Crimson Groves (7 page)

He watched me, that sadistic grin stretched across his face. Anger came at me in a rush. I wanted to beat his face in. Hey, that actually sounded like a really good idea. I sprung forward like a pouncing cat, fist tightly balled and swinging right for him. He moved to the side—one swift, graceful movement. My fist brushed past him, missing him by inches. I reared back and charged, jumping higher, swinging faster, and crunching his face while still in midair. He fell to the side and then dropped to the floor, face down, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. He wasn’t grinning anymore. Good. I was already feeling better.

He pushed up off the floor and was on me. I never even saw him coming. I fell backwards and he rode me down, all the way to the floor. I broke his fall. He landed on my chest—hard. Good thing I didn’t breathe anymore or the wind would’ve been knocked out of me. He straddled my waist and held my wrists above my head. The edge of the Oriental rug was rough, scratchy on the back of my palms. I wriggled and squirmed, trying to escape him, but he sat like a big boulder on top of me. I was trapped, couldn’t even budge an inch.

His hair swept over his face like black velvet drapes. His eyes glowed fiercely, hot like bright red embers. He snarled and growled, deep and guttural, fangs fully exposed. “You will never make accusations about Meredith again!” he roared, voice rumbling like thunder. “Do you hear me? Do you understand me, Abigail? You are a new vampire! You have barely been exposed to this world! You know nothing more than what I have told you tonight. Decades ago, clubs with blood donors did not even exist. Vampires did what they had to do to survive. We die without blood! There is no other way for us to eat. There is no other way for us to live! Meredith preferred to do it the way we always did even after the blood donors became more popular. Yes, I would have tried a blood donor much sooner if it was not for her need to continue killing. That was how great my love for her was. That is how great my love for you now is!”

His head lowered closer to me, eyes softening, and the muscles in his face relaxed. No! He was going to kiss me. I pulled and tugged, trying to pry my wrists out of his hands, but I couldn’t. His lips trailed closer, too close. I couldn’t get away. I kicked my legs but he just straddled me tighter. His lips kept coming. I gasped, jerked my head to the side. His lips landed on my cheek—soft, wet, repulsive. I saw the middle-aged woman lying on the floor across the room. Maybe she could help me? “Help me!” I screamed at her. “Help me, please!”

Bronx’s lips were next to my ear, close, almost touching. “That woman cannot help you,” he whispered. “You do not even need any help. I have given you salvation from yourself. I only request your love in return.”

I ignored him and kept staring over at the middle-aged woman. “P-please. P-please. H-help me.”

“That woman cannot hear you. She is unaware of anything around her.” His lips brushed my cheek in a back and forth motion, and then they returned to my ear. He licked my earlobe.

I swallowed, trying to get the lumps out of my throat. “Please don’t.” My voice was desperate, afraid.

“I will not hurt you. There is no reason for you to fear me.”

“You won’t hurt me? Look what you’ve already done to me!”

“Yes. Look at what I have done to you. This was meant to be. You are mine, Abigail. Always!” In a flash he was off me and across the room.

“But I don’t love you,” I screamed after him. “I’ll never love you! I hate you for what you’ve done to me!”

“You may not love me now, but eventually you will. You need some time to adjust to your new life. We have nothing but time now. Each day that passes, the bond between us will grow. Countless days will be spent together, learning about each other. I will wait for you to feel for me as I now feel for you.” He stretched each word out, making it last. Then he was gone. I was alone. It didn’t feel as good as I’d thought it would.

5

Adjusting

THE NEXT FEW WEEKS went by quickly as I learned more about my new life. We didn’t sleep in coffins, or at all for that matter. Our reflection is perfectly visible in mirrors. The same applies if my picture is taken, but I hadn’t really been in a picture-taking mood to confirm that. So I guess most of those award-winning vampire movies did contain fiction in them after all. Not that I’d ever really cared enough to find out before all this.

During the day we took refuge inside Bronx’s extremely dark home. Most of the windows were boarded up from the inside. A few of them were covered in pitch-black tinting, thick enough to look like paint. The landscaping was composed of overgrown bushes, trees, and vines to add even more protection from the sun’s harmful rays. It would take hours for the sunlight to kill us, but, according to Bronx, it was a painful process nonetheless. That was one tidbit of information the vampire movies got right.

Bronx told me how the Enforcers once used the sun’s potent light as a way to punish and bring justice as they saw fit. Since the Enforcers were like a vampire government, they got to make all the rules. Most of the other vampires never challenged them since they didn’t possess the strength, skill, or special powers that all Enforcers had. Thankfully there weren’t very many of them, and Bronx said they preferred places like Boston, Seattle, or Montreal since the overcast weather made it possible to move around during daylight hours.

The middle-aged woman had gone back to Pulse, where Bronx had found her. Pulse was one of many nightclubs around here that offered this blood-donor service. Since I was a new vampire and needed a few weeks to adjust (so Bronx said), more blood donors were sent here to the house—sort of like an assembly line. Each of them was excited to be bitten, mostly by me since I was able to give them a more intense high. What a nice girl I am, sharing my happy venom with others. Of course I wasn’t just a giver; I also took from them, drinking more and more of their blood. My new senses were getting stronger, my strength more forceful. I was even getting more comfortable biting into my gracious donors. Everything was starting to look up. Ha ha.

One of the bedrooms was converted into a “training” room. There was a big open space in the center with a large burgundy floor mat. An oversized punching bag hung in the far right corner, and mirrors adorned the walls, mostly concealing the dark gray paint underneath. We spent several hours every day in this room. I hate to pay him any kind of compliment, but Bronx is an excellent fighter. Training to fight was much easier as a vampire. My ability to focus was outstanding, and that made my efforts at mimicking his moves quite simple. I paid no attention to the pleasure he obviously got from the physical contact this brought. My goal was to learn as much as I possibly could, hoping that one day I would use these new talents against him.

