Cursed (6 page)

“Thanks.”

He might have opened his mouth to say more, but Knox was already closing the door on him.

“See?” the blonde said, a tad smugly.

“I see,” she confirmed, glancing repeatedly at Greyvian on her way back to the table to make sure that he was still watching her. She needn’t have worried. His gaze never wavered and she could practically feel it on her like a physical thing.

“He seemed pretty edgy,” she said, feeling a bit that way herself as she set the bag down on the table. “Is that normal?”

Listening as intently as she could given that Greyvian was still watching her, Knox told her that some people were more Aware than others and, therefore, responded a bit differently, she gathered four plates from the cupboard and laid one down in front of Knox, Lucas and then Greyvian. She was tempted to stand right beside the latter as she did, so that perhaps she could have brushed against him accidentally-on-purpose, but restrained herself admirably, doling them out from the vacant space where she had been sitting instead. Once she had added cutlery to the mix, she returned to her seat beside Greyvian’s silent form and once again met his impassive stare for as long as she could comfortably hold before using the excuse of loading her plate to look away.

She wasn’t normally this flustered by men she found attractive, but for some reason her heart was racing and she felt giddy as a schoolgirl.

Maybe it was the fact that he kept staring at her? Watching her every move as if he were a lion lying in wait for its prey.

He can eat me any day,
she thought, glancing in his direction once again.

Laughing at herself, she tried to get a grip as she ate her Chilli Jam Chicken and rice while Knox entertained them all, covering what would have been an awkward silence with the ease of someone used to single-handedly carrying a conversation.

She couldn’t have said what he talked about, as she wasn’t really listening, her attention focused on Greyvian more than anything else. What would it feel like to have his fangs in her neck? It wasn’t the first time she’d had the thought and it certainly wouldn’t be the last—of that she was sure. Not until he appeased her curiosity by sinking them into her, his hot mouth on her skin, his warm tongue lapping at her blood...

Christ. Why was that such a turn-on?

“Why is a transition even necessary?” she asked, trying to distract herself from her inner daydreams. “Why aren’t you all just vampires from birth? Do you have to be human first so that you can age normally and then bam, you transition, become a vampire, and then never look a day over thirty for the rest of your lives?”

“Hey, a day over twenty-five, if you please,” Knox replied with an offended look that he ruined by grinning. “And yes, you have it almost right. We transition to become immortal. But we’re not all born human—that’s just the half-breeds. Why that is, I won’t get into. Full-bloods, like Greyvian over here,
are
born vampire. And yes, they need to drink blood right from the start.”

“Oh.” Vampire babies!

She looked at Greyvian for a long moment, trying to picture him as a vampire child drinking blood from a human, but couldn’t. Even though she knew exactly what Jacob had looked like, the two images just wouldn’t mesh in her mind.

“Is a full-blood transition the same as a half-breed’s?”

Whether it was her hopeful expression or some other reason, he actually answered her this time.

“Worse,” he said shortly, neutral expression at odds with the statement.

“Yikes. Becoming immortal doesn’t sound like much fun,” she noted, looking from one to the other. “Does anyone know exactly how it works? How you’re able to stay the same age?”

“Well, to understand that, you have to understand how aging works,” Lucas began when nobody else seemed inclined to explain. “As far as science can determine, the mortal body has to create new cells as others die. This is a good thing in the beginning, because it allows you to grow and mature, but it can also lead to damaged cells, mutations, and the like. Over the years, the mortal body doesn’t produce as many cells as it should to keep the body young, meaning it’s less resilient against disease, skin becomes less elastic and so on and so forth. Waste products also begin to build up in the more permanent cells, making the body work harder and, ultimately, leading to its demise. This—among other things, like free radicals and lifestyle—leads to aging.”

She wondered idly if Lucas was a scientist or just liked to read a lot as she nodded to show that she was following. As the male paused to collect his thoughts, her gaze drifted over to Greyvian of their own volition, blue eyes locking on to black. Butterflies erupted in her stomach.

God, he was sexy.

“Conversely,” Lucas continued, “as far as our science can tell, once a half-breed or full-blood transitions, the only cells that die inside of our bodies are the red blood cells.”

“Is that why you need to drink blood?” Sienna asked, beyond fascinated.

“No, that’s just part and parcel of being a vampire. See, our bodies don’t produce their own red blood cells the way a human’s does in the bone marrow. Our bodies produce the cells by combining with foreign cells and multiplying.”

Interesting. “What happens if you don’t drink blood? Do you wither and die?”

Knox turned his head and looked at Greyvian, as if the black-eyed male could better answer that question, and seemed alarmed by what he saw.

“Grey, you good, man? When’s the last time you fed?”

Sienna’s eyes locked on to Greyvian’s. Black. They were black when they should have been grey. She realised now that she’d noticed, but it hadn’t sunk in until now.

