Angel's Guardian: A Contemporary Vampire Romance Page 2

  Toma skirted his way around the perimeter of the dance floor. All around him, moving in the yellow-orange light and the shadows, young vampires danced in wild abandon to the thrumming beat of the music. Some danced alone, most danced in twos and threes. Some couples were not moving but embraced each other, lost in the bliss of the blood kiss.

  The blood kiss was the mutual sharing of blood between vampires. It was usually prompted by a degree of romantic involvement, creating a bond between the two individuals sharing it.

  It had an effect similar to the high produced by opium in humans, a feeling of warmth and euphoria that enveloped and held you like a silk cocoon. In a blood kiss, time stopped, and your pleasure centers fired endlessly sweet and addicting. During sex, the blood kiss was devastatingly pleasurable. It was the firing mechanism that set off the male's climax. Soon, Ivanna would know his blood kiss. He would take the queen that Maxim should have had, and then, he would take the throne also.

  CHAPTER 3

  Through the haze of pain and confusion, the woman struggled to open her eyes. Every part of her body thrummed with pain, especially her pelvic region, her head, and her hands. She tried to move, but the effort drained her, and she gave up. She concentrated on breathing, taking in air as deeply as possible, exhaling her pain as she'd done while giving birth.

  Where am I? I’m in such pain, I can't be dead. She bent her efforts upon her memory, and then she remembered the children. Oh, my God! She opened her mouth and, with all the terror and desperation only a mother can muster, she screamed her agony to the universe.

  ******

  At once, a virtual feast of crying and screaming tore the peaceful silence of his private domain. He leaped over the railing and landed on the floor like a cat, where not long ago he’d left the unconscious female on a pallet. Her babes were on a bare mattress at the far corner.

  On arrival at his home, he had struggled with the problem of where to put them. There were rooms upstairs, but no one ever occupied them. He refused to place filthy, stinking strangers in his private rooms. Besides, he expected the woman to die at any moment. He would then drop the children off at a church or fire station. It would be a short stay for his visitors.

  He opted to make a pallet for the dying female. Anything he laid her on would have to be discarded afterward. He would wrap her carcass in it when she died and get rid of it all. For the children, he pulled an old mattress he kept in the basement. He brought up old sheets, blankets, and drapes from boxes that were left when the previous owner died. He refused to use his own, expensive, precious things.

  As soon as he settled them down, the older child stuck an almost empty bottle in the babe's mouth. The infant smelled of stale urine, and it wailed pitifully. The vampire was relieved when they quickly fell asleep. The little girl was probably exhausted. The woman remained unconscious.

  But now, they were all screaming! He wanted to run, to get away from the impossible situation, but the sun was almost up. He was trapped in this madness.

  “Shut up,” he roared. “Shut up or I’ll kill you all.” He turned in a slow circle, hissing like a cornered animal, his eyes burning with fury, his face suffused with color. He must make sure these creatures at least feared, if not understood, his command. He turned to the female who was now struggling to sit up, her eyes wild and feverish.

  “Why are you screaming, woman?”

  She stared at him in terror, mouth open, breaths coming in short, gasping puffs. Then her eyes moved to the far corner where her babes were, and she turned on her side and tried to crawl across the floor to them.

  “Stop!” he commanded. He bounded over to the children, his look angry and threatening. The little girl grabbed the baby protectively and held him close, tears running down her face. He picked them up and deposited them at their mother’s side. Her face a study in pain, the woman struggled to gather her children, at once taking the baby to her bruised breast. The babe pulled hungrily, immediately quieting. The girl clung to her mother, little hands and body seeking her warmth and security.

  He went to the mattress the children had occupied and sat with his back against the wall, watching the little group with angry, resentful eyes. Why did he bring them to his home? He should have left them where he found them, to survive or die as all things do in life.

