The Last Vampire (The Last Vampire #1)

The Last Vampire (The Last Vampire #1) Page 4

The expression "the impatience of youth" is silly. The longer I live, the more impatient I become. True, if nothing much is happening, I can sit perfectly still and be content. Once I stayed in a cave for six months and had only the blood of a family of bats to dine on. But as the centuries have gone by, I want what I want immediately. I enter into relationships swiftly. Therefore, in my mind, I already consider Ray and Seymour friends, although we have just met.

Of course, I often end friendships as quickly.

It is Ray's knocking at my door that brings me out of my rest. How does a vampire sleep? The answer is simple. Like something dead. True, I often dream when I sleep, but they are usually dreams of blood and pain. Yet the dream I just had, of Amba and Rama and Yaksha, of the beginning, is the one I find the most painful. The pain never lessens as the time goes by. It is with a heavy step that I walk from the bedroom to answer the front door.

Ray has changed out of his school clothes into jeans and a gray sweatshirt. It is ten o'clock. A glance at Ray tells me that he is wondering what he is doing at my house after dark. This girl he has just met. This girl that has such hypnotic eyes. If he wasn't thinking about sex before, he might be thinking about it soon.

"Am I too late?" he asks.

I smile. "I'm a vampire. I stay up all night." I step aside and gesture. "Please come in, and please forgive the bare rooms. As I said, a lot of the furniture is still in the garage. The moving people couldn't get into the house when they came."

Ray glances around and nods his approval. "You said your parents are away?"

"I did say that, yes."

"Where are they?"

"Colorado."

"Where did you live in Colorado?"

"In the mountains," I say. "Would you like something to drink?"

"Sure. What do you have?"

"Water."

He laughs. "Sounds perfect. As long as you'll join me."

"Gladly. I might have a bottle of wine as well. Do you drink?"

"I have a beer every now and then."

We head for the kitchen. "Wine is much better, red wine. Do you eat meat?"

"I'm not a vegetarian, if that's what you mean. Why do you ask?"

"Just wondering," I say. He is so darling, it is hard to resist nibbling on him.

We have a glass of wine together, standing in the kitchen. We drink to world peace. Ray is anxious to get to work, he says. He is just anxious. Alone with a mortal, my aura of difference is greater. Ray knows he is with a unique female, and he is intrigued, and confused. I ask how Pat is. May as well confront his confusion.

"Fine," he says.

"Did you tell her you were coming to visit me?"

He lowers his head. He feels a twinge of guilt, but no more. "I told her I was tired and wanted to go to bed."

"You can sleep here if you want. Once you bring in the beds."

My boldness startles him. "My father would wonder where I was."

"I have a phone. You can call him." I add, "What does your father do?"

"He's a private detective."

"Sounds glamorous. Do you want to call him?"

Ray catches my eye. I catch his in return. He doesn't flinch as his father did under my scrutiny. Ray is strong inside.

"Let's see how it goes and how late it gets," Ray says carefully.

He sets to work. Soon he is huffing and puffing. I help him, but only a little. Nevertheless, he comments on my strength. I tell him how I befriended Seymour and he is interested. Apparently Seymour is a friend of his as well.

"He's probably the smartest guy in the school," Rays says, lugging in a couple of dining room chairs. "He's only sixteen years old and he'll be graduating in June."

"He told me he likes to write," I say.

"He's an incredible writer. He let Pat read a couple of his short stories, and she gave them to me. They were real dark, but beautiful. One was about what goes on in the space between moments of time. It was called 'The Second Hand.' He had this character who suddenly begins to live between the moments, and finds that there is more going on there than in normal time."

"Sounds interesting. What made the story dark?"

"The guy was in the last hour of his life. But it took him a year to live it."

"Did the guy know it was his last hour?"

Ray hesitates. He must know Seymour is not well. "I don't know, Lara."

He has not used my name before. "Call me Sita," I say, surprising myself.

He raises an eyebrow. "A nickname?"

"Sort of. My father used to call me that."

Ray is alert to my change of tone, for I have allowed sadness to enter my voice. Or maybe it is the sound of longing, which is different from sorrow. No one I have cared about has used my real name in thousands of years. I think how nice it will be to have Ray say it.

"How long will your family be in Colorado?" Ray asks.

"I lied. My father's not there. He's dead."

"I'm sorry."

"I was thinking about him before you came." I sigh. "He died a long time ago."

"How did he die?"

"He was murdered."

Ray makes a face. "That must have been terrible for you. I know if anything ever happened to my father, I would be devastated. My mother left us when I was five."

I swallow thickly. By the strength of my reaction, I realize how involved I have allowed myself to become with the boy. All because he has Rama's eyes? There is more to it than that. He also has Rama's voice. No, not his accent surely--the average person would have said, had they heard them together, that they sounded nothing alike. But to me, with my vampire ears, the subtle aspects of their voices are almost identical. The silence between their syllables. It was Rama's deep silence that initially attracted me to him.

"You must be very close" is all I can say. But I know I will have to bring up the father again soon. I want in that office tonight. I just hope I mopped up every drop of blood. I have no wish to be with Ray when he learns the truth.

