The Fertile Vampire (5 page)

Loneliness had pushed me to make bad decisions about men, too.
 

I dated Bill for six months before we moved in together. The relationship - if you could even call it that - lasted three years.
 

Bill was a compromise and I recognized it even during those three years. I wasn’t happy. I wasn’t sad. I simply was. We were very careful to make sure no one thought we were married since Texas was a common law state. We never referred to each other as “spouse” or even “significant other”.
 

We were little more than roommates with sexual privileges and even the sex was sporadic. If there wasn't a Spurs game and the Cowboys weren't playing, my chances were 50/50 of getting some attention. Otherwise, I was a hood ornament, a statue in the living room, a walking, talking, "Honey, can you get me a beer?" robot.
 

Bill owned a muffler/car repair franchise and worked most weekends. I grew accustomed to being alone in our little house, content to do the yard work myself, pretending everything was fine with my life.
 

When I told Bill I'd won a national award, the equivalent of employee of the year, he barely shifted his gaze away from the Spurs game.
 

“Hey, good for you,” said in a half-hearted manner was not the same as, “I’m so proud of you, Marcie!” He hadn’t even wanted to see the damn thing so I clutched it to my bosom, put it back in the car and the next day gave it a prominent spot in my cubicle. At least people who walked by could see it.

When I lost Bill – correction: when I walked away from Bill – I submerged myself even more in my work, dating only a few times in the next two years.
 

Doug was my only indulgence. I was embarrassed to discover that this gorgeous tall, dark and handsome vampire had gone after me with a vengeance not because of any such muted sex appeal I might possess but because I gave off signals I was horny and nearly desperate.
 

I felt a little weird complaining about sex, even to myself. Wasn’t the man supposed to be the one who said that he didn't get “it” as often as he wanted it? In my case I didn’t get anything. If a man couldn’t offer you comfort, then sex was the next best thing. And when that didn’t happen, you became a workaholic like me.
 

Without work, though, what did I do?
 

My mentor had mentioned orientation at my trial. One of the VRC pamphlets explained that attending classes would be my first public outing. I guess the twenty-four hour grocery store and the fast food places didn’t count.
 

At the moment, I was more than willing to go anywhere rather than be stuck in my little townhouse. My home was becoming smaller each day.
 

I scrounged around and finally found his business card, dialed the number and when a sultry voiced female (sounding big breasted and friendly) answered, I asked to speak to Niccolo Maddock.
 

“Who is calling?” When I told her, she purred again. “Just a minute Ms. Montgomery. I’ll tell him you’re on the phone.”
 

Four minutes and thirteen seconds later, I was still waiting. Was it permissible to hang up on your mentor?

Oh, come on, Niccolo, I need to talk to you.
 

I waited another minute and hung up, probably committing a faux pas in the vampiric world.

 
I’d barely tucked my phone back into the pocket of my jeans when the door rattled. No one knocked; the door just shimmied in its frame.
 

Frowning, I walked to the door, opened it and faced my unsmiling mentor.
 

Either vampires could fly or he’d been on his way to see me. I doubted the latter and made a mental note to ask him about the flying when he wasn’t frowning at me.
 

“What do I call you?” I asked.
 

He blinked at me, the deep brown of his eyes almost hypnotic. After Doug, however, I was on my guard. I deliberately looked away.
 

“What do you call me?”
 

I huffed out a breath. “Yes. What do I call you. Niccolo? Herr Maddock? Boss?”
 

“I’m a duke, so Your Grace will do.”
 

“Oh, please,” I said, glancing at him again.
 

“You do not believe me? I assure you, it is true. I come from a respected Italian family.”

“I’m an American. I’m not calling you Your Grace.”
 

“Then why do you ask, if you refuse to do as you’re told?”
 

This meeting was not getting off on the right foot.
 

“Invite me in,” he said.
 

I stepped back a few feet and regarded him. I was lonely, but I had the example of Doug making me cautious.
 

I finally stepped back and he entered the townhouse.
 

The lighting in my apartment flattered him. His coloring leaned toward olive, his nose large but perfect for the angles of his face. His brow was wide, his eyes wide spaced, his chin chiseled and stubborn.
 

I have this thing about a man’s neck, both coming and going. His was perfect, strong and corded.

His black hair, tightly curled, was cut close to his head. I wondered if he adopted the style on purpose to contain his curls.
 

He certainly looked the part of an Italian duke or a Roman senator. I wondered if he could have served with Cesar. Hell, he might even BE Cesar.
 

If I was going to embrace this vampire thing, I was going whole hog.
 

“No, it is not true. It is merely being polite. I would not enter without your invitation.”

I stepped back even farther since the tiny foyer suddenly felt too small.
 

“When does orientation start?” I asked.
 

“You are feeling frustrated,” he said.
 

“I am feeling bored.”
 

“You wish to know more about your new state of being.”
 

I wished to be doing something, anything.
 

“Why did you not call earlier? Most people call within the first few days. Why did it take you two weeks?”
 

I blinked at him, a little embarrassed to admit it hadn’t occurred to me.
 

He smiled at me, the expression filled with condescension.
 

