Because the Night

A/N: This chapter wrung me out. Hope y'all like it.

~Chapter Eleven~

My eyes caught movement, and I turned to see the object of my thoughts standing in the doorway. My eyes locked to his. “That is just not possible!”

He crossed the room, taking my hands in his. “Come, Cecilia.”

“I’m having a panic attack, Lisimba.”

The blood pounded through my veins so hard; I could feel the headache begin.

I let him lead me to the sofa. At first, I thought he would pull me onto his lap. Instead, he seated me on the cushion and then knelt before me on the floor. I’m losing my mind, I thought.

“Your mind is fine, ma chère.”

Perhaps I caught it because my head already sought answers. “You did it again.”

“Did what?”

“Answered my thoughts. At first, I thought it was just because I have a very readable face, but you did that last night. I imagined you glistening wet in the sun; you told me you swim at night.” Inconsistencies stormed through my brain now that it churned. “That first night! You told me you’d called my friends to tell them I wouldn’t make it. How did you even know that I was to meet them? Let alone where? How Lisimba? And Melinda—how did she call the twins last night? I never dialed the number, and she never asked me. And you don’t eat. Well, she doesn’t. You did. At least, you’ve shared food with me in kisses. I’m adding up seventy-four years from the stories you told last night. And what about this?” I paused to draw breath and slammed my hand flat on the paper, right next to the pictures of the dead men.

He reached up and brushed his hand along my cheek.

“And you are absolutely freezing! Are you sick? Is that why you aren’t worried about the Parkinson’s disease?”

Lisimba slid his hand to the nape of my neck. “You are beautiful when you are worked up, sweet Cecilia.” He kissed me lightly and then stood. He crossed the room to peer out the window. “There is so much you should know, yet I fear that the knowledge will send you away from me.”

I’m not sure how long I sat dumb struck by that simple statement. It really was such a simple thing to say. Yet, the idea that this gorgeous man felt any of the same insecurities as I did…well, that struck me funny.

So I laughed. The sound pealed from my lips and bounced off the walls.

“I’m having a panic attack already, and you’re worried that I’ll leave? Is your secret so horrible?”

The look he shot me through the glass refraction said it could be. With a quick flick, he closed the drapes. He gripped the edge for a few minutes before he finally spoke. His accent was much heavier.

“Cecilia, you are not losing your mind, and your math is correct. I was born in Alexandria in 1765.”

“Alexandria. As in Egypt?”

He nodded.

“So, that explains the complexion and the strong accent. 1765?” Again with the nod. “So, you’re over two centuries old?” And again. “And I’m just supposed to take this at face value?”

He turned swiftly and in the span of a blink was back, kneeling in front of me again. His eyes blazed red. His words to Melinda clicked into my head.

“Alors où chasserez-vous? You asked Melinda where she would hunt. Why would you ask Melinda where she would hunt when we were discussing illegal immigrants?”

“Do you really want to know, ma chère?”

I had to think through that question for a few minutes. In truth, did I really want to know? As of this moment, I had suspicions, but I retained plausible deniability. If I knew his secret, would that make me an accomplice? Would it matter if he did tell me? Would he just kill me for the suspicions?

I watched as he shook his head. He pulled my hands to his lips and dropped a soft, affectionate kiss on the knuckles. Even in my confusion, I felt the stirring.

“My beautiful, beautiful Cecilia, I would never harm you for your questions. Nor would I harm you for your knowledge.”

I drew a deep breath. If I believed my imagination, I was dead either way. If I believed Lisimba, I would live either way. Time to bite the bullet. “Tell me the truth. Tell me how all of this is possible.”

Lisimba reached into his back pocket and withdrew a folded knife. He flipped the blade open and placed it in my hand. “The easiest way to have you understand, my love, is unfortunately the one requiring your participation.” He wrapped his hand around mine, closing my fingers around the handle. Then he raised the blade to his chest.

I fought against the hold, but his hand stayed solid as concrete. My arm shook with the strength I used, trying to pull away.

“I won’t harm you.”