If he ever does.

I let him finish bringing in the furniture, which takes him a couple of hours, although it took me less than twenty minutes to put it in the garage. It is after midnight. I offer him another glass of wine--a large glass--and he drinks it down quick. He is thirsty, as I am thirsty. I want his blood, I want his body. Blood drinking and sex are not that separate in my mind. Yet I am no black widow. I do not mate and kill. But the urges, the lusts--they sometimes come together. But I don't want to hurt this young man, I don't want any harm to befall him. Yet just by being with me his chances of dying are much greater. I have only to think of my history, and of the person who stalks me now. I watch as Ray sets down his empty glass.

"I should get home," he says.

"You can't drive."

"Why not?"

"You're drunk."

"I'm not drunk."

I smile. "I gave you enough alcohol to make you drunk. Face it, boy, you're trapped here for a while. But if you want to sober up quick, then take a hot tub with me. You can sweat the alcohol out of your system."

"I didn't bring my suit."

"I don't own a suit," I say.

He is interested--very--but doubtful. "I don't know."

I step over and rest my palms on his sweaty chest His muscles are well developed. It would be fun to wrestle with him, I think, especially since I know who would win. I look up into his eyes; he is almost a head taller than I. He looks down at me, and he feels as if he is falling into my eyes, into bottomless wells of blue, twin skies behind which the eternal black of space hides. The realm of the yakshinis. He senses my darkness in this moment. I sense other things about him and feel a chill. So much like Rama, this boy. He haunts me. Could it be true? Those words of Krishna's that Radha had told me about love?

"Time cannot destroy it. I am that love--time cannot touch me. Time but changes the form. Somewhere in some time it will return. When you least expect it, the face of a loved one reappears. Look beyond the face and-- "

Odd, but I cannot remember the last part of it. I of the perfect memory.

"I will not tell Pat," I say. "She will never know."

He draws in a breath. "I don't like lying to her."

"People always lie to one another. It's the way of the world. Accept it. It doesn't mean you have to hurt with your lies." I take his hands; they tremble slightly, but his eyes remained fastened on mine. I kiss his fingers and rub them on my cheek. "What happens with me will not hurt her."

He smiles faintly. "Is that a lie to save me hurt?"

"Maybe."

"Who are you?"

"Sita."

"Who is Sita?"

"I told you already, but you weren't listening. It doesn't matter. Come, we'll sit in the water together and I'll rub your tired muscles. You'll love it. I have strong hands."

Not long after, we are naked in the Jacuzzi together. I have had many lovers, of course, both male and female--thousands actually--but the allure of the flesh has yet to fade in me. I am excited as Ray sits with his bare back to me, my knees lightly hugging his rib cage, my hands kneading deep into the tissue along his spine. It has been a long time since I have massaged anybody and I enjoy it. The water is very hot. Steam swirls around us and Ray's skin reddens. But he says he likes it this way, so hot he feels he's being boiled alive. I, of course, don't mind boiling water. I lean over and bite him gently on the shoulder.

"Careful," he says. He does not want me to leave any marks for Pat to find.

"It will be gone in the morning." I suck a few drops of blood from his wound. Such a pleasant way to spend a night. The blood flows like an elixir down my throat, making me want more. But I resist the urge. I pinch the tip of my tongue with my teeth and a drop of blood oozes onto the small bite. It vanishes instantly. I return to my massage. "Ray?" I say.

He moans with pleasure. "Yes."

"You can make love to me if you want."

He moans some more. "You are an amazing girl, Sita."

I turn him around, slowly, easily, pleasurably. He tries not to look at my body and fails. I lean over and kiss him hard on the lips. I feel what he feels. His initial surprise--kissing a vampire is not like kissing a mortal. Many men and women have swooned just from the brush of my lips. Such is the pleasure I can give. Yet there is the painful side--my kiss often sucks the breath from a person, even when I don't intend it to. Inside, I feel Ray's heart begin to pound. I release him before there is any danger. The later it gets, the more I vow not to harm him, and the more inevitable it seems. He hugs me, all slippery and wet, and tries to catch his breath while resting his chin on my shoulder.

"Are you choking on something?" I ask.

"Yes." He coughs. "I think it's you."

I chuckle as I continue to stroke his back. "You could do worse."

"You are not like any girl I've ever met."

"You don't want just any girl, Ray."

He sits back, my naked legs still around him. He is not afraid to look me in the eyes. "I don't want to cheat on Pat."

"Tell me what you do want."

"I want to spend the night with you."

"A paradox. Which one of us is going to win?" I pause, add, "I am a master at keeping secrets. We can both win."

"What do you want from me?"

His question startles me, it is so perceptive. "Nothing," I lie.

"I think you want something."

I smile. "There is your body."

He has to smile, I sound so cute, I know. But he is not dissuaded. "What else do you want?"

"I'm lonely."

"You don't look lonely."

"I'm not when I'm looking at you."

"You hardly know me."

"You hardly know me. Why do you want to spend the night with me?"

