Dorian's Destiny: Altered (19 page)

“True, you did look almost as terrible as
when I first discovered you.” Thomas glared at him curiously when
he remained silent. “Did you not hear my insult?”

Did human blood make that big a difference
in my abilities?

“What? Yeah. Ha-ha.”
Dorian's mind was torn between paying attention to Thomas and
panicking over how expeditiously the enhancements provided by
ingesting human blood had worn off.

“Well, I’m already warmed up,” Thomas
smirked, twirling his staff like a drum major, “and since I'm such
a gentleman, I'll give you a chance to do the same.”

“Thanks,” Dorian retorted
as he loitered toward the racks of weapons, not anxious to endure
the inevitable physical and mental beat down. Selecting the
identical twin of the staff being twirled so effortlessly by
Thomas, he shuffled to the center of the padded dojo floor, barely
able to maintain his grip on the specially made staff. What once
felt like an oversized toothpick in his grasp, now felt like a ton
of bricks. Knowing that warming up with a captive audience would
reveal his weaken state sooner than later, he faked confidence. He
postured himself in the cockiest position he could contrive,
something reminiscent of the hero on the cover of one of the more
adolescent books filling Thomas' study. Holding the staff erect in
one hand, the other at his hip, he boasted, “Nah, there isn't any
need for me to warm up.” He winked for added effect. “Last time we
sparred, I almost redecorated the dojo with your brain matter. This
time I will succeed and your servants shall request triple pay for
the job of scraping you off the floor.”

Laying it on a little
thick.

Dorian's bravado ignited an unexpected
response in Thomas. Surprised, he glanced down at his throbbing
groin. This physical arousal produced by Dorian had him questioning
his motives behind the teasing he subjected his companion to while
on his binge. Was there something more meaningful to it, than just
the utter joy he experienced by making Dorian squirm? Shaking the
thoughts from his mind as being no more than a lingering effect of
his intoxication, he lashed back at his brash friend. “Oh, well
then, by all means, let's see what you've got.”

Gripping the staff with
both hands, Dorian had no choice but to take the defensive, which
would hopefully buy him more time. Thomas stood ready, expecting
him to attack first.

Seconds passed with no movement. Finally,
tired of waiting, Thomas struck, bringing his staff down hard
against Dorian's left bicep. His blood burst from his veins and
rushed toward the surface of his skin, only to reverse course
almost immediately. Gritting his teeth to prevent the moan of pain
from escaping, Dorian reset himself, prepared to drag out the
beating as long as possible. Unable to match Thomas' speed, a sweep
across the floor knocked him on his back. Staring up at the
ceiling, waiting for the berating, he was surprised when he saw
Thomas' outstretched hand.

“We can consider that your
warm up,” Thomas suggested in an uncharacteristically kind
tone.

“Okay,” Dorian replied
suspiciously, accepting his offered hand.

Once he was steady on his
feet, Thomas questioned, “Ready?” After receiving an acknowledging
nod, he attacked again, although holding back slightly. Once again,
he landed all his blows without any resistance. “Where's the
furious defeat you promised?” Thomas chided as he gazed down at
him.

“What's the point?” Dorian
snapped, rising from his supine position, this time without
assistance. “I'm a vampire. Why on earth do I need to practice
fighting with a staff? I am more than a match for the 'less
evolved'.”

Thomas chuckled, “After that pathetic
display, I'm not so sure.”

Dorian flung the staff,
which to his disdain landed only a few feet away. Letting his
frustration fuel his anger, he spat out his words, “You introduced
this whole charade on the premise I might meet unfriendly vampires.
Well, in the expansive time I've dwelt in your mansion, I've yet to
meet ANY vampires, much less ones more unfriendly than
you.”

Stung by his words, Thomas
responded in kind, “Unfriendly? You think I'm unfriendly? You have
no fucking idea!”

“Of course I do, Thomas. Since you rescued
me from the woods, you've done nothing but harass and ridicule
me.”

