William (12 page)

Without thinking I gripped the back of his
neck and pulled his face to mine again, sealing my lips to the
scrumptious edge of his jaw, hooking my thumb beneath that blasted
collar to pull it down and taste what I could uncover of his
throat. Desire rolled through me like a tide rising in a storm, and
the proof was growing rapidly between my legs. Once upon a time,
before I accepted my cravings for this inscrutable, beautiful man,
I had been embarrassed of such displays. Now the stiffening itself
was a pleasure in its own right, another example of my newly
heightened senses, and I could not resist the instinct to rock my
hips against him just to revel in the pressure.

Merrick exhaled roughly, his hands tightening
on my back, and his lips started to form my name. Sensing the
possibility of a protest, I cut him off with a kiss. Devil take me,
when had I ever approached him with such brazen aggression? Even
that thought was thrilling—this was becoming ridiculous! My passion
was so monstrous it was consuming every random thought and turning
it into fuel. So be it, by God, as long as the object of said
passion was here in my hands. I slanted my mouth over his again and
again, ravenous, determined; he plunged his fingers into my hair,
groaning softly into my mouth as his tongue danced with mine.
Gradually I was out kissed, yielding to his skillful lips with my
own pleasured moan. I had just reached for the waist of his
trousers when I tasted his blood.

Thirst. Thirst. It blinded me for an instant,
and I made to bite down again before his hand tightened in my hair
and pulled me back, causing me to gasp so sharply it seemed to ring
out all through the Common.

Merrick's lip was bleeding, but it was plain
to see he wanted no apology. In his coppery eyes I saw my own fever
reflected, and when he ducked his head to take several deep
breaths, I knew he was fighting to regain his self-control. I, on
the other hand, gripped the edges of his waistcoat to pull him
close again.

"No," Merrick said roughly, holding me back
by the shoulders now. "Not yet. Not now."

My teeth were practically chanting—primal,
wordless demands that rendered me completely speechless. I made a
sound of protest when he removed my hands from his vest, but he
squeezed them and bid me to look into his eyes. I found them hot
and gleaming and dark with intent.

"Hold, William." His tone was thick with
desire. "We must drink first. Your thirst has come on more suddenly
than I expected." Seeing my gaze drop down to the ruby smudge
glistening on his lower lip, he cleared it away with his tongue.
That certainly didn't help to settle my senses. I closed my eyes
and took a breath, collecting myself with great difficulty and a
measure of thoughtless irritation. All I wanted was to strip him
bare and devour him under the elm trees—was that so much to
ask?

"All right," I whispered at last, and cleared
my throat. "All right. Certainly." I went back over his words,
slowly grasping their meaning. Drink first. "Right."

"We're going to visit some neighbors
now."

"Yes," I said, my frenzy of lust gradually
giving way to dazed understanding. "Right." I ran my hands through
my hair, puffing my cheeks and blowing out another breath. "Very
good."

A soft laugh escaped Merrick's lips and he
moved as though to kiss me again, but thought better of it and
settled for a peck to my cheek. "Come. The night’s only just
begun."

"Sorry," I said, trying to remember more
words as he took my arm to steer us away from the little hillock.
"If I hurt your lip."

"It doesn't hurt at all." His hand tightened
pleasantly on my arm for a moment. "Quite the contrary."

"That's very good," I whispered, schooling my
eyes on the path ahead.

The wind picked up as we walked down the
hillock and around the edge of the pond, riffling the leaves of the
elms and tousling my hair like a gentle phantom. I looked up at the
dark canopy of limbs above us. After a few minutes my senses had
calmed down, but there were stranger feelings yet. There were
feelings of absence, a sense of rooms within me that had been
cleared and swept, and which were now being painted a different
hue.

Blast it, I thought to myself as I studied
the swaying boughs. Theo was right. I looked down at my own hands,
as if the lines of my palms could spell an explanation for the
strange sensation that had by now reached every last inch of me,
sparkling, dark, ominous and thrilling. "Merrick," I said
uncertainly.

"It's all right, William." When I glanced at
him, he met my gaze with a knowing look. "It's all right," he said
again. "You need not explain a thing. You’re thirsty, and so am I.
We're going to see to it."