"There is your body." But he loses his smile and lowers his head. "There is something else, too. When you look at me I feel--I feel you are seeing something nobody else sees. You have such amazing eyes."

I pull him back toward me. I kiss him. "That's true." I kiss him again. "I see right through you." Again, another kiss. "I see what makes you tick." A fourth time, a hard kiss. He gasps as I release him.

"What is that?" he asks, sucking in a breath.

"You love Pat, but you crave mystery. Mystery can be as strong as love, don't you think? You find me mysterious and you're afraid if you let me slip away you'll regret it later."

He is impressed. "That is how I feel. How did you know?"

I laugh. "That is part of the mystery."

He laughs with me. "I like you, Sita," he says.

I stop laughing. His remark--so simple, so innocent--pierces me like a dagger. No one in many years has said something as charming as "I like you" to me. The sentiment is childish, I know, but it is there nevertheless. I reach to kiss him again, knowing this time I am going to squeeze him so tight he will not be able to resist making love to me. But something makes me stop.

"Look beyond the face and you will see me."

Krishna's words to Radha that she has given to me. There is something in Ray's eyes, a light behind them, that makes me reluctant to soil them with my touch. I feel it then, that I am a creature of evil. Inside I swear at Krishna. Only the memory of him can make me feel this way. Otherwise, if we had never met, I would not care.

"I care about you, Ray." I turn away. "Come on, let's get out and get dressed. I want to talk to you about some things."

Ray is shocked at my sudden withdrawal, disappointed.

But I sense his relief as well.

Later we sit on the floor in the living room by the fire and finish the bottle of wine. Alcohol has little effect on me; I can drink a dozen truck drivers under the table. We talk of many things and I learn more details of Ray's life. He plans to go to Stanford the next fall and study physics and art--an odd double major he is quick to admit. The tuition at Stanford worries him; he doesn't know if his father can afford it. He should be worried, I think. He is a fan of modern quantum mechanics and abstract art. He works after school at a supermarket. He does not talk about Pat, and I don't bring her up. But I do steer the conversation back to his father.

"It is getting late," I say. "Are you sure you don't want to call your father and tell him that you've been sitting naked in a Jacuzzi with a beautiful blond?"

"To tell you the truth, I don't think my dad's home."

"He has a girlfriend of his own?"

"No, he's been out of town the last few days, working on a case."

"What kind of case?"

"I don't know what it is, he hasn't told me. Except that it's big and he hopes to make a lot of money on it. He's been working on it for a while now." Ray adds, "But I'm getting worried about him. He often leaves for days at a time, but he's never gone so long without calling."

"Do you have an answering machine at home?"

"Yes."

"And he hasn't even left you a message?"

"No."

"How long has he been out of touch?"

"Three days. I know that doesn't sound long, but I swear, he calls me every day."

I nod sympathetically, "I would be worried if I were you. Does he have an office in town?"

"Yes. On Tudor, not far from the ocean."

"Have you been by his office?"

"I've called his secretary, but she hasn't heard from him, either."

"That is ridiculous, Ray. You should call the police and report him missing."

Ray waves his hand. "You don't know my dad. I could never do that. He would be furious. No, I'm sure he just got wrapped up in his work, and he'll call me when he gets a chance." He pauses. "I hope."

"I have an idea," I say as if it just occurred to me. "Why don't you go down to his office and check his files to see what this big case is. You'd probably be able to find out where he is."

"He wouldn't like me looking through his files."

I shrug. "It's up to you. But if it were my father, I would want to know where he was."

"His files are all on computer. I'd have to go into his whole system, and there would be a notation left that I had done so. He has it set up that way."

"Can you get into his files? I mean, do you know the password?"

He hesitates. "How did you know he has it set up that a password is required?"

There is a note of suspicion in his question, and once more I marvel at Ray's perceptive abilities. But I do not marvel long because I have waited for this very moment since I killed his father two days ago, and I have no intention of upsetting my plan.

"I didn't," I say. "But it is a common way to protect files."

He appears satisfied. "Yeah, I can get into his files. The password is a nickname he had for me when I was a kid."

I do not need to ask him what it is, which may only increase his suspicion. Instead I jump to my feet. "Come on, let's go to his office right now. You'll sleep better knowing what he's up to."

He is startled. "Right now?"

"Well, you don't want to go looking at his files when his secretary's there. Now is the perfect time. I'll come with you."

"But it's late." He yawns. "I'm tired. I was thinking I should go home. Maybe he'll be there."

"That's an idea. Check to see if he's at home first. But if he's not, and he hasn't left you a message, then you should go to the office."

"Why are you so worried about my father?"

I stop suddenly, as if his question wounds me. "Do you have to ask?" I am referring to the comment I made about my own poor dead father and feel no shame using him that way. Ray looks suitably embarrassed. He sets down his glass of wine and gets up from the floor.

"Sorry. You may be right," he says. "I'll sleep better knowing what's going on. But if you come with me, then I'll have to bring you back here."

"Maybe." I give him a quick kiss. "Or maybe I'll just fly home."