He smiled. “I know this, ma chère. Still, you must see.”

His hand applied pressure to mine. In turn, mine applied pressure to the blade. The steel sunk into his flesh. A thin line of blood appeared.

I gasped. “What are you doing?” Tears sprang unbidden to my eyes. “Stop!” I yelled at him.

He pushed the blade in a sideways downward motion, not letting my hand loose until he’d reached the waist band of his pants. When his fingers unwrapped from mine, I withdrew the blade, dropping it in one swift motion.

I shoved him backwards and yanked my shirt off over my head. I dropped to my knees on the floor beside his supine form. I pressed the cloth to the gaping wound, trying to staunch the blood flow.

“Oh my god, Lisimba. What did you do?”

His laughter rang from the walls of my den. My tears turned angry in record time. I drew back to smack him.

His hand caught mine before I connected with his face. Where I had expected him to be weakened by the blood loss, instead he retained that superhuman strength.

He pressed the shirt back into my palm then lowered the cloth to swipe at the thin line of trickling crimson. My eyes followed the motion. I’m certain they were the size of saucers; I could feel shock settling into much of my body. The thin line of blood and a few trickling drops…that’s all that wiped off. Behind the blood trail was absolutely nothing. Not even a light scar. His flesh contained no sign that he’d even been cut. If the blade had not been in my hand when it happened, I never would have believed it.

He nodded. “That is why I did such, ma chère. You had to see it for yourself.”

The tears sprang again. I whispered. “I hate you.”

He nodded. “That is possible. Still, I love you. I want you to know.”

I punched him, aiming for his temple. It was like punching solid oak. I was not particularly skilled in hand to hand combat, so it hurt like hell. I knew I’d broken something the minute I pulled my fist back against my body. The tender flesh swelled, darkening as it did so.

“Son of a bitch!” I cradled the damaged hand. The pain made it difficult to breathe. “Damn you, you dirty rotten bastard. Get the hell out of my apartment.” I grabbed the discarded knife in my other hand, warding him away from me. “Get out.”

He sat up, bracing himself on one elbow. His exposed chest rippled with the movement. Even pissed as I was, I still found him sexy.

He smiled, rising from the floor and crossing toward my room.

“Don’t give me that smug smile, you fucker. Get out!”

Lisimba entered my room quickly, returning just as fast with one of my clean shirts. He reached for me.

I jumped backwards.

“I simply wish to check your hand, ma petit amour.”

“Don’t you ‘ma petit amour’ me! You—you’re—bastard! Get out of my home!”

He closed the distance between us. “Do you truly wish me harm, beautiful Cecilia?” He’d positioned himself so that the knife poised directly over his heart. If either of us moved toward the other, the blade would run him through.

I stared at the sharp point. My hand quivered around the cold metal.

He raised a finger to my chin and lifted my face until I was forced to look him in the eyes.

“I wish for you to hear the truth. No promises. No expectations. Just listen.” His expression softened. “Please.”

I swallowed. The reality struck me. If he’d really wished me harm, he could have killed me many times over. The night he’d rescued me, he could have killed me and framed the original attackers. We’d been alone several times. Even last night, he could have arranged the blame on alcohol poisoning.

I turned the knife handle toward him.

Lisimba smiled softly. His tenor reverberated along my spine. “Keep it, ma chère. You may yet change your mind and try to kill me for real.”

I rolled my eyes, swiping my button down from his hands and sliding my injured hand through the sleeve. “It’s not like I could succeed, right?”

He raised his eyebrows.

“That’s what I thought. So, why bother.”

He chuckled. “An illusion of safety then.” He shrugged. “I have no need of it.”

I used my eyes to shoot daggers at him. “Laugh at me again, and I’ll shove this blade right through your heart.”

He growled. “You fire up so easily.” His fingers made short work of the buttons. Then he stepped back, dropping his hands to his sides.

I scowled at him and plopped to the sofa, still holding my hand to my chest.

