance, then looked at Mitch and me angrily. “Funny,” he said with a quirk of his eyebrow, “I don't remember the âor alive' being an option in this case.”
“And I don't give a damn what you remember, Lange. This is a Cadre matter, you wanted him, we got him for you. As far as I'm concerned he's your problem now.”
“And mine,” I reminded Mitch gently, then turned to face Victor's glare. “I have guaranteed his safety, Victor. And I count on you to uphold my word.”
“Presumptuous of you, Deirdre, don't you think?” His lip curled up into a snarl. “You knew that we wanted him dead. However, in this case your word will be considered as good as mine.” He stopped, his expression lightened and he gave me a slight bow. “Then again, you may have hit upon the best solution; there has been worry among some of our younger members that if we have this rogue killed, they might be next.” Victor laughed. “Can't have dissension among the ranks now, can you?”
“I suppose not. Larry has agreed to stand trial and to accept the Cadre's disciplinary actions.”
“And where in all the Cadre can I find someone to stand for him?”
I met Victor square in the eyes and raised my voice to fill the empty hall behind me. “As a member of the House of Leupold, I will stand for him.” Softening the formality of my voice, I continued. “Which is only right, considering he is my responsibility.”
“Done and accepted,” Victor agreed. “Now, Mitch, if you would kindly come with me and bring the prisoner with you.” I moved to accompany them but Victor held out a hand. “You should go to your room, Deirdre. This does not concern you, yet.”
His order angered me. “The hell it doesn't.”
“Deirdre, please. I will explain this to you later, trust me.” The sudden kindness in his voice decided me.
“Fine.” My tone was still unhappy, but not defiant. I kissed Mitch lightly on the cheek. “Later, my love.”
I could feel three pair of eyes on my back as I walked down the hall and entered the room.
The Cadre staff had been busy in our absence; the bed had been made, the bathroom cleaned and sitting next to my coffin was a larger but plainer one, obviously meant for Mitch. I shook my head, laughing only a little, hoping that he wouldn't want to live the experience and sleep in that crate tonight. Crossing the room, I sat on the edge of the bed and jumped when the phone rang right next to me.
“Hello?” I answered tentatively.
There was a pause on the end of the line. Then a familiar voice. “Deirdre, um, hi. It's Chris. Is my father around?”
“No, Chris, not right now. He'll be back in a little bit, though. How are you?”
“Fine,” he said, but sounded unsure. “I, ah, wasn't expecting the two of you back for a while. I guess I'll move out as soon as I can find another place.”
“Well, that's something you can discuss with Mitch, I suppose. But as far as I'm concerned, you're welcome to stay there as long as you like. We may not be in town that long.”
“Oh, okay.” He paused.
“Well, if there's nothing else . . .”
“Tell Dad I want to see him . . .”
We both laughed as we spoke simultaneously, breaking for a moment the uneasy tension between us.
“So,” Chris said, “tell Dad I'd like to have lunch with him tomorrow, if that's okay.”
Now the silence was on my end. I couldn't tell him that Mitch could never meet him anywhere for lunch, ever. And I sure as hell didn't want to be the one to break the news to Chris about what his father had become.
“Deirdre, you still there?”
“Yes, Chris, I'm sorry. Someone was outside the door, here, I thought it might be your father.” I laughed nervously. “False alarm, I suppose. He should be back anytime now; do you want him to call you?”
“Yeah, that'd be good.”
“Fine, and you take care. I hope we'll be able to see a lot of you while we're here in town.”
“Yeah, that'd be nice.” Chris's voice sounded reluctant, and I knew he didn't want to spend time with me. The realization of what I was, of what sort of creature his father had married must still be fresh and horrible in his mind. “Talk to you later, then.”