I swallowed and nodded. After so much beating
around the bush, his straightforward proposal pleased me greatly,
as did the old confidence in his tone, which I had been longing to
hear more consistently for months. Still, the prospect! I was
feeling increasingly snug in the grip of an anticipation and a need
that I could not justify, and yet knew I would not resist. Thank
heavens he seemed prepared now to lead me in this endeavor, for I
was not certain I could think through the steps on my own without
paralyzing myself.

We stepped onto a pathway beaten through the
dark green, and presently I saw it, perfectly obvious for what it
was: the Great Elm, and just beyond it the gallows. Both were cast
in vivid silvery blues and grays, the permanent moonlight by which
I would see for the rest of my vampire life. I looked for only a
moment before I turned my eyes ahead again, winding my arm around
Merrick's.

I leaned against him as we walked, relishing
every intimate moment possible before we would step back out of the
Common and into public again. He walked purposefully, as he damned
well should, for I had no idea where we were going or what we were
to do, apart from the most basic understanding. Yes, we were going
to drink, which meant we were going to kill. And, yes, I had ideas
about what it would be like—fantasies, really, sudden dreams that
rose like wisps of smoke from the new instinct within me. I had a
feeling of what it would be like to sink my teeth into a naked
throat. I had total certainty that it I would revel in the act. And
I had only the barest, most distant fragments of my previous
reluctance to kill.

My lack of apprehension was, paradoxically,
the only thing that now made me nervous. And it made me quite
nervous, indeed, this lack of nervousness. I kept circling my own
mind in search of familiar ground, and finding none I would think,
To Hell with it; but then, still feeling restless, I would circle
again. There was nothing else to do about it. I had an iron grip on
his hand by the time we reached the edge of the Common, and only
when I had to, I let him go.

Just a short walk from the downtown crossing
was a small, dark house set back from the road by a rather unkempt
garden. Merrick touched the small of my back as we approached the
gate and leaned in to murmur, "Two thieves have lived here for
weeks. I had word sent earlier that we would be by to purchase a
number of their goods."

I blinked at him, my attention sharpening.
The lesson had begun, then. We walked up the path and stepped into
the crooked stone portico, but before Merrick could lift the
knocker, I caught his arm. "What shall I do?"

Merrick looked at me fondly. "Try to behave
as my apprentice, William."

Taking comfort in his calm eyes, I mustered a
smile. "Yes, sir."

Returning my smile, he reached over to adjust
the end of my cravat, a simple gesture that sparked a rally in my
heart. And then, after giving me one more reassuring look, he
knocked on the door.

There was silence. After a moment, Merrick
knocked again. At last we heard some movement from within the
house, and a man barked from behind the door, "Who’s there?"

"’Tis Charles," Merrick replied, not deigning
to raise his voice. "I sent word earlier that I would be by with my
appraiser."

Charles, hmm? Better than Benjamin,
certainly. And I was to play the appraiser? I could handle that. I
straightened my jacket, catching Merrick's eye with a smirk. He
answered with an amused look, although he seemed rather more
serious by the moment.

After another minute of scuffling, the door
swung open and the man behind it hurriedly welcomed us inside. Just
as quickly he began to prattle—it so happened that he was an
Englishman—and in a tone much more welcoming than the one we'd
heard from the portico. No wonder! Although Merrick did not spell
it out in embroidered suits and foppish accessories, he had the
distinct aura of a man with money. Or perhaps it was an aura of
power? Either way, it was more than enough to impress the so-called
thief.

"Mr. Charles, of course!" the man exclaimed,
extending his hand and shaking Merrick's vigorously. He looked to
be in his early thirties, shorter than both of us, but sturdily
built. Though adequately dressed in buckskins, waistcoat and
jacket, there was a roughness about him; his garb was carelessly
fitted, for one, and he was somewhat unshaven. Bordering on the
beau-nasty, I thought, though he was actually not unattractive. He
had a full head of thick, sandy hair, and a clean complexion with
rather handsome wrinkles near his eyes and mouth. And his collar
was loose—he wore no cravat.