He began. “As I said, I was born in Alexandria in 1765. My family was not of the wealth, nor were they of the slaves. However, they already had nine children. I was the tenth, and even more children arrived after me. Once I became twelve years of age, my parents took me to the priests and dedicated my life to them. I began as a servant to the priests. I took my vows when I was five and twenty, when I had to choose to continue serving the order or separate and seek my own life. Every year, a virgin priest was sacrificed to Bastet in hopes of a fertile growing season. I never paid much attention until I reached the end of my three years of training. The priest to whom I’d apprenticed found himself on the sacrificial altar. That was when I started watching. There was only 1 new priest to enter training every year. He replaced the one put on the altar. Once you were assigned an apprentice, you knew that you had 3 years left to live. At the end of the training, you would be sent as the sacrifice.

“I kept observing, marking patterns. Before long, I realized that the sacrifices made no difference in the fertility of the region. I took my findings and information to the council of elders. I assumed they would be happy to stop shedding the blood of their fellow priests and friends. The next week, I was given an apprentice.

“This young priest had been an apprentice already for over two years, meaning that he had only until the break of winter before his training would be complete. Never before had an apprentice been moved with so little time left. I knew then that I was to be made an example. Do not question the elders. Horrible lesson to learn.

“Morning dawned the day of my sacrifice. I was given no food, only water. Later, they added sulfur to the water to cleanse me of any impurities to keep the altar clean. Once that purging of my system was complete, I was served one final sacramental wine. It was laced with some sort of drug. With the lack of food and the purging, the drug entered my blood quickly. I remember dropping the chalice.

“When I next opened my eyes, I lay on the altar, still suffering the effects of the wine. My arms were strapped to either side. Gaping wounds exposed the flesh in my upper arms, and I could feel the blood draining down my elbow to the altar, where it collected into a bowl beneath the basin. I remember wondering how long it would take for death to claim me.

“I also wondered how many of the other priests had been made sacrifice simply because they noticed too much. I could not find the strength to work my mouth, but my mind…my mind was wild. I cursed the order. I cursed my own blood, praying that it would make their fields whither and dry.”

Lisimba laughed and shook his head. “It is amazing the way that God allows things to play out, isn’t it? My mind was reaching out in anger. It attracted Akhenammon to me. Akhenammon appeared beside me, sniffing the air and the scent of stale blood. He licked his lips then bent over me and licked the blood trickle from one arm. He appeared to test the flavor for a moment. Then he grabbed the basin and drank every drop which had drained there.

“Akhenammon held his wrist over my lips and traced his nail across the vein. The flesh split. When the first few drops fell in my mouth, I tried to close them out. Then they absorbed into my flesh. The effects of the drug cleared from my head. My eyes focused on his beautiful face. He whispered to me, ‘Do you truly wish to die for these mortal fools, or will you accept the blood of life?’ Something clicked in my angry mind that I was being offered a choice, a chance to live. I opened my lips. He placed his wrist directly against them, letting the blood drain into my mouth. Before I realized it, Akhenammon sank his teeth into my neck.

“I know not how long we stayed that way—he feasting from my neck, turning my human blood, letting it flow through him and back into me from his wrist. I felt tingling begin all over my body at once. Suddenly, he pulled away from me. He shoved my head down against the altar and ordered me to rest. ‘Pretend to sleep, and do not open your eyes until I return on the morrow.’

“My body tingled and ached and clamored for sleep, so I obeyed. The next morning, I heard the priests return. I kept my eyes closed. One reached to my neck and quickly pronounced me dead. Another knelt to retrieve the basin. There was much scurried conversation when they found it empty. Traces of blood remained on my arms, and the trails stained the altar. Still no one could explain where it went.” He grinned. “Finally, one of them thought to check my arms. It was a very girlish screech that signaled to the rest that my wounds had sealed.

“The master withdrew his ceremonial dagger and sliced the length of my arms again. I had to bite back an exclamation of pain. It took great strength to maintain the façade of sleep. Then someone yelled that the flesh had sealed itself once more. Master ordered everyone to leave the area immediately.

