My Vampire Lover (5 page)

what exactly
? There I go again
, I thought,
making a whole heap out of what was probably all my imagination.

 

At ten-thirty, when the last of the stragglers had filed out and Jean-Claude had not shown up, I started to worry. Was he going to stand me up? But why, I reasoned, after he'd been the one to call and make the date?

Shit. I hated this, especially when I saw Jonas and Ted casting gloomy expressions of sympathy my way. Maybe he got tied up at dinner—not literally of course. I hadn't figured him for the kinky type, just the fantastic type. I groaned mentally. It just wasn't fair to have that kind of experience with such a fabulous guy, just to have it shot out from under me.

You're overreacting
, I told myself.
He said after you close up. He didn't say howlong after.

 

But, by eleven, I knew he wasn't coming. The last of the help had gone, and I was sitting at the table with Ted and Jonas, twirling the stem of my wineglass and feeling blue.

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"Shall we go for that drinkie, then?" Ted said, trying to lighten the gloomy atmosphere.
"You guys go. I don't feel up to it."
"Ron..." Jonas took my hand. "Come on, guy ... don't go home and mope around."

"No, I won't. I have some accounting to do here, so now's as good a time as any, I guess. I'll see you back at the apartment later. Go on, have fun together."

"Are you sure?"
"Yeah, I'm sure."

After I locked the door behind them, I poured myself another glass of wine then went into the back office to tackle some of the outstanding paperwork I'd let pile up over the past few days. About ten minutes into this, I got the strangest feeling something was terribly wrong. I thought I heard a voice calling me.

"Jean-Claude?"
The silence surrounding me was almost palpable. I felt a weird prickling in the back of my neck. Getting up from my desk, I walked out through the restaurant and peered out of the windows into the dark streets. I saw nothing unusual, yet the strange feeling persisted.

Unlocking the door, I went outside, looking up and down the street.
Nothing.
I locked the restaurant door and started towards Santa Monica Boulevard. As I passed an alley about a block from the main drag, I heard a moan. 44
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Shit. I squinted into the darkness and barely mad out the shape of someone lying on the ground about halfway down the alley. I strode quickly towards him—I could now see it was a man—and then my heart jumped into my mouth.

 

"Jean-Claude! Oh, Jesus..."

 

He lay on his back in a pool of blood, his dark hair fanned out around his face, which looked even paler than usual. I knelt by his side. Then I saw it —a long piece of wood was buried in his chest.

His eyes met mine.
"Pull it out," he said, his voice barely audible. "I have not the strength..."
"But, if I pull it out, you'll bleed to death," I protested. I flipped open my cell phone. "I'll call for an ambulance."

"No!" His hand grasped mine, knocking my cell from my hand. "No, please do not do that, Ron." His voice weakened again. "Do you want to save me?"

"Of course..." Tears burned the back of my eyes as I gazed down at him. He suddenly looked so young, so frail...
"Then pull out the stake, I beg you ...
now
."

"Okay. Hold on to me. It's going to hurt." I grabbed hold of the wood with both hands and gave it a mighty tug. It came with a sickening ripping sound, but the fountain of blood I'd expected to follow in its wake did not happen. Flinging the stake away, I opened his shirt to look at the damage. "Jesus Christ..." A gasp of shock escaped my lips as right before my eyes, the terrible gaping wound in his chest slowly closed and disappeared, without so much as a visible scar.

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"How is that possible?" I whispered. "That's impossible ...
what I just saw is impossible..."
"Not impossible," he said, struggling to sit up. "I have regenerative powers."
"Regener—you do?"

But who in the world has regenerative powers that work that fast?
I wondered.
No one I've ever heard of.
I helped him to his feet, and he sagged in my arms as I held him close to me.