I tilted my head a little, giving the last
point a bit of extra attention. It was generally a fashion peeve of
mine, but now, on the contrary, it was quite an exciting look. The
shirt fell away from his neck in the most careless way, and what a
lovely part of the body to reveal. They should all be exposed, I
decided, my teeth tingling. Perhaps it was high time to start a
trend. Starting tomorrow I might wear my own collar loose, to lead
by example. Ah, what a fortune to have met this rogue. How
inspiring. My eyes tracked him as he moved about the room, clearing
a stack of papers off a worn-out damask chair for Merrick.

"Pardon the mess, sir, I do apologize.
There's been a good deal of in and out this week. We don't usually
do our business on site, you know, and our girl ran off last
week."

Merrick declined the chair with a gentle wave
of his hand. "There's no need to apologize. Mr. Aimes, is it? Or
are you Mr. McNeal?"

"Aimes. John Aimes. McNeal's just stepped out
to fetch a bit of supper."

I looked away from him at last to scan the
room, which was hardly fit to be called a parlor. It was a modest
home to begin with, and the whole place was dark and cluttered with
all sorts of objects strewn about every which way. Stacks of crates
had been shoved carelessly about, buckling the carpet, which was
littered with bits of packing straw. The mantle was crowded with
empty candlesticks, goblets and vases, and the chairs were piled
with indiscernible jumbles of copper, bronze, and silver.

Even the most hopeless idiot would recognize
the place as a thieves' den. How delightful, I thought with some
surprise, glancing at Merrick. Who would have thought my proper,
gentlemanly master would escort me on an adventure to a criminal
hideaway?

"I see." Merrick glanced my way. "I had hoped
to appraise the item Mr. McNeal has just acquired. When do you
expect him back?"

"Oh," Aimes sucked in his breath regretfully,
"The man can dally, I hate to say. A half-hour, an hour, who knows?
But he did set that book aside for you earlier when we got word of
your interest, and I'll be happy to do your business. Let me get it
for you."

I managed not to roll my eyes. Of course his
partner was absent. He would have slipped out the back as soon as
we knocked, the better to try and rob us when we'd left. It always
amused me to be underestimated by scoundrels who didn't bother to
look through my speech and dress. I was a dandy, yes, but a dandy
born and bred on the New York waterfront. I was no mark.

But then, who was I kidding now? Damned if
Merrick wasn't the biggest bully trap of all. Not that he gave the
appearance of weakness, nor that he was effeminate in the
slightest. Hardly! But there was no hint of violence in his
demeanor. His gentle manner and calm voice made as much an
impression as his figure. One would never imagine the gentleman was
a murderer.

Even I could not fathom the idea of my
dignified companion taking a life. Even now, having known for
nearly a year that he was a vampire, I could not picture it. During
all the months I'd suffered the thought of myself becoming a
killer, I had not been able to wrap my mind around the fact that
Merrick already was one. Even knowing fully well that he killed
human beings to sustain himself, that he had done it countless
times, that he had done it for centuries.

Even tonight, seemingly moments away from
witnessing the act, I could not conjure a single expectation of
what I was to behold. How the Devil would it happen?

John Aimes was off in another room in the
rear of the house, and as he rummaged loudly about, Merrick
gestured for me to sit on a wooden stool near the fireplace at his
side. I obeyed silently, and when he ran his hand slowly through my
hair and moved to the other side of the hearth, I knew at once that
the moment was coming upon us.

Aimes came back into the room with a stack of
books and a puzzled expression that went just a bit too far. It did
look good on him, though, the crease between his sandy brows. But
then I always was more inclined toward a person holding a stack of
books. Presently there was a strange taste in my mouth, something
metallic and sweet. My tongue found it on the edges of my teeth and
tingled with pleasure. In the back of my mind I registered that it
must be the taste of my own venom. I could not look away from
Aimes.

"Now, ain't that a pain?" he was saying. "He
swore he brought it out, but I see it's still in the trunk. Beg
your pardon, sirs. While I look for it, maybe these will interest
you. Bought them off an estate just yesterday."