“They nearly tripped over each other getting away from there. Within moments, Akhenammon returned. He released the bindings from my wrists and ushered me to rise. The aches and tingles were mostly gone. However, I felt a burning hunger. And the anger remained, intensified once I tried to find a pulse at my own neck and found nothing.

“We fought greatly when I realized what he’d done. When he overpowered me and pinned me, he explained how I had reached out to him, seeking revenge in my mind, and how he’d given me the perfect opportunity.”

Lisimba turned, crossed the room and dropped to his knees before me. He placed his hands to either side of me, his eyes locking to mine. “I did exact my revenge, Cecilia. That first night, I feasted on the Master’s blood. I rested in his room while he was out dealing with the matters of the order. When he retired for the night, I hovered over him just long enough that he could recognize who killed him. Then I drank every drop.”

His eyes turned sad for a moment. “The thoughts of the victim enter our minds, ma chère. Taking a life is not as easy as one would think. Unlike the use of guns or even knives, there is little more personal than having every thought from your victim find a home among your own thoughts. It is only temporary, but it is still disturbing. I learned that night all about the order. It actually began because of the Master. He was caught by a Turkish guard during the process of torturing and slaughtering a male prostitute. With quick thinking, he was able to craft a religion based on his own sick fantasies. The guard believed him, and master was able to expand.

“The first few years, he accepted more ‘priests’ than he was able to ‘train’. He actually created a private dungeon where he could test torture methods on them. He referred to that stage originally as the precursor to the sacrifice. It took him a few years to get the details all worked out. He still operated his private torture chamber. Those who declined entering the priesthood, or at least we were told they declined, were sent to the dungeon under the guise that they had opted to leave or ran away. Those who questioned validity were quickly made the sacrifice. The public side was done in a ceremony, so it had to be done prettily.

“I should probably count myself lucky that I never ended up in the dungeon.” He shivered. “But I had no choice presented to me. If I did not stay at the order, I had no home. My parents had removed me from their family.

“A short time later, Napoleon stormed the countryside. It was easy to pick off the priests one at a time. Sometimes, I even took two. Then with the armies advancing, and war being waged, I had no trouble seeking food and disposing of bodies.

“I hid during the day for fear of recognition. I also did not want to risk grabbing the wrong individual. You see, just as now, there have always been those whom society overlooks. If I took the wrong victim, they would be missed, and people would hunt.” He shook his head as if to clear the thought.

Lisimba continued. “At first, I simply followed armies. There is always war somewhere. Akhenammon used to seek me out on occasion to make certain I had not gone crazy from the victims’ thoughts. There are those who have; they have not learned to separate.” He laughed. “At least my meditations in the priesthood have served some sort of purpose.

“Once I gained some wealth, I kept a harem of sorts. Persons from the street who were grateful for a warm meal and a soft bed. Not all female, either. I would reach out with my mind to find them, discerning quickly whether they could assimilate what I am without wishing to cause harm. I offered them a home in exchange for feeding. I could feed from two or three without causing their death. After a period of years, they were released from service, allowed to stay in the home, and left with suitable enough pensions to see them through their natural lives.

“It was an arrangement which served us all in a profitable manner and allowed me to exist without detection. And the pension secured their loyalty.”

My mind struggled to absorb all the information he’d thrown at me. I know I stared dumbfounded while my brain worked overtime, desperately trying to process all he’d said. I heard the words, but I just could not force myself to understand. What he described to me simply did not exist. It couldn’t exist. If it did, I had to question anything I believed to be true.

I already questioned so much because of my behavior so far. This would mean questioning my religious ethics, my belief in humanity in general—

My mental wanderings came to a screeching halt. “You mean to tell me that no one questioned some out-of-the-blue religion which called for human sacrifice every year?”

He nodded. “That is true, Cecilia. Skepticism was low at first because people believed it came in with the Turks. Then, after the first public sacrifice, crops flourished. After that, no one would dare to anger whatever god had granted such a profitable harvest. It made it easy for them to fool themselves.”

“That’s barbaric!”