He hung up before I had a chance to say goodbye. I put the receiver down gently and lay back on the bed, my fingers crossed under my head, staring at the ceiling, thinking about the convoluted ties that entangled us all. Chris, Larry, Mitch, even Victor to some extent, and myselfâall bound to each other, inexplicably and eternally. I found myself wishing for the first time in many years that I had actually died in the accident that had transformed me. That I had been allowed to bleed out my life with my husband on that rain-soaked road. That I had been buried with him and the seven-month-old fetus who would have been our child.
I sighed and ran my fingers over my stomach, searching for a trace of that child, remembering its kicks and movement, and the feeling of total unity with it, the bond between mother and child that death could not erase.
When Mitch finally came back into the room, I was still lying on the bed, clutching at my barren stomach, blood-tinged tears streaking down my face and moistening the red brocade spread beneath me.
He did not notice me at first. “Hey,” he began, “look what the Cadre delivered while I was out. My very own coffin . . .” His voice trailed away as he looked at me and he quickly shut the door behind him. “Deirdre, what's wrong? Why are you crying?”
I choked out the words between sobs. “Chris called.”
“He made you cry?” Mitch came over to me, sat down on the bed and stroked my hair. “What the hell did that little bastard say to make you cry?”
“Nothing,” I sat up and wiped at my eyes, giving him a little smile. “He started me thinking, that's all.”
“Thinking about what?”
“The baby I lost.” Getting up from the bed, I shrugged. “It doesn't matter, really, it was a long time ago.”
He gave me a curious look. “Obviously it must matter some, for you to still cry over it.”
“No, really it doesn't,” I assured him. “It's just that this trip back here has been rather depressing for me. Having to deal with Larry and everything.”
“Speaking of that, it's a fascinating setup the Cadre has here. Have you seen the cells, or as Victor called them, the retention rooms?”
“No, I wasn't permitted there, remember?” I went into the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face. Picking up a towel, I walked back into the room, drying myself, glad that he had been sidetracked from the previous issue. “What was so interesting?”
Mitch may have taken personal retirement from police work, but I could tell that he had lost none of his enthusiasm; of course he would find the Cadre judicial system fascinating, especially now that it no longer threatened me. “Well, there are all kinds of problems in retention, apparently, given vampiric existence and individual experience.”
I wandered aimlessly around the room, clutching the towel in my hands. “So?” From my tone of voice I knew he could tell that I had no idea what he was talking about.
“Well, think about it for a minute. Older vampires have more powers than the younger ones, you know. But the security system has to be beefed up, to a level that can hold the ones who transform.” He shook his head. “Although from what I can tell, the older ones generally don't need to be incarcerated. I gather that Max was an exception to that rule. You would have been too, I suppose, but you haven't yet realized your powers.”
I gave a small forced laugh. “And I don't intend to do so, anytime soon.”
Mitch shrugged.
“And,” I continued, wanting to avoid that topic also, “I do not see how any kind of room could hold a creature who can transform himself into a mist.” I walked into the bathroom and hung the towel back up.
“Airtight,” he said simply.
I stood in the doorway and stared at him for a time in shock. “Airtight? Then how do you breathe?”
Mitch gave me a broad grin. “That's the beauty of it, Deirdre, we don't need to breathe.”
“But,” I protested, “I breathe, you breathe. I don't understand.”
“Victor was kind enough to explain it to me, although he was rather horrified that I didn't know to begin with. We actually only breathe for two reasons. One of them is force of habit, the other is so that we can speak. But our bodies don't need the oxygen to survive, all we really need is blood.”
Somehow, being sealed inside a room with no air struck me as more hideous than the starvation that would accompany it, and the very thoughts of it made me shudder. “You know, Mitch,” I said, changing the subject yet again, feeling the walls of this room close in around me. “You should probably call Chris now. I told him you wouldn't be too long and he'll be expecting you.”
He went for the phone and began to dial.
“And by the way, my love,” Mitch stopped when I spoke and looked over at me, “he wants to meet you for lunch. You'd better either tell him straight out why you can't or have a good excuse ready.”
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