It seemed that things weren’t nearly as tranquil behind the dark pools as he portrayed on the surface. A shiver of delight swept up her spine. It was more thrilling than she’d care to admit that he was so affected by her.

Ignoring Knox’s concern, Greyvian looked into her eyes, the dark depths drawing her in and threatening to swallow her. When he replied, his voice was neutral, yet the words he spoke were, once again, at odds with the lack of emotion.

“When a vampire doesn’t drink blood, he does indeed wither. But he does not die. No matter how much he wishes he would.”

Without another word, Greyvian abruptly stood, his body surging upwards in a barely contained explosion of movement that stalled her breath in her throat as she half-expected him to launch himself at her. He didn’t. Instead, he turned and calmly walked towards the front door, opened it with control, and was gone.

Blinking, Sienna looked at Knox. “Was it something I said?”

The blonde smiled shortly but eyed the door with concern and a touch of puzzlement.

“Where’s he going?” she asked, although she already knew.

“With his eyes as black as they were—I assume he’s going to get someone to eat.”

Damn, why didn’t he just eat me?

“Is that a good idea? With Jacob so close to transition, that is?”

Knox looked at her with a raised eyebrow and a wry smile. “Would you prefer he drank your blood?”

YES!

“I’m just saying is all,” she replied nonchalantly.

The male nodded like he believed her—not. “He won’t go far. He knows how important timing is with a transition.”

She stared at the door longingly but then had a thought.
Does he kill them?

“How often do you need to feed?” she asked instead, not sure she really wanted to know the answer to that other question. She didn’t want to ruin the fantasy with harsh reality just yet.

“Every two weeks, give or take a few days,” he said, absently running his tongue over his incisors as he eyed her neck.

“When was the last time
you
fed?” she asked pointedly.

He caught himself and grinned sheepishly, looking a little long in the tooth now. “Sorry. It’s just that you do smell really good.”

He seemed to distract himself by taking a sip of his drink. Glancing at Lucas, she noted that he also kept sipping at his drink.

Knox must have seen her concern, because he smiled again, and said, “Seriously, you have nothing to worry about. It’s more curiosity than a real thirst.”

“What about Greyvian? Do you think he reacted the way he did because of thirst?”

The vampire shrugged a shoulder. “It’s more than likely, but who can say with that male?”

She frowned, curious. “How long have you known him?”

“Over a century.”

“How
well
do you know him?”

Knox smiled slowly, as if pleased that she’d picked up on that. “Before today I would have said as well as anybody could, but now… Let’s just say that I know a lot
about
him, but I don’t really know
him
that well. He’s not exactly chatty if you hadn’t noticed.”

True, but talking could be highly over-rated. She’d learned a great deal about him since she’d walked into the apartment to find him standing there. For instance, she’d learned that he was a divine smelling vampire (that looked great in black leather) who was totally hot for her if the erection he’d been grinding into her was anything to go by. Sometimes it took days, weeks or even months to establish that kind of knowledge about someone.

She wondered how much of that would have been true if she hadn’t smelled so good. Was it only her scent that drove him wild, or was it something more? Did it really matter? Either way, it was lust, pure and simple—and who was she to argue with that?

4

Outward appearances portrayed Greyvian to be calm, cold even, and for the past hundred years, the inside of his mind had perfectly reflected that. He had been comfortable in that state. Being numb inside was often thought of as a bad thing from what he could gather of the human world, but he preferred it to the alternative. Emotions were messy, stressful things that could quickly cause someone to go out of control and do or say things they would come to regret.

Like telling those three back at the apartment that he would rather die than starve. As if he were some pity case they should all make sad eyes at and wax lyrical about how things had turned around for him, how he was no longer the pitiful starving child he had once been.

He was not accustomed to talking about himself and even less so without any prompting. He could not fathom why he had told her that. Why he added that last sentence. It had not been necessary. He should have just stopped at ‘they wither, but don’t die’.

Why had he uttered that last sentence?

It must be the thirst. The unrelenting desire to sink his fangs into her neck and drain her of her life’s blood. It was making him irrational. Damn her. Why did she have to smell so good? What was it about her that gave her that scent? She wasn’t a pre-trans—although if she were, she would have smelled bitter—and she wasn’t a vampire. It must have something to do with the fact that she was Aware without them making her so. Either way, he didn’t like it. Didn’t like feeling. Thirst. Desire. Unbridled lust. The last time he had succumbed to those feelings many humans had died.

Picking up his pace, he jogged the next lap around her apartment and futilely tried to escape the memories.