“And it was created by a murderous psychopath. We should be happy that he was not also cannibalistic. There would not have been enough left for Akhenammon to offer life. He simply would have killed me to spare me further suffering. Once I had taken the life of the Master, I returned to Akhenammon. As soon as I was within the building, he heard the story echoing from my mind. I never had to tell him. Just as quickly, he assured me that we would hunt down and eliminate all of the priests who knew, as well as those who followed blindly. Christianity grew in popularity every year. It would not be long before the order was gone.”

It never occurred to me to find it odd to discuss the circumstances of his creation. It seemed that no matter the topic, Lisimba and I discussed it like scholars. That thought made me pause a moment, because I suddenly realized that I had accepted his story as truth. If I hadn’t accepted it, I wouldn’t be discussing it.

My eyes met his. He heard the acceptance as quickly as it crossed my mind. His smile spread all the way to his eyes.

“Thank you, ma chère.” He kissed my hand.

I stammered. “Don’t thank me yet. I’m still not so sure about this ‘my boyfriend is a vampyre’ stuff. It gives whole new meaning to there being no secrets in a relationship.”

His smile grew. “You called me your boyfriend rather than just your date.”

My eyes widened. “I did say that, didn’t I? Slip of the tongue, I guess. I just assumed you wouldn’t tell me all of this unless you thought of me as a girlfriend. Although you could simply want a long-term friend. However, I don’t think you would feed a ‘friend’ from your fingers. Nor would you give a friend a mind-numbing orgasm. But if—“

He stopped my rambling with a thought-dissolving kiss. My heart jumped from anxiety to helpless romantic abandon. The only thoughts that could enter my brain revolved around the physical stimulation I received as his tongue plundered my mouth and his hand slid in my hair. It crossed my mind for just a moment that I should evaluate this power he had over me, to sweep me senseless with a kiss. Then his other hand slid along my waist, up my ribs, and his thumb caressed the side of my breast. Any small, remaining thoughts left me in that moment.

I inhaled sharply as he twitched his thumb so close to my nipple that it responded to the almost-caress. I allowed myself to notice his scent; where I had previously noticed only the musk of man, this time I detected a slightly sweet copper scent.

My hand pressed to his chest. My knowledge of what he was made me seek things not there. I pushed back and met his eyes.

“You don’t have a heartbeat?”

He nodded. “That is correct. My heart stopped beating back in 1797, when my body had reached the chronological age of 32 years. I have allowed it to age slightly farther for the purpose of camouflage.”

I scowled. I had too many questions, and I was not about to let him distract me by offering up another tidbit. I’d store that information and ask later. “But you’re not cold now. You were cold earlier. If blood does not circulate, you cannot maintain a body temperature. How is it you are warm?” I rested my hand against his cheek.

Lisimba turned his head just slightly and dropped a soft kiss on the inside of my wrist. “We are not without our means to blend into society, ma chère. Much like a chameleon, we have ways to adapt. We have the ability to consume food. Consuming food causes our bodies to age. This is beneficial especially to those who are turned while young. Life is much less complicated when you don’t require identification for proof of age. Many of our number will consume food for the sole purpose of aging until they appear close to middle age.”

“Melinda still looks like she’s in her twenties.”

He chuckled. “Melinda has learned the art of fake ID’s. Once she reaches age thirty according to her current identification card, she hunts for a new source. She tends to find her sources easily, and she only uses them once.”

I turned this information over in my head for a while. “So you can consume food, but is makes you grow old?” I bobbed my head side to side as if volleying the words across a miniature tennis court. “I can understand that. It’s a fairly human response. Still, how does that tie to warmth?”

Lisimba pulled my hand from his cheek and cradled it in his own. He traced his middle finger softly along my lines of heart, head, love, and lingered on my life line, trailing onto my wrist and up my forearm. The light caress brought to mind how quickly I climaxed last night without true direct stimulation. My body temperature rose three degrees just in that short span. When his caress reached the soft flesh inside my elbow, I moaned. He dropped a gentle kiss in that same place, then flicked his tongue along the crease.

I sucked in a breath and closed my eyes, willing my body to regain control. “Damn it, Lisimba. Quit trying to distract me, and answer the questions.”

