He pushed her against the wall gently,
his hand sliding down her shoulder to her hip. She smiled in response and moved her hands along the belt line of his pants.
His lips caressed the flesh of her neck, his teeth grazing it, raising goose bumps on her skin.
"Wesley," She whispered in his ear, want and passion and understanding
communicated through it.
He wove his other hand through her hair, making sure to hold
her still as he slid his teeth into her neck. She did not make a sound and did not struggle. He drained her to the point of
death. Her body now leaned against him, her breathing slow and shallow.
Wesley let her drop, her body making a dull thud sound on the
pavement. He wiped his lips on his sleeve and looked down on the dieing girl. A smirk crossed his face and he turned to go
back into the club. He took a quick look down the alley and he reached for the doorknob. There was a tug as he leaned to push
the door in.
"Do not leave me like this, Wesley," she whispered, her hand
clasped his cold wrist.
"And why shouldn't I?" He answered savagely.
"I won't let you!"
"What makes you think you can stop me?"
She pulled herself to his wrist and bit into it, sucking large
droughts of blood from the wound.
"Bitch!" He yelled and cuffed her so hard she hit the wall
on the opposite side, "How did you know how to do that?"
Her groans of pain were his answer as the transformation took
place. Angrily he paced the alleyway, waiting for it to finish before beginning interrogation. Finally she stood up and looked
at him, her skin paled her eyes now a bright emerald green. She looked at him and smiled. He slammed her against the wall,
his hands on her shoulders.
"How did you know?" He demanded, angry that he had been so
careless and so confident.
"Do you think I am a fool?" She demanded as her voice took
on the preternatural tone to it that sounded like music, but wasnt.
"You must be in order to involve yourself with such a curse
as this. Do you fully understand the responsibility that comes along with this? You are a child, you are unable to deal mentally
with your new nature."
"I am no child!" She yelled and pushed him away from her.
"You are a youth! And now I must take responsibility for you
and teach you. God damn you! No, wait. He already has," Wesley said as though he were giving in to a most unusual ordeal.
"No one said you had to teach me anything," She stated, malice
dripping acidly from her words, "I can learn on my own."
"You would be dead after the second day."
"Why do you say that?"
"Because you are careless! You leap into this situation with
out knowing all that it entails! And now you want to learn on you own? You stupid girl, you take the world too lightly. You
couldnt have left well enough alone."
"So it would have been better for me to die?" She demanded.
"Yes, it probably would have done you better."
"I see you have a fledgling now," A voice at the end of the
alley stated, soft clicks of the shoes echoed through the alley as he approached.
"No!" Wesley shouted, "I did not make her! She stole the darkness
from me! I refuse to take responsibility for her!"
"Stolen or not, it is your blood that flows through her veins
now."
"Not my responsibility!"
"Your blood, her veins."
"You planned this! You and this gypsy! I will not do it! Yes,
my blood courses through her, and if that is all that holds me to her I will take it from her!"
Wesley lunged for her and the stranger got in the way, pushing
Wesley back with a simple movement. Wesley hit the wall.
"Get out of the way Alex! This does not involve you! I created
her, I will kill her!"
"You will have to kill me first," Alex said in a calm voice.
"If you do not move, I will kill you," Wesley sneered.
"I'm not moving."
There was an awkward silence in which no one moved. Wesley
glared at the Alex who stood watching him patiently. A tense atmosphere settled over the group, until Wesley gave an aggravated
growl.
"Fine, she may live, but I will not teach her, she is your
responsibility, not mine."
With that said, Wesley left and Alex turned to the girl.
"Why did he not kill you?" She asked.
"Because I am his brother and once his teacher."
"His brother?"
"Yes, now we have to get you cleaned up, and all of the proper
things taken care of."
Alex started walking down the alley slowly and deliberately.
The girl followed anxiously behind him.
"What do you know about us that makes you so sure that you
can live on your own?" Alex asked.
"I know I need to drink the blood of the living and stay away
from sunlight. I cannot leave any trace of evidence, not even a body, for the police to find, and thats it."
"Indeed, you know many things, but you are unprepared for such
things. Your mind is weak with emotions. You will hold on to what you still find mortal and that is your weakness. What is
your name, child?"
"Gypsy."
"That could prove to be a useful nickname, but what is your
real name?"
"Mellissah."
