Under Darkness Part 6

I was in the security area of the platform, the part monitored by cameras. But at this late hour the token booth on the other side of the turnstiles sat unlit and unoccupied. A fat lot of good my being videoed was going to do me. If I were overcome by the vampire hunter, by the time help came I'd be a pile of dust.

Pus.h.i.+ng those thoughts from my mind, giving myself over completely to instinct, I mentally readied myself to face my attacker. I had no weapons but my wits and strength. Yet when I saw what was coming for me, I knew neither would be enough.

Not one vampire hunter appeared on the stairs. Not two. Three of the leather-clad hunters emerged from the clouds of fog that flowed like thick honey down the stairs and swirled around the floor. They were gigantic men, each well over six feet tall and broad as grizzly bears. Each carried a bandolier filled with sharpened wooden stakes slung across his chest. Each had wrapped a thick silver chain around one arm.

I doubted they had MetroCards, but the illegality of vaulting a turnstile was not going to deter them. Bottom line: I couldn't fight them all and win. I had to take the only other option I had. Without hesitation I jumped the four or five feet down onto the tracks, avoiding the deadly third rail. It wouldn't have killed me outright but would have stunned me long enough for the hunters to get me.

I didn't look back to see what was chasing me. I sprinted between the rails toward the next station, five blocks away at Twenty-eighth Street. I still had on my Nike cross trainers. That was a lucky break. My speed would mean the difference between existence and extinction.

I splashed through the puddles of the filthy, refuse-strewn water that lay stagnant in the trough between the parallel tracks. I raced into the narrow tunnel.

Black, grime-encrusted steel plates formed the walls of these subway tubes. They rose up on either side of the tracks, leaving only inches of clearance when the train pa.s.sed through. Every dozen feet a bare lightbulb fought back the darkness without much success.

I ran on with death at my heels. I heard the squeaking of rats. I heard the thuds of the three hunters. .h.i.tting the ground after they jumped off the platform. I heard the dull thumps of their footsteps as they pursued me. Then I heard something else: a low rumble followed by the squealing of brakes.

I knew what that ominous sound was: A subway train had just pulled into Twenty-third Street. Within moments it would pull out of the station, and its unstoppable tons of steel would come roaring toward me and the hunters too.

Having ridden the trains for years, I was well aware that safety alcoves appeared in breaks in the tunnel walls at regular intervals. Track workers ducked in there to wait for trains to go by. I needed to find one.

It was true that, being what they call "undead," I could survive the terrible impact of the subway hitting me, shattering my bones, tearing my flesh. But I'd feel feel it. Recovery would be long and arduous, and I would never, not ever, be quite the same. it. Recovery would be long and arduous, and I would never, not ever, be quite the same.

I intended to avoid the ordeal if possible. I looked frantically ahead for an alcove, trying to judge the intervals at which they'd appear. The trick would be getting into one right before the train reached me. I was desperate to run as far as I could before I stopped. Once I was pinned in the small indentation, unable to flee until after the train had gone, my pursuers-the train having pa.s.sed them first-would be able to gain on me.

But if I was lucky, these vampire hunters wouldn't know about the safety alcoves. Hopefully they were out-of-towners who had come to Manhattan for the sole purpose of exterminating me. While I stood unharmed in the shelter, they'd be like dead bugs on a winds.h.i.+eld as the speeding subway train smashed them flat. It was a cheery thought.

As I reached deep inside myself for the energy to run faster, I distinctly heard the creaking and squealing of the train pulling out of Twenty-third Street and the clacking of the wheels as it picked up speed. I bolted forward with every ounce of power I had, spotting an alcove a few hundred feet ahead of me. Suddenly the train's headlight lit up the tunnel with a blazing intensity, catching me clearly in its bright beam.

The hunters could see me now, but I could only hope they were in a state of panic. Even if they had spotted the haven of an alcove, it was large enough for only one of them to use it. The other two might survive if they threw themselves flat between the tracks and let the train pa.s.s over them. Might Might was the operative word. They was the operative word. They might might survive. But bulky as they were, with their supply of stakes and their oversize muscles, they might not. Like the peeling back of a sardine can with a key, the train would violently flail them lengthwise from heels to head. survive. But bulky as they were, with their supply of stakes and their oversize muscles, they might not. Like the peeling back of a sardine can with a key, the train would violently flail them lengthwise from heels to head.

Just then screams of terror rang out behind me before the harrowing sounds were swallowed up by the roar of the train. The noise deafened me. The train's headlight wrapped me with its brilliance. I had no time left. I threw myself toward the alcove, and my body smacked hard against the filthy wall. I pressed my face against the adamantine steel as the train rumbled by. A cacophony crashed and echoed like a thousand struck cymbals. Turbulent air buffeted my back, tearing at my clothes and pulling my hair loose from its once-neat chignon.