  It is the law of nature that you survive if you’re strong enough or die if you’re not. Helping the weak survive only prolongs the inevitable and weakens the species. Only the strongest are worthy of life and passing on that strength to their offspring, he reminded himself sullenly.

  Now, they were here in his home, obstacles to his solitude, needy, dependent, a threat to his security, a drain on his resources. Worse yet, they were temptation to his hunger. This was the worst decision he’d ever made. He pulled nervously on his long, ragged beard, his dark, accusing eyes darting to the pitiful group.

  Another thought occurred to him. Had the woman seen him drink? Did she know what he was? If she did, he would have to deal with that. What temporary insanity had caused him to drag this needy trio into his haven? He obviously had not been thinking. He should have deposited the children in front of a church or a hospital and left the mother to die on her own.

  He should have broken her neck, poor thing, and put her out of her misery the way you do a dying animal. Now she could linger in pain for hours. But no, he'd allowed his painful memories and misplaced sentimentality to affect his decision making. He glared furiously at the huddled, unwanted guests, wishing them gone.

  ******

  She held her children and watched the angry beast as it watched her. He was terrifying, indeed. His dark blond, long, unkempt hair fell wild, tangling with the ragged, matted beard. His eyes were shadowed by the hair he made no attempt to tame, and she could not tell their color, but they were dark. His nose seemed long and thin. His skin was pale, almost translucent.

  He was huge, way over six feet tall. His body was wide and hulking, like one of those wrestlers she’d seen on TV. He was dressed in black cammo pants and black t-shirt. He had worn a long, black trench coat over those, but the coat now hung over the second floor's banister. He sat on the mattress, his back against the wall, and he watched them, glaring but making no move towards her. That was a good sign.

  The children must be starving, she worried. She had little to give them. The baby was at her breast, but she was not producing enough. There might be one last bottle of formula in the baby's bag, but she was not sure. If they had not lost the bag, there were also candy bars and cheese sticks in it that Nina could have. The woman scanned around for the bag and saw it by the mattress. Nina had held on to it, smart girl that she was.

  “Please, please,” she managed to call out to the beast, her voice trembling and rough in her sore, bruised throat. He stared at her but did not respond. “Please,” she tried again, “I need the bag.” The creature looked at her as if he didn’t understand. “In the baby's bag, there are candy bars.” She pointed to the bag lying near him.

  Finally, he pulled himself out of his thoughts and scanned around to locate the bag, blue with little yellow Teddy bears all over it. He picked it up, opened the zipper, turned it over, and spilled all its contents on the floor. Then he went back to his corner.

  The young mother considered the situation. If he’d wanted to hurt her and the children, he could have done it hours ago. “Nina, baby, get the candy bars. Do it carefully. Don’t get too close to him.”

  The little girl stood up and walked over to stand in front of the silent, sullen creature. She stood gazing at him for a few moments with her serious, curious eyes before bending to gather a few candy bars. Without fear, she stretched out her hand to offer one to the vampire. He looked at the child for a moment, realizing her intent and shook his head in refusal.

  They huddled together, mother and babes. “Nina, your brother needs changing, but I’m too weak and in too much pain. Can you try, baby? You’ve helped before.”

  “Yes, Mommy.
I can do it.” The little girl got up and went back to the things that were spilled on the floor. She got a diaper and a box of wet wipes and brought them back to her mother.

  “Get the cream too, sweetheart.”

  The vampire watched as between the mother and child, they managed to strip the babe and get a diaper on him. By the time they finished, the woman was sweating profusely, and his nose twitched as he smelled blood flowing fresh from somewhere on her body. She did not look well. She should be dead.

  That would solve the problem, he repeated to himself. He would dispose of the body in the river and dump the children somewhere. He would have his peace and tranquility back. He just needed to sit back and wait for her to die. It was just a matter of time, a few hours at most, he thought contentedly.