"Who did this to you?" I asked, my lips touching his hair.
"Paid assassins," he replied, clinging to me. "And ignorant in their craft. They did not finish the job."
"Thank God for that," I said, lifting him into my arms. "We need to get away from here. I'll take you into the restaurant."
"Are your brother and his partner still there?"
"No, they left—at my insistence. I thought you weren't going to show, so I told them I had work to do."
"Good. I wouldn't want them to see me like this. It is bad enough I have subjected you to this mess."
"I'm just glad I found you, Jean-Claude."
He laid his head on my shoulder. "As am I," he said quietly.

Once inside the restaurant, I carried him through to the back office and set him down on my chair. In the light, he looked even worse, his face ghostly pale, his eyes darkly shadowed.

"You've lost a lot of blood," I said. "I should get you to a hospital. They can give you a transfusion—"
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"No, Ron. There is not a hospital in the world that will treat me when—" He broke off, obviously unwilling to complete what he was about to say. "There is something about me, you should now know."

But I already knew what he was about to say. No human being's body could ever recover from a wound such as I had seen inflicted on Jean-Claude. Not even the regenerative powers he said he had could possibly work that fast. And now all the other details about him fell into place in my brain. His inability to go out in the sunlight, the fact that I had not once seen him eat any food, his delicate pallor, all were leading me to believe that what Ted and Jonas had joked about earlier was in fact true! But how could it be? Jean-Claude was not a monster. He was sweet and kind and loving— and I loved him.

Despite the realisation of what he was, I couldn't bring myself to run from him.
I took a deep breath and gripped his cold hand in mine.
"You mean, they won't treat you in the hospital, when they realise what you are?"
He sighed. "You have guessed correctly. Are you now filled with horror and revulsion?"
"No. I just want to help you recover from this."

"Ron, you are a sweet and wonderful man, but I wanted to spare you from this knowledge. I have become very attracted to you—something that a person in my condition should not allow to happen. I was on my way to see you tonight when the would-be murderers struck me down. But, I must be honest with you. It was my intention to not see you again after tonight—"

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"But why?" I protested. "I've never felt so connected to anyone in such a short time. "We're so right for each other."
"Ron, look at me. I am a vampire. There is danger in knowing me. Do you still think we are right for each other?"
"We can work around it, surely..."

He managed a small smile. "You are adorable, Ron ... but hear me now. I was born in 1876. I died in 1906 and was reborn that same year. For the past one hundred years, I have lived and survived on my wits—and on the taking of human blood. I cannot live without it, for without it I would wither away to nothing. It is my curse, but it is also my strength, and my salvation, grotesque as it may sound to you and others."

"You are not grotesque to me," I said, squeezing his hand.
You are beautiful, and I love you. I want to help you through this. Believe me, I will do anything to help you, Jean-Claude— anything at all."

"You don't know what you're saying. You have no conception of what it means." He tried to rise from the chair but fell back exhausted. "I should never have come into your life."

 

"Don't say that, please." I raised his hand to my lips. "If you drink my blood, will it make me a vampire?"

 

"No..." He managed a small smile. "That is a myth, perpetuated in books and movies. It makes for a more lurid tale. No, you would only become like me if, over a period of time, your blood was replaced completely with vampire blood.

But enough of that kind of talk. I will not drink your blood, sweet as I am sure it would be. You see Ron, I love you too, 48 My Vampire Lover
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and I cannot bear to think of you outlawed and persecuted by mankind."

I gave a mirthless laugh. "Hey, being gay can get you persecuted by mankind, Jean-Claude. But now you've admitted to loving me, I think I should invoke the lover's privilege and demand you drink from me."

He blinked. "Lover's privilege?"
"Just kidding—I made that up. But come on, you need blood tonight—right away—and here I am full of type AB
negative. It's all yours for the taking."
"I cannot, Ron. You don't understand."

"I understand enough to know that you will die if you don't do what I ask," I told him "You're only alive now because they missed your heart. You don't have the strength to go out looking for another donor, and you won't let me take you to a hospital ... so, what's the alternative?" He groaned, as the truth of what I said sunk in. "Ron, are you sure of this?"

 

"Yes, I am sure," I said, getting on my knees in front of him. "AB negative's very rare y'know," I added as an extra incentive. "Very potent." That got a little smile from him.