Thomas clutched his chest
as if his words had physically wounded him. “Ouch! Harass and
ridicule – such harsh words. Teasing and pestering would be more
appropriate terms. Besides, it's not my fault you lack a sense of
humor,” he added with a laugh.

Dorian ignored Thomas' attempt to downplay
his treatment. “If I had known the main reason for my rescue was to
provide you with entertainment, I would have remained in the
forest.”

“Suffering a little teasing isn't nearly as
deplorable as crawling through the grime and muck of the forest
floor on all fours.”

“A little teasing? Right,” Dorian threw up
his hands. “Just forget it, Thomas. I'm done and I don't want to
fight with staffs or words. I'm going to my room.”

“How about instead of sulking off to your
room, you quit whining, pick up your staff and settle this
disagreement the old fashioned way?” Thomas suggested, positioning
himself in a ready stance.

“No,” Dorian replied
bluntly, turning toward the door.

“I could make you,” Thomas
called out to his back.

“You'll have to,” whispered Dorian.

Thomas halted his departure from the dojo by
grabbing his arm. “Wait, since you won't finish our duel, at least
explain your less than stellar performance.”

“No,” Dorian barked as he
attempted to break free of his grip.

“I see.” Thomas sneered, “So you don't feel
you owe me an explanation for your backsliding?”

“No, I don't owe you an
explanation.”

Thomas tightened his grip
around Dorian's arm. “Why you...ungrateful little shit! If not for
me, you wouldn't possess an inkling of what you are or could be. I
have given you everything you've desired and offered you even
more.”

Moving to only an inch away from Thomas
face, he spewed his words, his breath hot with anger. “You're
mistaken, Thomas. You haven't given me what I've desired, only what
you expect. If you would pay attention and stop being blinded by
your own significance, you would realize not everyone wants what
you want. I certainly don't. I have no desire to be a carbon copy
of you.”

Thomas stared at Dorian,
his close proximity fueling his conflicting thoughts.
He wasn't sure if he wanted to punch him in his
insolent mouth or taste his wicked tongue. Taking a step back but
not lessening his grip, he replied, “But you are like me, you don't
have a choice.”

“You would love for me to
believe that,” Dorian spat.

“When will you stop living in denial?”
Thomas moaned, shaking his head.

“I don't wish to be lectured, Thomas. Now,
please let me go,” he pleaded, tugging to free himself.

“Why? So you can continue to backslide? What
the hell, Dorian? Why don't you want to live up to your potential?
I can't understand how you could be satisfied with being less,” he
questioned, disappointment obvious in his tone.

“I can't understand why it
matters so much to you if I reach this so-called potential. If you
were truly my friend, you would want me to follow my own path, not
drag me down yours, willing or not,” Dorian replied with similar
disappointment.

Thomas finally released his
grip on him and backed away, fearful that his fluctuating emotions
of hurt, rage, and passion would inevitably result in violence.
“Your own path? Is that why you've gone back to...animal blood?” He
gagged on the words.

“What?” Dorian stammered, faking surprise,
knowing his switch had already been discovered by his weakness.

“Don't play dumb Dorian,” he commanded,
pacing the dojo to settle himself. “That, at least, is beneath you.
I smelled the stench of animal on you from the moment you stepped
into the study. Oh, I hoped to be mistaken, but all the signs point
to that conclusion.”

“It's none of your business
what I choose to consume,” Dorian spat defensively.

Giving up, convinced he had
ultimately failed in bringing him into the fold, he spoke the
dreaded words. “Fine, Dorian. Since I am such a horrible host and
you obviously have no desire to follow in my footsteps, you should
leave.”

“That's what I was trying to do when you
grabbed me,” he insisted.

“No, Dorian, not the dojo...the
mansion...me,” he groaned, the clarification sealing their
fate.

Dorian stalked out of the dojo without
responding to Thomas' suggestion, knowing he would have to leave
eventually, but surprised he had requested it. Once inside his
bedroom, he collapsed onto his bed, allowing its cloud like
softness to caress his weary body and mind. Words regretfully
spewed faded from his thoughts as he drifted into blissful
blackness.

