BECOMING

 

 

Rachel awakened as the sun began setting, curled in upon herself, still upon the bed. A cool mist surrounded her mind and protected her from all but the most immediate sensations. She didn’t care. She just wanted to sleep, but fingers stroked down her arm and she began to awaken. Her body was so resistant to moving that it felt as if a stifling cocoon surrounded her. A finger trailed over her stomach, then flattened, rubbing. She didn’t want to react to him. Didn’t want to open her eyes.

Light. She saw light. She pulled herself to an upright position and the hand withdrew. His face loomed above her. His clear green eyes glowed. His bright hair swung over his forehead, shining. He was beautiful.

Of course. He’d fed. She hated him and wanted so badly to hate him more.

The cobwebs retreated. A warmth flowed into her limbs, a strength unlike any she’d felt before. She looked down to the empty bed beside her and remembered.

“What have you done with him?” Her heart thumped, her pulse quickened. She put a hand to her breast.

He looked at her, amused. “A heart that beats. Did you think it would stop?”

“What have you done with him?” she yelled.

He shrugged. “He’s dead. Why bother with details? Or would you like me to take you to where the corpse lies so you might mourn over it? He’s already gone. He made his choice.” He looked at her. “Now it’s your turn.”

She turned away, his words dashing the hope that somehow Danny had survived. Eric caught her hand, leading her out of the room and down the steps. She saw none of her surroundings, concentrating all her energy on moving without falling. She was like a foal on her first legs—full of new strength, yet unable to control it. The stairs were an even bigger challenge.

They moved far down the lawn in front of the house to sit before the lake, clear and still upon the land rising against its cool depths. Sitting on the bank, she looked up and around her. It was so peaceful. Trees arched over the still green water and the air was warm. Twilight pressed upon the last rays of a dying sun.

Even in her grief, she couldn’t help but feel pulled by the quiet of the place. And too, her grief had become more detached—not lessened, but somehow she was able to regard it with some objectivity. To control how it affected her.

She turned to look at Eric. He touched her face, rubbing a thumb over her cheekbone. “You’re very beautiful.”

“You like beautiful things. You collect them,” she said woodenly.

“You want me to feel sorrow for what I’ve done to him, to your child and to you.” He leaned closer. “But . . . I don’t.” He got up to stand, pushing a restless hand through his hair and staring out over the water. “Would you like it if I were to end it all?” he said. “Would it satisfy your outrage at what I am?” In a sudden motion, he pulled his shirt over his head. His chest was smooth and muscled and strong. He looked so young, so alive to be a harbinger of death. “It offends you that an abomination like myself recognizes beauty. But I do see it and feel it in the creatures that creep and crawl and soar overhead. And I see it in the death that I bring, and I’ll see it even in my own—when that time comes.” He knelt next to her and smiled. “I feel things, Rachel. Why else would I have brought you here with me?” His fingers traced over hers as he spoke. Then he stood again and began to wade out into the water. He swam out towards the center of the lake, then turned and dived under.

Suddenly she envied him the water washing over his body. She stood and began to take off her clothes. He surfaced and treaded water, watching her, moving back in to meet her as soon as she began swimming. The water flowed over and around her body, soothing. Then he touched her and she turned to him. His warm lips lowered to hers and their tongues meshed. She wrapped her arms around him, sliding her hands around his waist and down, fingers slipping over smooth skin. He slid his tongue achingly down the line of her throat. Slowly his fingers slid to her nipples, stroking lightly. Her eyes closed at the sensation of his wet mouth and fingers against her skin.

They swam closer to shore and stood in the shallow water. Immediately his mouth fastened onto her breast, following the path of his fingers, caressing her with his tongue. She shivered, nipples rising into hard, hot peaks, breath growing ragged. Pressing to him, she tried to block the thoughts that came, the self condemnation. Feeling the length of him throb against her thigh, she grew wet in response and was afraid to look at him, afraid of what he’d see.