Then the air stilled. The gloom returned. The noise receded. The train had gone.

I peeled myself off the wall in time to see the R on the train's back window fading into the distance. I heard nothing from the tunnel behind me, but I didn't wait to see if any of the hunters lived. I began running as if the hounds of h.e.l.l were chasing me until I saw the glow of the station at Twenty-eighth Street. Once I reached it I pulled myself up on the platform and darted for the exit.

Up the stairs two at a time and onto the sidewalk I went, and then, in the fog-shrouded city, I melted away into the mist, glad now for its cover, grateful to be invisible as I hurried onward through the vacant city streets.

As I entered the lobby of my apartment building forty minutes later, having first run, then jogged the more than fifty blocks uptown, I looked disheveled enough to cause Mickey to hurry over, his face showing alarm.

My chest was heaving as I sucked in air, and a wave of dizziness made the room spin. A cold sweat broke out on my forehead. I found myself limping badly too; I must have turned my ankle during the chase. Only in the final moments of my journey, as I came down off my adrenaline high, did I feel its pain.

"Lean on me," the tough old Irishman said, offering his arm. I did.

"You hurt bad?" he asked.

"No. It's nothing. Really. Just a sprain. I was jogging home."

Mickey gave me a knowing look. "Yeah, like I used to jog when the Brits were shooting us down. You sure you're okay?"

"I just need to catch my breath." I took long, deep inhalations for a few minutes to steady myself. Finally the vertigo pa.s.sed, and the darkness stealing my consciousness receded.

"Trouble out there?" Mickey asked.

"Some." I looked at him and said in a quiet voice, "It may be following me. Keep a closer watch, okay? Call upstairs if you spot anybody hanging around out on the street."

"Aye, a fog like this invites trouble. Don't you worry none. I have your back." He walked me over to the elevator, but I refused to let him accompany me all the way upstairs. My ankle throbbed now, but I didn't mind the discomfort. It meant I wasn't dust. Not yet anyway.

When I opened the door to my apartment, the light from the hallway spilled into the shadowy interior. I could see my dog padding over, her tail wagging. My hand, now cold and white from needing blood, rested on her huge head. I stroked her ears as she leaned against my legs. I closed the door behind me, letting myself be surrounded by the comforting darkness.

I started toward the kitchen, my body sagging with relief at arriving home. Then I stopped. My entire being stiffened with alarm. Something was wrong. I could sense it. To be more specific, I could smell it. And of all the scents in the world, this one I knew well. Another vampire was in here.

Chapter 7.

"I am also called No-more, Too-late, Farewell. "-Dante Gabriel Rossetti, Sonnet 97, "A Superscription"

A breeze touched my face with gentle fingers. I moved cautiously into the living room. The window had been thrown open wide. The velvet curtains swayed and undulated. Tendrils of fog were slipping over the windowsill and rolling across the floor. The figure of a huge bat, its great arched wings a curious shadow in the mist, stood not ten feet before me.

"h.e.l.lo, Daphne," the vampire said.

"h.e.l.lo, Darius," I answered as calmly as I could with my heart going like a trip-hammer in my breast. "I've been expecting you."

"Sorry to drop in unannounced. You have a dragon downstairs guarding your door. Besides, I'm not officially here." He made no attempt to come closer.

"Only unofficially then? Why are you here at all?" I stayed where I was, although I had begun to s.h.i.+ver, a tremor shaking me from head to toe.

"I had to see you."

I was feeling unwell. My legs had turned rubbery and weak. My voice faltered. "Okay, you see me. Now what?"

"I never want to stop seeing you," he said. Or at least I think that was what he said, because all of a sudden the world went sideways. I slid to the floor thinking, Oh, it's so dark and I'm so cold Oh, it's so dark and I'm so cold.

The first thing that I could clearly determine afterward was that I lay p.r.o.ne on the floor, and my cheek was next to a naked man's chest. The next thing that registered on my consciousness was a man's voice saying, "Daphne, wake up. Do you hear me? You have to wake up."

A cold washcloth touched my eyelids then softly patted my temples. The voice commanded me again to wake up. I opened my eyes. The voice said, "Drink this." A trickle of blood poured into my mouth; then the flow paused as I swallowed. This continued for five or six swallows, and I felt my strength return. I struggled to sit.

"Give that to me," I said, s.n.a.t.c.hing the clear plastic bag of blood-bank blood from Darius's hand. "I am not an infant. I can feed myself!"

"It's good to see you back to your old self already," he said.