*****

Grasping the specially
crafted staff firming in his hands, Thomas channeled his
frustration into destroying the damned thing. His body trembled
with rage when the metal core refused to break. “Fuck!” He
screamed, flinging the boomerang across the dojo. A fracture,
splitting the window perfectly in two, raced from the point of
impact with the staff. Sunlight spilled through the crack,
scorching his pale vampire skin. He remained in the light, staring
at the blisters multiplying across his forearms, thankful for the
mind numbing pain they induced. Finally, when the severity of the
burns numbed his arms, he exited the dojo in search of other
methods of desensitizing his mind. “
I need
to kill someone
.”

Unable to yet venture out
of the mansion, He went into the study to await nightfall.
Dispensing with a glass, He chugged back a bottle of Scotch while
watching the savage flames in the fireplace devour the wooden logs.
“
Everything has its place; why can't
Dorian see that?”

Not wishing to give more
thought to his lost friend, he grabbed another bottle and a pack of
cigarettes and headed into the night to engage in his favorite
distraction

*****

Dorian jolted out of bed,
awakened by the bang of a slammed door. Glancing out the window, he
saw the taillights of Thomas' car barreling down the driveway and
into the night. Sitting on the side of his bed, he tried to
formulate a plan. He wanted to be long gone before Thomas returned.
Focusing, he thought of what he would need to survive on his own:
Clothes, transportation, and money.

With this short list of necessities in mind,
he jumped into action. Utilizing the pillowcases from his bed, he
stuffed two with the finely crafted clothes removed from his
closet. Another, he filled with multiple pairs of imported leather
shoes. The last pillowcase, he carried into Thomas' room, intent on
filling it with money.

He examined the code panel
of the safe, hidden behind a painting of what he assumed to be
Thomas' mother. Not having the foggiest idea what the password
might be, he searched for another method of extracting the horde of
cash the metal box hopefully contained. No handle, and a door
seemed far too thin for his fingers; this left him with only one
option. Tossing aside the now useless pillowcase, he scanned the
room in search of a tool for Plan B. Removing the shade from the
bedside lamp, he used the base to smash through the paneling
surrounding the safe. Finally, free from its encasing, he removed
the safe, justifying the theft by assuming the contents inside were
stolen from Thomas' numerous victims.

He loaded his haul into the silver sports
car, gifted to him as repentance for Thomas' attempted vehicular
manslaughter. Standing, keys in hand, ready to leave, a sudden
intense sadness washed over him. Endearing another forced
abandonment seemed unfair even if this time, it was mutual.

For all his faults, Thomas was still the
second person he'd ever become close too, the first since changing.
Those two facts alone granted him an important place in Dorian's
journey. He regretted their last conversation, although he had
meant what he had said; had he not been so angry, he would have
chosen less hurtful words. Thomas wasn't all bad. For a fleeting
second, he thought of sticking around to say a proper goodbye.

No. It's better to rip the
bandage off.

A smile graced his solemn face as that
thought reminded him of Megan.

Since choosing Megan, my separation from
Thomas became inevitable. Besides, do I want to be around when he
discovers the gaping hole in his bedroom wall I made stealing his
safe? Nah! Still if I am truly dedicated to becoming the man Megan
believes I can be, the jerk deserves my thanks.

Racing back into his bedroom one last time,
he grabbed pen and paper, eager to express his gratitude to his
friend.

Dear Thomas,

I want to thank you for rescuing me from the
forest and supplying me with

the knowledge of what I am. I will always be
eternally grateful for both.

However, I am not satisfied with being what
I am, nor with being like you.

And I don’t foresee you ever changing this,
no matter how hard you try. So,

my only logical course of action is to chart
my own path of discovery to

see if I can find some middle ground between
what I was and what I am.

Please don't think you pushed me away with
your suggestion or any of