His breath hitched as she ran her hands up over his smooth chest. He took her hand and smiled, wading through the water, pulling her behind him over to the bank of the lake. His eyes were almost golden in the last slanting rays of the sun, his hair fire around his face, and she laughed at the resemblance to a halo. He looked quizzically at her. Maybe she imagined it, but he seemed to wince, turning away from the lowering, slanted light.

Rachel ran her fingers down over a sculpted arm, the golden hairs sprinkled over it, then back up to a broad shoulder. She traced it with her fingers.

Leaning up against the bank, he looked up at her with heated green eyes, pulling her down over him. He kissed her. His cock pressed into her body. She grasped him in her hand and he arched upwards. His eyes searched her own, tracing the line of her jaw with a gentle finger, running it down her body, exploring, to her wetness. He rubbed her lightly and she groaned, then poised myself over him, sliding upon him, parting for him. He thrust upward, beginning to move, and she gasped as he filled her. His hands roamed to her nipples, touching them between slickened fingers, and she quickened her pace. Moving to her hips, his hands held her, pushing into her over and over, hard, tight strokes.

He threw his head back, gasping as the pleasure roared up and through him, enveloping him, watching her through slitted eyes as she rode him harder, coming, crying out his name. He stiffened, moaning, and she felt him throbbing inside her as he came.

She sat motionless upon him and buried her face in his hair, kissing his neck, pressing against his heat and the wetness of his skin. He shivered in response. His eyes looked into hers and he touched her face, then kissed her deeply, seeming to revel in his possession. Moisture gathered at her eyelids and her throat tightened as his teeth slid into the punctures he’d made before, suckling a moment before pulling her to the long line of his upturned throat.

“I—I don’t know how,” she said.

“You do. You have,” he answered, his voice that low, harmonic timbre. “Try.”

She blinked, swallowing against the tears. She was alone. Damned. She wanted him. She bore down and his body jerked against her. Her tongue pressed against the tender skin of his throat, gouging him, urging the trickle of blood to flow faster. In her ears was the high sweet song of the others, once threatening to drown her in their nothingness, now welcoming. She found that she could single out voices and listened to the pounding of a dead man’s heart weakening under a delirious onslaught as Eric took his life.

And there were others. So many others. He’d fed on them, their hold on life lessening as their sorrow and greed for him grew. In every sense true to his nature, he drank of their emotions and of their blood, and they died, becoming only echoes of the mind.

She drank from him and from them and listened to pleasures as sharp and beguiling as if she were the bestower of their deaths. She listened to the blood. It was a hypnotic tide.

She clung to Eric, the same as the nameless ones had when he’d drunk from them, but he pulled away. She was full of strength and tremulous in her need, and she couldn’t begin to comprehend all that was happening.

“What’s happening to me?” He offered her his hand and she held it hard, not letting go as he led the way from the lake.

“You’re dying,” he whispered, then smiled, amending, “You’ve begun. You’re not dead physically, but to humanity, yes. My blood calls to yours—a symbiosis. If you’re strong enough you’ll survive. But it takes time.” He kissed her cheek.

“What do you mean, ‘if I’m strong enough’?” she said loudly.

He laughed. “Don’t worry, you will be—it’s one of the reasons I chose you. Some aren’t as fortunate.”

My eyes narrowed. “Lucky me.”

He returned her gaze with an even look. “Becoming is an invasion of the blood, you see? Your body adjusts to living with it . . . or it fails. It takes time to change, but not to know who’s unfit. They’re usually dead within days. It’s nothing like the legends.” He shrugged. “You’ve suffered no ill effects.”

“How can you go out during the day?” she asked curiously.

He laughed at her, green eyes sharp, glinting in the dying light. “Another legend. We can go as we please, although it’s true we prefer the night. Better for the hunt. And fledglings find the light difficult.”

“But I saw you pull back tonight, just before the sun set. As if it hurt.”