 

"Just show me what you need me to do, Jean-Claude."

 

His dark eyes filled with tears as he gazed at me, and I could feel myself choking up. I knew this was a moment for us both—whatever happened now would change our lives forever. He leaned forward and kissed my lips with such tenderness I felt my heart would stop.

"I love you," I whispered.
"I love you, too."
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I moved closer so that I was kneeling between his thighs. I pulled my shirt off and brought my face close to his, giving him access to my neck.

"Look away," he murmured. "I do not want you to see my fangs." His lips moved to where my jugular throbbed with my lifeblood, and his teeth bit deeply through my skin, letting the blood flow over his tongue.

It hurt, I can't deny it, but at the same time, holding him in my arms while he sucked from me, filled my body with an incredible sensuousness. As his lips pulled at my skin, I felt my cock harden, and my hand, straying to his crotch, encountered his burgeoning erection. Seemed like my blood was doing the trick ... His thighs tightened around my torso, locking me to him in an embrace I wished would never end.

His blood on my tongue caused a fire in my veins—the thick, sweet fluid that flowed from him, gave heat and strength to my body. His scent filled my mouth and my nostrils as I drank from him. I inhaled him, this mortal man who loved me enough to give me his lifeblood, who trusted me enough not to take his life in the process.

He clung to me, and I to him, in an embrace born of my need—and his loving willingness to share that which I needed. Blood is life to me, and his blood, given as it was in love and trust, proved all the sweeter and stronger. I could feel the heat in my loins, the hunger for his body—and his for mine.

 

A wave of emotion flooded over me, and I tightened my arms about him, willing this time to never end, that I would never have to release him from my caress ... But beware, I50

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told myself, lest the bloodlust cloud your vision—and your mind.
He pulled back, and I felt him lick my neck. "That will close the wound," he said, kissing my lips gently. "Thank you."

He looked better. The gauntness had gone from his face, and his eyes had regained the luminous quality I remembered. I knelt at his feet, gazing up at him, truly moved by what had passed between us.

"I'm looking at you," I said, "and I can't believe you're a hundred and thirty years old. How is it possible?"
"Do you know anything of vampire lore?" he asked, touching my cheek.
"Only what I've seen in movies," I admitted. "I'm not much of a reader, I'm afraid."
He grimaced. "The movies generally show us as cold-blooded killers without compassion for those who give us life.
There are some like that, of course, just as there are good and bad mortals, but we do not have to kill those whose blood we take." "How did you ... uh ... become a vampire?" I asked, taking his hand in mine.

"I was changed one hundred years ago by a man for whom I had formed a great admiration." His eyes took on a faraway look as he remembered. "His name was Augustine LePlante.

 

We had been introduced by a mutual friend, Henri Renoir.

 

Henri was a very close friend of mine and had brought Augustine to me thinking that, as a person of great connections in the art world, he could be of great benefit to me." He paused and smiled at me. "I do not think I've 51

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mentioned I am an artist. In my youth I was quite successful.

If you could ask Henri he would tell you, very successful. He handled my business affairs, and it is because of him I have, even today, enough money to live in comfort."

 

"He's not a vampire?" I asked, my mind struggling to take in all he was saying

"No. Henri died many years ago. I still miss him. Of course, he did not know LePlante's true identity—why would he or anyone else for that matter? I had a lover at the time, Paul, who was jealous of everyone in my life, especially of LePlante, whom he considered a threat to his position in my life. Henri detested Paul, and I think encouraged his fears of being replaced. He considered Paul no better than a whore, a leech who clung to me only for his own needs. I won't bore you with all the petty details, for in the end they were of no consequence, whatsoever.

"LePlante drugged me, and over a period of days, changed me into what I now am. He wanted me for himself, but I, on awakening from my death, could not bear him near me. I railed at him for what he had done, cursed him for making me one of the living dead, no longer able to hold my darling Paul in my arms without wanting to feed on him or make him like myself. I fell into a state of near madness and LePlante left me in disgust. Henri found me close to death, unable to live with what I had become."