I drank long and deeply, emptying the bag. When I was finished I stood up. Darius remained reclining on the floor, propped up on an elbow, grinning at me.

"Why the h.e.l.l are you naked?" I demanded. "Where are your clothes?"

"I am naked because, if you think back a few minutes, I flew into your window as a giant bat. My clothes? I left them in the rental car. It's in the Park 'n' Lock under your building."

"You need to put something on," I said, striding toward the bathroom.

"Why?" he called after me. "It's not like you never saw me without clothes on before."

"That was then. This is now," I said, coming back into the room and tossing him a terry cloth robe. "Put this on."

"It's pink," he said, deftly catching it in one hand.

"Don't tell me your manhood is threatened by the color." I glared at him. "Just put it the f.u.c.k on."

"Hey, no need to start swearing. I come in peace." He stood up and slipped his arms into the sleeves. They were too short. The robe wasn't just pink; it was flamingo. He looked ridiculous.

A smile twitched around my lips. I turned my head away, trying to stifle the merriment rising up in my throat.

"You're laughing. Don't pretend you aren't. You are," he said.

I was. I couldn't help myself. Darius was here. Just when I had convinced myself I was over him, I knew without a doubt that I wasn't. Oh, boy, I wasn't. Suddenly an alarming sensation radiated through my body, as if my pa.s.sions were awakening from a deep sleep.

I had never wanted any man more than I wanted Darius-and I didn't want to want him. This was the absolutely perfect G.o.dd.a.m.n end to one h.e.l.lacious night. What else could I do? I could laugh or cry. I let loose and laughed until the tears rolled down my cheeks.

"It could be worse," Darius said. "You could have started to point and laugh before before I put on the robe." He walked close to me then, his voice lowering, becoming seductive and disturbing to me. "But you were looking, weren't you? We both know that may be a dangerous thing to do. "We must not look at goblin men, We must not buy their fruits: Who knows upon what soil they fed / Their hungry thirsty roots,'" he said, reciting as he so often did the poetry that colored his words and made me delight to listen to him. I put on the robe." He walked close to me then, his voice lowering, becoming seductive and disturbing to me. "But you were looking, weren't you? We both know that may be a dangerous thing to do. "We must not look at goblin men, We must not buy their fruits: Who knows upon what soil they fed / Their hungry thirsty roots,'" he said, reciting as he so often did the poetry that colored his words and made me delight to listen to him.

Caught between mirth and sorrow, I fought for self-control. I got the hiccups instead. Darius went into the kitchen and brought me back a gla.s.s of water. He handed it to me. I took a sip.

"If you have some fuzzy slippers I'll put them on too," he said, and grinned. The smile put deep dimples along each side of his mouth. He looked at me with hooded, s.e.xy bedroom eyes. A ragged scar ran along his cheekbone, curving downward. It gave him a rakish look, like a pirate. Without it he might have almost been too pretty. His hair, once long, was now the pale, sandy-colored stubble of a military buzz cut. It made him appear tough, almost savage.

Mixing memory and desire, as Eliot wrote, I thought about the past as my eyes searched his face. I remembered our first close encounter. I had been a newly made spy, checking out a billionaire arms dealer on Fifth Avenue. After I finished for the night I strolled over to Madison Avenue, looking into the shop windows. Some jewelry attracted me. I stopped and lingered. A mirror inside the display case reflected my startled face-and the one of the stranger who had come up behind me.

The barrel of a handgun poked into my back. A man's voice whispered a warning into my ear. Darius didn't intend to hurt me. It was his way of getting my attention. I laughed at him that time too, but I thought there was no better-looking man on earth. I still thought that.

Now, Darius took the gla.s.s from me and set it down. He put one strong hand behind my head, gripping my hair hard enough to hurt, and pulled my face to his. "I've been dreaming about doing this for far too long," he said as his lips came down on mine.

I didn't resist. I kissed him back. Soon I was lost. He tasted of violets and wine. I melted against his body, pus.h.i.+ng the stupid pink terry-cloth robe off his shoulders so I could touch his flesh. Smooth and warm, it pulsed under my fingers, breathing life back into the pa.s.sion I had left for dead.

I kissed him for a very long time, drinking my fill, needing more, not wanting to ever let him go. Eventually we ended the long caress and he pulled me tight to him, wrapping his arms around me.

"I'm sorry," he whispered softly. "I'm sorry for everything. For blaming you for biting me. For hating becoming a vampire. Most of all for leaving you."

I sighed deeply. Sorry Sorry didn't cut it. I wished I could have kept silent. My tongue moved faster than my brain. didn't cut it. I wished I could have kept silent. My tongue moved faster than my brain.