  Little Nina cuddled up as close as possible to her mother, laying her head in the crook of her mom’s neck. The baby slept on his tummy on top of the woman, his little round butt sticking up. The young mother closed her eyes and fell asleep, but every so often, a small whimper of pain would escape her lips, and her body would shudder.

  The vampire did not sleep. The windows and doors were secure. Heavy drapes lined with thermal foam covered all windows. He was well fed and would not need blood for days. He would sleep later, when his problem was solved. He watched the little family before him. They reminded him of another family; one he had not thought about in a long time.

  His mother had not been dark haired like this one. Her hair was flaxen blonde, and her eyes were the clearest blue. She had three children, but they were all boys. He'd not thought of her in years. Why not? She had been a loving mother living through trials and tribulations she did not deserve. Like this one, she'd refused to give up. Unlike this one, she'd survived and thrived.

  He remembered her feeding the little one from one white, smooth breast. He could still see the mist forming over her breast as the little one suckled and exhaled into the cold air of the carriage, his tiny fingers curling around those of his older brother, who watched in fascination.

  He remembered hiding during the day, traveling at night, and always depending on the kindness and charity of strangers they met along the road. Tatiana lived a long time. She lived to see her sons as grown men, to see the old ways change, and the new regime come in to sweep the old order away. That was so long ago, when his vampire heart still knew how to love and how to live with others.

  CHAPTER 4

  He waited, paced, hoped, and then waited some more. Still, the woman did not die, he observed in dismay. Instead, she breathed, slept, shuddered, cried out in her sleep, and woke up hours later to drag herself up painfully to a sitting position. From his perch up on the railing of the second-floor landing, he watched her with a dark, resentful expression on his face.

  She moved the babe slowly, in obvious discomfort, and laid him down on the pallet, careful not to wake him. With effort, she turned herself over until she was on her knees and hands on the bare wood floor, and she crawled her way to the opposite wall.

  He could see the back of her legs, the filthy long skirt all caked with dried blood, the stench reaching his nostrils, making them twitch in disgust. Fresh blood was enticing. Old, dried, rotted blood was nauseating to him. There was dried, caked blood on the pallet too. He would have to get rid of it as soon as possible.

  He watched as she braced her hands on the wall and pulled herself up into an unsteady but upright position, leaning her forehead on the wall a few moments to get her breath. She turned to rest her back on the wall and used her hands to smooth down her filthy skirt as if that would help. She touched her womb gingerly, eyes closed, and grimaced when there was pain.

  The female opened her eyes, sweeping the room in search of something. Her gaze caught the staircase and followed it up to where he perched silently watching her like a cat watching a mouse: a very large, hairy, dangerous cat. Her breath caught in her throat momentarily, but she willed herself to remain calm.

  “I need the bathroom,” she said. It was almost a whisper, but he heard her clearly. He pointed down below him. There was a bathroom tucked behind the stairs. Her eyes searched and found the door hiding in the shadows. Taking tiny, tentative steps like a toddler learning to walk, she made her way to it.

  He heard the water running. He imagined she would try to wash off the filth and blood that covered her. He doubted she was strong enough to accomplish the task. There was soap and shampoo in the bathroom, as he often used it on his way back from his nightly vigils. He hated bringing any of the outside smells into his home.

  She would need fresh clothes. The stench of the bloody rags she was wearing would drive him insane and would have to be burned immediately. He reluctantly went to his rooms and searched among his things for something she could wear, something he would not mind throwing away with her body when she died.

  She was tiny compared to him, but she'd have to make do. He grabbed an old dark shirt, one he seldom used anymore. It was long enough to reach past her knees. It would do. He also grabbed a few clean towels before going down.

  He could hear the water still running. She'd been in there a long time. He wondered if maybe she'd died taking the bath. As weak as she'd looked, the effort could have killed her. A spark of hope flared in his mind, almost joy. He decided to wait another ten minutes before checking up on her, give her time to be really dead before he went in.