“Abigail, focus. Do not just try to hit me, anticipate my next move. Be faster than me,” he lectured.

“But you’re too fast!” My face lowered, eyes staring down at the mat. Copying his moves was easy. Hitting him, however, was not. My failed attempts to punch him in the face, or anywhere else for that matter, were gnawing at my nerves like a dog chewing rawhide.

He grabbed my shoulders firmly, shaking me. “Abigail, look up at me.”

I swallowed hard and slowly lifted my head up, tipping it back so I could look up into his eyes. They were like big sapphire flames—dangerous, threatening, alluring. “Ask yourself this question,” he said. “What is he thinking? What is his next move? Watch my eyes. Read what you see in them. I am able to escape your attempts to hit me because I see your next move inside your eyes. Concentrate on what you feel. Let your new senses guide you.”

“But I am trying,” I pouted. “I am using my new senses. It’s not working.”

He shook his head and nudged me backwards. I did the two-step, then pounced back into place. He positioned his hands in front of his chest and motioned for me to come get him. Anger surged up in me. My head was burning hot, boiling and fierce. My mouth was so dry I had trouble swallowing. My hands balled up, forming tight fists. Shivers cold as ice raced up and down my arms, while the rest of my body felt like it was inside an inferno. All I could imagine in my mind was punching Bronx square in the face.
Concentrate! Concentrate! Don’t be too angry and screw up again.
We’d been practicing for nearly two weeks and I hadn’t yet hit him, with the exception of that first night, but we technically weren’t practicing then. That event, however, was playing a huge role in my quest to learn how to fight better. I was so thankful that Bronx had agreed to train me. He wouldn’t be thankful once I learned.

I looked him up and down like a rubber band expanding, releasing, expanding, releasing. Then our eyes locked, deep blue flames sucking me into them. But I wouldn’t look away. I couldn’t. I needed to see his next move, predict what direction he would move to avoid my fist. He was mixing it up every time, dodging to the right, to the left, stepping backward, and even jumping completely over me to thwart my efforts. It was impossible to foresee what he would do now. I concentrated harder, straining, pushing myself further, and focusing beyond his eyes, digging inside his mind. I was in. Guarded walls all around me, but I was in. I could see and feel him. Waves of anger taunted me to attack like the serpent had Eve in the Garden. But I wasn’t quite ready, needed to push a little more. I fought to resist the anger; it was one of the toughest emotions to control, but I needed to control it to succeed. I thrust all my energy forward, breaking through his barriers. My anger eased up, slowly steadying me, preparing me for the attack. I was ready. It was showtime.

I snarled, guttural growls vibrating up my throat, spilling out of my mouth. My eyes narrowed—I could feel the fire burning in them—but I could see clearly. My fangs were exposed, threatening, challenging, saliva dripping from their tips like a rabid animal. Bronx’s smile widened, a glimpse of fang showing through his lips. That was only making me angrier. I flashed forward and then back, hoping I could psyche him out. It worked. He lunged to the right, started to duck down, but I expected that move and was waiting for him. I flashed forward, right fist soaring toward his face as I lowered my body just enough to upper cut him in the face. My fist smashed into his cheekbone, crushing it, then slid up the rest of his head. Blood squirted everywhere; the sound of breaking bones merged with his violent shrieking. He fell backwards, smacking the ground with the back of his head. I jumped back, ready for him to charge me, but he didn’t. He pushed up slowly and looked at me, smiling, proud.

“Well done, Abigail.” He licked his lips with delight. The wound was closing; the bleeding stopped.

I did it! I did it!
I jumped up, clapping my hands together. My excitement was almost intoxicating.

Another week went by, training, fighting, and kicking Bronx’s butt. Of course I took plenty of beatings too. But I was getting stronger, more precise, more focused, and hungry to keep learning. Even though Bronx looks just a little older than me, early thirties maybe, he’s actually much older—a hundred thirty years to be exact. Unfortunately that means he’ll always be stronger than me, no matter how hard I train or how good I fight. So I have to be smarter than him, know his next move before he makes it. One day I just might catch him off guard.

Depression would sometimes find me, clinging to me, reminding me of those I’d never see again. It’s funny how you think you don’t need anyone. I’d found out the hard way that that just isn’t really true. I’d also get down on myself for not acquiring one of those special powers yet. I mean, if I had to be a vampire, couldn’t I at least get some super cool power that no one else had? But I guess there were some perks to this life, like the fact I’d never age. I was going to look twenty-five forever. I knew plenty of people that would pay big money for that. I had to pay for it with my soul.

6

Celebration

I WAS SNAPPED OUT OF A DAYDREAM (looping thoughts of my human past) as Bronx came running up to me from the other room. It was noon on a Tuesday, and it was exactly one month ago that I had been transformed.

He grinned, eyes gleaming, spreading his hands wide, saying, “Since you have done so well this past month, I have decided we will go out and celebrate tonight. We have a midnight reservation at Pulse in one of the private back rooms.”

A smile stretched across my face. “Wow, that’s awesome. Thanks.” I hadn’t left the house since the day he brought me here to make me his vampire love slave. Getting out of this prison was the best news I’d heard all month. I sat in the plush leather chair in the corner of the master bedroom. My legs hung over the armrest, dangling along the side of it. I cautiously looked up at him, waiting for the joke to be unveiled.

“Abigail, get up and hug me. Our celebration starts now.”

After a month of learning how to listen and obey, I’d actually become pretty good at it. I was like a robot, doing what I was told. There were never any reciprocated feelings behind my actions, but the fear of him forced me to be diligent.