"Sorry for Julie?" I said. "Sorry for lying? Sorry for bringing the vampire hunters to kill me?" Bitterness had an astringent taste. It filled my mouth. I pushed away from him.

"We can talk about all of that. Later. Not now." His voice was coaxing. He reached out and took my hand. He pulled me back to his sheltering arms. I didn't resist as much as I could have.

"Listen," he said in a voice ragged and torn. "I made mistakes. But I didn't make a mistake in loving you. Don't you understand? It all doesn't matter. Nothing does except us and this." He ran his hand up under my soft jacket to find my b.r.e.a.s.t.s. He cupped them as he lowered his lips to take mine again.

I didn't stop him. Nothing else did matter at that moment except merging myself into the being of him. If my body could have become diaphanous and transparent so that I could have entered into his very bones, I would have. Instead I let him pick me up and carry me into the bedroom and lay me down on the bed.

I let him strip off my clothes, carelessly and in haste, before he flung himself full-length atop me. There was no finesse in this joining. He had arrived already naked, and now, with my garments torn aside, I was ready to receive him.

I gasped as his long, stiff member pushed violently into me, sliding upward with force before drawing back and ramming into me again. In those few moments before I forgot to think, it occurred to me that anger as much as desire drove his l.u.s.t. But then I became insensate to all else except Darius and me thrusting and turning, moving in a hard, driving rhythm together.

After a short while he flipped me so I was on top. I rose up and sat on his shaft, rocking my pubis against his. A whimper escaped my throat. His hand reached up and stroked my face for a moment before he put both hands on my hips and pushed me down as powerfully as he could, entering more deeply inside me than I thought possible.

I cried out and tried to draw back. He held me fast and began a pumping motion. My head flung back; my eyes sought the darkness. I was filled with a crescendo of intensifying feelings. Higher and higher they took me until I climaxed and felt him empty his seed inside me. I moaned and hung my head. I was damp with perspiration and limp as a rag.

Yet still Darius did not take his hands from my body. He did not release me. He kept me sitting tightly astride him.

"I hunger for you. In every way," he said, his voice hoa.r.s.e and almost cruel.

My heart fluttered. I did not want him to bite me tonight. I did not want my blood pouring out to fill his mouth and my free will pouring out with it. Like a human caught in a vampire's thrall, I, though a vampire too, would be bound to Darius with ties beyond emotion.

I shook my head. "No, no. Not tonight. I am too weak, my love," I pleaded, feeling worried and upset even as a dark force urged me onward, coaxed me to give in, to turn my chin and offer my white neck with its blue vein to him.

Darius's grip on me loosened as he pulled me off and laid me, like a doll, next to him. "Of course. Not now," he conceded.

He traced his finger over my lips and down into the hollow of my throat. He spoke no more, but lowered soft, seeking lips to my breast and suckled, putting one arm around my waist as he did so. Once again he took away my movement and my ability to escape him. He was controlling me. It was wrong; it was right. I no longer cared.

I was drowning in sensations. I felt his other hand slip between my legs. He stroked me there with his fingers. After a sweet time of pleasure and forgetfulness, he took his mouth from my breast and trailed kisses down my body. My belly tingled along a s.h.i.+very path. He moved his hand, opening my lower lips with his fingers. He lowered his head farther. I gasped as his tongue licked down the cleft of me. Soon his mouth teased me into a breathless excitement.

This was a seduction. I knew that, and even as I knew it I surrendered.

I lost my reason. My mind went somewhere outside me, flying toward nirvana, carrying me on an ocean of rocking desire to no thought. I felt the brushlike stiffness of Darius's hair beneath my hands. I pressed his head against me. I made noises like a dove cooing, like a beast lowing, like a wild thing.

And when his fingers, first one, then two, then three, slipped inside my velvet shaft, I slipped completely away from consciousness and ran free across the glistening vales of ecstasy.

"Don't stop, don't stop," I urged, and let him tantalize me. No matter what the consequences, even my demise, they seemed worth it at this moment. I not only surrendered; I gave him the gift of myself. Rolling with wave after wave of o.r.g.a.s.m, I put my hands on either side of his head and gently pulled him up. I let go long enough to find his shaft and put it where his mouth had been.

"Darius," I breathed. "Drink." And I lifted my chin, exposed my neck, and pulled his face down to the smooth blue vein.

I felt the sharp pinch of his fangs piercing my skin. I felt his lips encircle the wound. I felt an electric current surge through my veins as my blood poured out. I climaxed again, moaning loudly and thrilled beyond imagining. And then I knew no more.

I didn't expire, of course. A vampire is not easily exterminated, and then only by ancient and very exacting means.