  The children still slept peacefully. The little girl must be traumatized, he thought. To be thrown into a dumpster and be forced to listen as your mother gets raped and savaged must be horrifying. He could not help but feel pity, much as he tried to steer away from such thoughts.

  The water stopped, he realized in dismay. Darn it, the dratted female will not die. He went to the bathroom door and knocked on it angrily. When she cracked it open and looked out cautiously, he stuck the shirt and towels in through the crack.

  “Give me your clothes, all of them, every bloody, stinking rag you were wearing.”

  It was the first time she’d heard his voice. It surprised her that it was not a rough, uneducated tongue to go with the rough, beastly look of the man. It was a deep, accented voice you might hear at the opera house or at a university lecture.

  It took a few minutes before she opened the door and came out wearing the black shirt that reached below her knees and nothing else but her wet, tangled, long dark hair. Her things were wrapped up tightly, and she handed the bundle to him with embarrassment clearly stamped on her face. He took the proffered bundle and dashed his way to the basement where he quickly threw the things into the furnace.

  Coming back up, he watched her use a towel to dry her hair. On the floor where he'd emptied the baby's bag, was a large comb. She approached it and made an effort to reach for it, but her pain got in the way. She stopped and winced, going momentarily pale. In spite of his personal feelings, he was not cruel to wounded, helpless creatures. He reached for the comb and handed it to her.

  She made her way to the staircase and slowly, with much effort, sat on the third step and began untangling her hair. He busied himself by gathering the things he'd spilled from her bag and placed them back. There was a ragged wallet, a bottle of baby aspirin, a couple of toothbrushes, a few small boxes of juice, and a bag of string cheese. Obviously, the juices and cheese were for the girl. Half a dozen disposable diapers and some baby clothes completed her hoard.

  “Can we stay a couple of days?” she asked, stopping to catch her breath. “Just until I can walk and carry my baby. I promise, we'll be no trouble. I will pay you. There should be two hundred dollars in the wallet. They weren't after money.”

  He was surprised by her words. He'd expected she'd want to escape him as soon as possible. She should be running home to the safety of husband and family, to the police to tell what she'd seen.

  “Don't you want to go home?” He ran his hands over his face in exasperation, rubbing his eyes, totally at a loss to understand. Not only was she not dead, but now she wanted to stay. All three
of them. He shuddered at the thought.

  “I have no home and, if I did, my enemies would be waiting to finish what they started.” She paused, the simple effort to pull the comb through her hair obviously taxing her strength, and she settled her dark gaze on him.

  Through the tangle of hair that perpetually obscured his face, he looked at the woman for the first time. She'd been in his home for hours, and he'd glossed over her many times but never truly looked at her. Now, he did. Unmarred, pale, honey-toned skin, delicate bones, dark, almond-shaped eyes, long dark hair, no make-up at all, bruised and broken, she was still lovely.

  She was young enough to have two little ones. Her English was not accented. She probably grew up in the city, but her parents were originally from somewhere else. She was on the run from an enemy she feared greatly and with obvious reason. That explained what she was doing out at night, alone in the cold, unprotected. She was right. They had not been after her money.

  “What do you remember of last night?” His voice was pitched low and deep. He was trying not to intimidate her.

  She looked down at the comb in her hands, and her face crumpled as she fought to hold back tears. “They found me at the shelter. I had warning and ran, but they caught up with me at the train station. I could have outrun them and hid somewhere, but I had the children. I put Nina in the dumpster and told her to be very, very quiet so the bad men would not get her. I put the bottle in the baby's mouth. He always goes to sleep when he gets a bottle.”

  “You put the children in the dumpster yourself?”

  “Yes. I had little choice. I was desperate to save my babies. I knew the men would not think to open the dumpster. I closed the lid and turned back to the street to lead the pack away, but they were already there. I didn't scream or resist in any way. I didn't want Nina to get scared and make a noise.” Two big, fat tears rolled down her cheek, and she wiped them with her shaking hand.