I felt the corners of his mouth turn up where they rested against my forearm. “I will answer, ma chère, but I will also continue trying to distract you. The fact that you remain, and you have not run screaming for authorities—that you asked questions ever after seeing the paper—I want you.”

I scowled at him.

He sighed. “The vampyre metabolism is not so different than human. We consume, we use. The blood that flows through our bodies feeds us. The organs serve to move the fluid. As long as we are sufficiently fed, the heart will pump and we will feel warm. As we hunger, the heart slows and our body temperatures will fluctuate.”

“And your eyes will burn red.”

He nodded. “Yes. Our eyes will burn redder the more we crave.”

His fingers drifted along my forearm. I swallowed, trying to keep my mind on track. “How often do you have to feed?”

Lisimba dragged his lips and tongue along the inside of my arm again. My eyes rolled backward as the hormones soared through my veins.

“It varies as much as a human appetite. It has been nearly two weeks since I fed on that filth. The first fell easily. The second took a bit of hunting. The third is proving to be extremely elusive.”

His chest rumbled as he spoke of the men who had attacked me.

“The third is the one I seek most. He is one of the worst types of men, and he does not deserve the joy of breathing oxygen.”

I thought about this through the haze his lips created in my mind. “The others didn’t know enough about him to know where he hangs out?”

Lisimba’s lips rounded my shoulder and started along my neck. “No. He keeps himself well hidden, even from his companions. It is he who chooses the victims. It is he who tells them where to meet. Neither of them knew where he calls home, or if he is a nomad of the streets. They did not even know his name.”

He nibbled his way up my neck, along my jaw and quickly sought my lips. My arms closed around him as if completely natural to feel sexual abandon with a vampyre.

I felt him chuckle lightly as that thought echoed around my head. “Ma chère, do you think it possible, even for a few moments, for you to simply stop thinking? The activity in your brain is enough to drive a human man crazy, and he wouldn’t be able to hear your thoughts.”

I rolled my eyes. “If I thought I wouldn’t break another bone, I would punch you again.”

And just like that, my mind froze on the single thought.

He sighed and released his hold. He stepped back, giving me space to run through the impossibility.

“I know it’s not possible, ma chère. Your hand is not healed. I have blocked your mind from the pain.”

I raised one eyebrow. “How?”

“Would you like the easy explanation, or would you like the full scientific dialogue?”

I didn’t know if I had the mental capacity to understand the full scientific dialogue, so I opted for the easy explanation.

“Vampyres are as different as our human counterparts. Some have … ‘talents’. Not all. Just some. Melinda can enhance, and sometimes alter, emotion. Akhenammon could determine if a human would turn easily by a taste of the blood. I have the ability to block the neurological responses. If my giver is a terminally ill person, I allow them to die without suffering the pain of the cancer. However, it also works in reverse. With those criminals, I allowed their neurological system to misfire incessantly, causing them all the undue pain they have inflicted on their victims. They did not deserve compassion. They simply deserved death.”

I shifted my gaze to stare at the swelling. “And when you leave, and I have to get the bone set. Then what?”

Lisimba brought his hand to my cheek. “If you allow me, ma chère, I will heal the bone.”

“This can be done without turning me?”

He nodded. “I will not force you. If you choose to join the undead, that will be your choice. But I will not make the decision for you.” He turned. “It is not pretty, though. If you wish to seek medical attention, it would be less…unusual for you.”

I thought about the inflection of the words as he spoke. I felt a tremor creep along my spine. Fear gripped me regarding the ‘unusual’ manner of healing the bone without a cast. Then I thought of all the questions I would have to answer if I set one foot inside a hospital. Of course, the Parkinson’s Disease gave me plenty of cover stories. Still, simple x-rays could show any discerning doctor that I’d broken my hand by punching something or someone. That would lead to more questions, and a lot of headaches I had no desire to contend with. Not to mention that I use my hands at work. It’s difficult to type if your hand is in a cast.

I raised the injured limb toward him. “Fix it.”

***