Stowing away in his family’s wagon would have been utterly impossible if it weren’t for his sister. He was much too weak to lift himself up in bed, let alone into the back of a wagon. To then cover himself with the heavy cloth kept in back to hide… Thankfully for Katarina, it was the work of a moment. Lifting him from his bed without effort, for he was stick thin and light as a feather, she headed for the stairs and then paused just long enough to check that nobody was at the bottom before heading down. She paused again when she reached the door to the yard and listened intently for any movement from the kitchen nearby. Dawn was at least an hour away however, so there was nobody around. With a nod of readiness, Katarina headed for the courtyard. Once again she paused at the door and they watched and listened for any sounds outside. Nothing. Everybody was still in bed.

Heart pounding from fear and exhilaration at what they were about to do, he felt only a twinge of self-pity for his frail state as his sister clutched him to her breast and ran easily for all she was worth to the wagon which sat only metres away. She practically threw him onto the bed in her haste and he rolled and bumped across the unyielding wood wincing and grunting, hoping nothing broke in the process.

“Sorry!” she hissed as she climbed in beside him.

He shook his head and motioned for her to hurry and cover him. Once the cloth was in place and he was securely hidden, he lay panting from exertion, feeling weaker than ever, but his spirit felt buoyant, light, carefree.

He was going to feed at last.

“Good luck,” his sister whispered, and then left him to the muffled sounds of the yard.

Eyes wide, he lay beneath the musty smelling cloth, unable to see anything but the coarse brown of the material. Straining his ears, he tried to catch whatever sounds he could, hardly daring to breathe lest the rasping sound give him away and destroy his chances of finding his cure. Minutes ticked by.

He woke to the steady wobble and bump of the wagon travelling over the rough road and felt his heart start at the reality of what he was about to do. Without his sister to help him now, how was he going to make it out of the wagon without his family seeing him? Neither one of them had actually thought that far, but he refused to think about failing this attempt. He would simply have to work something out when the time came.

Neither of his companions spoke during the trip, so he had no idea who he was travelling with and the uncertainty had his breath coming in quick pants of fear that it could be his father. If it was, he was almost certain that he would be put under lock and key were he discovered. Katarina would never be allowed to visit him alone ever again, for it wouldn’t take much deduction to associate her with the escape.

If it was not his father in the wagon, then it would be his mother and most likely one of his brothers. What would they do if they discovered him? His mother only visited him rarely, as the sight of him seemed to cause her great distress, so he did not know how she would react. If it were one of his brothers accompanying her, he assumed they would react as his father would want them to.

If they did not notice his presence, would they leave the wagon unguarded whilst they traded with the humans?

The wagon seemed to move along at a snail’s pace. When it slowed even more, he became aware of a slight murmur, like many people talking all at once. He didn’t dare peek out of the cloth for fear he would be seen, but his ears strained to catch every sound. Scent was masked because of the musty reek of the cloth and he wished fervently that he could smell the fresh air, the scent of dew on the grass, anything that would confirm that he was indeed outside. Free.

As the wagon drew closer to the village, he realised that he must have been asleep for more than an hour as that was how long Katarina had told him the trip would take. The murmuring sound grew louder and he was able to make out snatches of conversation as they passed by some villagers. Cows mooed, sheep baaed and chickens clucked. It was music to his neglected ears.

Finally, the wagon drew to a halt and he heard a male voice say, “I shall be quick.”

“Do not hasten thyself, dear Patrick,” his mother replied, “for I will be viewing the wares of the weaver and may take quite some time.”

He heard his brother sigh in resignation and then their footsteps departed.

He lay there for a long moment, hardly daring to breathe. Were they really gone or was it a trick? Would they not just pull back the cloth to reveal his deception? Surely they would. With a surge of courage, he pushed back the cloth and looked around, eyes wide.

The village was teeming with life. Many a human male and female were trading goods with each other, talking and laughing, looking as if they hadn’t a care in the world. It was his first glimpse of human life and it left him envious. Especially as he spied a group of young children flitting about chasing each other, cheeks rosy and grins on their faces. What he wouldn’t have given to be that carefree, filled with energy, robust with healthy vigour.

Looking down, he took in his wasted limbs, so thin that the bones were clearly visible beneath the thin layer of translucently pale skin. What wretched misery. He must have done something truly terrible in a past life, if there were such a thing, to deserve the existence he had been given. Surely Fate was not so cruel as to bestow this kind of tragedy upon someone for no reason.

Feeling the weight of despair descend upon him, he shook himself quickly and forced his eyes from the sight of his withered body before he became lost in his own depression.

Moving towards the end of the wagon was a monumental struggle. Simply pushing the cloth away enough so that he could move without becoming entangled was half the effort, but finally, he reached the only part of the structure that wasn’t a raised wall. With a deep breath and a shot of courage, he rolled off the back of the wagon.