“It did. If the light is very bright, it bothers my eyes. You’ll find you can’t see as well, either. Eventually.”

“If I become.”

“You will. You’ve already begun.”

She stumbled, unsure of her steps, and he grasped her arm and led her to her clothes, lying on the ground. She pulled her wet hair back, struggling to put them on over her damp skin, and was startled when she ripped out the side seam of her shirt.

Eric laughed, ignoring the look she threw him and handed her his shirt. “See? You already have strength you can’t control.”

Rachel wrapped his shirt around her and sank to the ground, legs trembling. “Then why do I feel so weak?” she asked miserably.

He pulled his pants on and sat beside her. She wanted to touch his sleek, muscled chest but didn’t move. He did, wrapping her in his arms. “Would you like to go inside now?” he asked solicitously.

“No, not yet,” she said, her ear pressed to his chest, listening.  He made a sound in his chest. It sounded like laughter. The coming darkness faded the shadows of the trees across the lawn. She didn’t care. She wasn’t afraid of the dark. What she was feared most leaned back as her cheek rose and fell against his chest, heart beating in her ear.

No, she was afraid of her own weakness, afraid he would succeed. That she was going to be with him, for . . . well . . . however long vampires lived. She didn’t think she could face it, no matter how much her traitor self longed for it.

Thirsted for it, she realized with horror. She shut her eyes tight against the need. His quiet voice whispered in her ear, “You feel the urge to drink? It’s early yet.”

She burned for it. Her body shook. She hated herself.

“Don’t despise what you’ve done. You only want to survive, the same as everyone.” She lay back in the cool green grass, her eyes tracing the sensual curve of his lips, and she tried to ignore the way his hair hung over his face, looking down at her. She wanted to push him to the ground, wanted him in her, wanted to drink from him. She felt herself losing whatever sanity was still left to her. He pulled her to him and held her, rocking. “It’s part of what happens, the restlessness. You’ll be able to control it, I promise.” He looked at her again, seeming to wait. Hesitantly, she nodded, and it seemed to satisfy him. He spoke in a soft voice, eyes holding hers with their intensity. “Nature is not about love, forgiveness, selflessness. She’s about taking, killing, dominating, strength, life and death—everywhere, death. She’s the cobra, killing the lioness and her cubs in their den. Open your eyes, Rachel. All of us—all, everyone, everything—feed upon something, someone. The beauty that surrounds us is nearly unnoticed in the fight for survival. Yet we notice it. We notice it when we decide who dies next, when we watch the spark of life grow dull and fade before our thirst.” He ran a finger down her check, contemplating. “You said I collect beauty, and in a way you’re right. I collect death . . . but in death there is beauty, for the one who brings it and the one who accepts.”

The warmth and scent of him was maddening. She wanted to bury herself in him. She stretched up, pressing her lips to his neck. His pulse fluttered beneath her tongue, matching hers, and she traced his throat. He held himself still, waiting. Her teeth scraped his skin delicately, and he shuddered. There was nothing she could think or feel except for the blood she wanted to course through her, revealing all of him, who he was. He was her damnation. But she was alone and he was near, and his eyes were warm light and shadow, holding her to him. And part of her was lost to him already, though she did not realize it.

Just before dawn’s glow touched the eastern skies, he let her drink. She was ravenous. She held him down, straddling him, his throat curved upwards, utterly defenseless against her will and her need, and she sank her teeth into him again, slashing through skin, penetrating what had already healed, not caring that she tore him. He groaned as she began to drink and thrust upwards to her, embracing the pain instead of shying from it. The low rhythm of his heart beat alongside her own. When she was satiated she rolled on her back to stare up at the stars. Soon she would be something else. Like Eric.

The beginning of dawn warmed the faded night, a spectacular sunrise soon to follow. She shrank from it. It hurt her. She made her way on unsteady legs up the lawn into the house, and Eric walked by her side, silent.

 

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