 
“When you are a Fledgling, things are very unfamiliar to you. You need to be among the Kindred.”
 

“Fledgling?” I’d heard of Kindred before, the name vampires gave each other, but never Fledgling.
 

“New vampires. At orientation, you will make life-long friends.”
 

I swear, he sounded like my faculty advisor at college.
 

“Tomorrow,” he said, whipping out a business card. This one read:
 

VTA - Vampire Training Academy
 

Fully vetted, licensed, and accredited

“Are you one of my teachers?” I asked, studying the card, a little disappointed the school was located off Lookout Point. Why not Bite Street or Fang Alley?
 

“I am your mentor. You are my charge.”
 

“So if I don’t go it looks bad for you.”
 

“There is no ‘don’t go’. You must attend. It is compulsory.”

I nodded, grateful I had something to do other than eat and go to the grocery store.
 

“How are you feeling?”
 

“Fine,” I said. Other than getting blisters on my derriere from the sun that first morning, I was fine. I had no physical complaints.
 

I tucked the card into the pocket of my jeans and wondered if I should invite him into my living room, feed him tea and crumpets or the Italian version of that. What was the Italian version?
 

He settled my dilemma by glancing down at the case of blood by the door. Bending, he pried the styrofoam top off. Surprise flashed over his face.
 

“You have not touched the blood,” he said, straightening.
 

I shook my head.
 

“Are you not hungry?”
 

“Not for blood.”
 

“But you are eating?” he asked, his attention on my midriff. Was he checking for extra pounds?
 

I nodded. “I’m eating. I’m just not eating blood.”
 

“As in what?”
 

“Do you want a list?”
 

He nodded.
 

“Ribs. Rice. Anything with pasta. Enchiladas. Cheeseburgers.”
 

Did he need to know about the drive thru expeditions I’d made in the last week? I decided not to tell him about Popeyes and Arby’s.
 

“Do not speak of this,” he said.
 

My heartbeat escalated. “Is there something wrong with me?”
 

His face eased into a placid expression. I wanted to tell him it wasn’t exactly convincing, but I kept quiet instead.
 

“We will talk about this later. You will be there tomorrow?”
 

“I’ll be there,” I said.

“Do not speak of this to anyone, Marcie,” he said again.
 

Before I could ask him exactly what he meant, Il Duce was gone, opening the door and vanishing in a puff of air.
 

A neat trick and one I definitely wanted to learn.

C
HAPTER
E
IGHT

Those who live by the fang shall die by the fang

At nine the next night I dressed in my go to work clothes which meant I was conservative: a dark blue suit, white blouse, and red earrings and shoes. Call me Miss Patriotic.

I smiled at myself in the mirror, startled by how white my teeth were. I leaned forward to examine my incisors. From the brochure I knew these teeth were now hollow. Newly created bone like protrusions would snick down when I pushed my tongue to the roof of my mouth. Since I was a Fledgling my fangs were still soft and I wasn’t allowed to use them yet.
 

I pulled back, smiled at myself again and wondered when I was supposed to grow all gray and undead looking. The vampires I knew didn’t look dead. They looked flushed and glowing and so did I, my cheeks blossoming with color, my lips pink enough not to need any lipstick. I slathered on some lip swelling shiny stuff anyway.
 

I wanted to stretch the envelope and wear a feminine - read sexy - lace camisole beneath my jacket, but I didn't have any idea what the Vampire Academy was like, let alone what they would ask me to do. For all I knew, I would be forced to run an obstacle course.

In my pre-fang days – and I needed to know how long my fangs would take to harden – I never noticed vampires much. Oh, the men, of course. The men were absolutely gorgeous and they had something about them, a glow, a confidence attracting women. I was definitely attracted.
 

Which was yet another question: was I going to get a come-hither stare? What kind of moral laws did vampires follow? The Vampire Code of Conduct didn’t cover morality. All it stated were three rules:
 

You shall not transform anyone without the express written approval of the Council. Doing so is subject to Death.
 

You shall not use your abilities to thwart or undermine the laws of the municipality and state in which you live. You shall obey all civil laws under which non-Kindred live, including those of property, marriage, and inheritance.

You shall recognize the Council as the supreme authority for all criminal and civil matters dealing with the Kindred.
 

Three commandments, although it seemed to me there ought to be more for vampires. Why do humans get ten while vampires only get three?
 

Thou shalt not use thy mesmerizing power to get dates.
 

Thou shalt not smell like something yummy.

Il Duce hadn’t smelled like anything. Had I lost the ability to smell vampires? Or did vampires only smell to the living?
 

To another vampire, did we, well - for lack of a better word - smell normal?
 

Yet another question, one propelling me out the door and to my car. I wasn’t eager to go to school but I needed answers to some of my questions.
 

To my surprise the Academy was located way out Bitters Road, farther than I’d ever driven. A half dozen two-story sandstone colored buildings sprawled across a few acres, making it look like a community college not a learning institution for the newly fanged. Or maybe they did more here than teach the uninitiated.
 

The campus was illuminated by lamps giving off a soft, bluish, almost moonlight, glow.