He barely felt the impact as he crashed to the ground, his bones miraculously intact. Instead, he focused all of his energy in dragging his sorry self towards the closest doorway. The dirt beneath his fingers was dry and fragrant, sparking a distant memory about his childhood of playing on the ground and drawing circles in the powdery stuff with his fingers. The hope that he might once again be that carefree and capable enabled him to continue to inch himself forward, even though he felt as if for every inch he gained he had to rest five minutes just to make it one more. His lack of strength would have been utterly humiliating if any of the humans had been able to see him. He had never had the opportunity to test out his invisibility with the human race before, but his sister had assured him that it existed. For the moment, it seemed she was right.

He had no idea how long it took him to claw his way through the dirt to the relative safety of someone’s home, but it must have been a decent passage of time, as he had only just made it into the darkness of the abode when he heard his brother’s voice, the male muttering something about their mother taking so long with the humans. As he lay panting with total exhaustion, he had only energy enough to make sure his brother could not see him before passing out cold.

When next he woke it was dark and his body ached from top to toe from all the knocks it had taken since he had left home. He wondered, as he lay on the cold stone, how Katarina was faring back there, deflecting his family from going to see him—not that they regularly did. It may well be a week or more before any of them realised he was missing, especially if Katarina brought him his meals and professed his exhaustion to them.

Movement to his right caused him to jerk in surprise, his head twitching violently towards the source of the motion. It was a human male, mid-thirties, with dark brown hair and a muscular body. The man was squatting before a fireplace, tossing a few thin pieces of timber onto the softly glowing coals. After a moment of watching the sticks alight, he tossed a few thicker pieces on and then sat back on a stool to wait.

Greyvian’s eyes never wavered from the man as he stoked the fire and brought it roaring to life, filling the room with a warm amber glow and a slow heat that nevertheless drifted straight out of the open door in front of which he lay. He wondered if the man had given any thought to closing the door but had dismissed it due to vampire Awareness tampering. He was surprised that it worked while he was unconscious. So far, everything Katarina had told him seemed true. After a while, Greyvian realised that whilst the man may not have been consciously Aware of him, subconsciously he knew he was there as he kept frowning and looking towards the open door as if he couldn’t quite understand why he wasn’t closing it. If he could have, Greyvian would have dragged himself out of the doorway and saved them both the draft, but he could no more lift his head than roll his body from the door.

Had he the energy to make the human Aware? Did he dare?

Minutes ticked by as he debated with himself over the matter. Finally, he decided to give it a try. Alas, raising Awareness was beyond him at the moment. No matter how much energy he put into wishing himself visible to the man, nothing happened.

Sinking back against the cold stone, he felt numb. Numb in body, numb in mind. He had come to the village to test a theory that human blood could be his cure, but if he hadn’t the energy to move from a doorway, how was he supposed to see it through? All he could do was long for the sweet embrace of death, to finally have his pitiful existence relegated to the pages of history, no longer a reality, only a sad tale that the others of his kind could frighten their children with when they misbehaved.

When would it happen? How long would it take?

Depressed beyond measure, he closed his eyes and drifted for what seemed an eternity. When next he became aware, the fire had died down to coals once more and the human male was nowhere to be seen. Closing his eyes, too tired to cry though he wanted to weep, he slowly became aware of a strange sound, a kind of rumbling murmur that came and went with puzzling regularity. Lifting his lids slowly, he tried to find the source of the sound and eventually managed to determine that it came from over by the far wall.

Minutes passed, and then he heard a rustle of cloth, the creak of timber, and a kind of snorting bark, followed by a brief cough as the human rearranged himself in his bed. Greyvian’s eyes widened as his foggy brain realised this was the perfect opportunity.

Whether he was strengthened by desperation or the hand of some benevolent god, he was able to move at last. He knew not how long it took and cared little, but slowly and inevitable as the passing of time, he made his way across the dusty floor to the side of the man’s simple bed. Panting like a dog and similarly begging for scraps, he tried to push himself to his knees but could not muster the strength.

Tears of desperation leaked out of his eyes. He was distantly aware that he was mewling like a newborn kitten looking for a tit, but he continued to struggle, to will his useless limbs to move. It was useless. He had not the muscle capacity to lift his chest from the rough floor—not with pectorals nor biceps.

Weeping openly, devoid of all hope, he rested the side of his face on the cold ground and wished fervently that Katarina had never raised his hopes to begin with. It was a cruel, cruel fate to be handed a possible solution and then to fail so miserably to see it through when it was a mere few inches away.

After a while, the weeping tapered off and he simply stared blankly at the thick layer of dirt beneath the human’s bed, too tired even to drop off into unconsciousness.

And then it happened.

The man rolled over on the mattress and his arm slipped down towards the ground, his wrist falling right before Greyvian’s eyes. He did not need a written invitation. Fangs extending painfully, he gathered one good burst of energy and lunged.