"Thank you."
The smell of dragons blood incense hung in the air of the apartment.
All of the windows had been covered to make sure that no light could filter through. There were rope lights and Christmas
lights hanging form the ceiling to the floor and the colors were strictly purple, red, and white. A single incense holder
sat in a sort of makeshift altar with candles burning around it. The rope lights had been turned off, but the candles were
lit and glowing softly. The entire apartment was spotless.
In the apartment there was a kitchen that had never been touched,
and a single bedroom. The bedroom was always locked. Depending on the time of day, it was this way to keep people out or one
person in. The room itself was also dark and had a single bed with black sheets, but it wasnt the bed that was the odd part,
it was what was under the bed that caused all of this secrecy.Under the bed was a rather fancy box made of mahogany, about
as long and wide as to accommodate a body. Inside the box was a satin lining the color of deep burgundy and it had a wonderful
woody smell. There was no body in the box during the evening hours, but there was always one to be found during the day.
No one had access to the room, and no one ever would, for it
was made to be a sanctuary, and it would stay that way until it was time to move. The inhabitant never left through the door
and the one window that gave access to the fire escape had been boarded up. There was one other window, and that lead to a
five-story drop.
The inhabitant had no need for stairs, or elevators. He went
in and out through the one window. He fell the five stories and landed quietly at the bottom in a dirty alley before leaving
to do his business. No one bothered him because the rent had been paid for the next ten years.
To most people, ten years is a long time, to him it was as
ten days. As one gets older, time speeds up, and to someone who is three hundred years old, a year is as a day. There were
many rumors about him. One was that he was a drug dealer from San Francisco, another was that he was practicing satanic rituals
in his apartment. The landlord didn't bother any of the other residents.
He was young looking, about twenty-five to those who had to
guess. What gave away his age was the way he spoke. It was very clean, precise, and proper. His entire demeanor was that of
a French aristocrat, but no one in the twentieth century knew anything at all about that. Such speech patterns were by now
a lost art.
His skin was pale and smooth, as though it had never seen the
light of sun when, in truth, it hadn't. His eyes were a magnificent lapis blue. They were bright, knowledgeable and full of
cunning. They were the eyes of a hunter who hunted something with intelligence almost equal to his. His eyes drank of their
surroundings knowledge of all things that surrounded him.
He had long hair the color of wheat fields. It was a beautiful
illustrious golden brown that only highlighted his eyes. His hair fell around his face in gentle waves and curls. He had the
face of an angel; the living cherub that Michellangelo painted on the chapel ceiling.
He was Rembrandt's glorified child. He was forever trapped
in this body, and very powerful. He was able to control the thoughts of those around him, able to kill with a single look
or thought, preternaturally strong and immortal. The price of these gifts was one that only the strong-minded could handle.
Blood. Blood from the living and only the living. While he could take it from animals, he chose a sport that only his contempt
for life could fuel.
He hunted his former self. He hunted those that were mortal,
those resembling him. He hated his immortality, yet could not find it in himself to die. He enjoyed their screams, their attempt
at escape. Enjoyed the sensuality in which he killed the opposite sex. It fed his hate and his pain. Tainted blood was his
favorite. Blood of drug users, drunks, and addicts always left him with the effects of the drugs, but never any of the side
effects.
He was known by the others as a rogue. He was unwilling
to be taught, a loner, a pleasure killer, and one of the most powerful to be made. Yet for all of his wonders, he was
arrogant. Arrogant because he knew what he was capable of, he knew that no one would dare challenge him. Well,
no one but his brother, anyway. His brother was the one who had conspired with two others, bothe were now dead, to create
him. His brother hadn't caused the change, but had overseen how it was done.
There were those who wished him to control his blood-lust,
wished him to be taught by the elders, brought to refinement, yet he knew that they just wanted to control his power and ability,
numb his senses so that he would be easily molded to their will. He would have none of it. He refused to be controled.
The window to the apartment opened slowly and he came through,
quietly, so as not to disturb those next to him. He stretched and went to the bathroom. There he washed his hands
and dried them. Memories of the occurance in the alleyway still fresh in his mind.
"Perhaps, now that you have calmed down, we could talk about
your child," A familiar voice said.
Wesley slumped against the sink, his arms holding him up. He slowly turned and
looked his visitor in the eye.
