Blood and Lace

Blood and Lace--Chapter 1

Chapter 1-Brush with Death

Oh, how the ages change the soul. Though my body has remained untouched by the cold hand of decay that usually accompanies death, I truly felt older and withered as though my soul had been through 1000 mortal deaths. No one had ever spoken to me of life after death; this is because there was to be none, because only the cursed and the damned lived on many past their god granted years of life. The story was simple, you were born, you grew old and then you died, there was no after for us…this is what they thought, well… what I had thought.

Throughout my long years, my time as a human would often echo through my thoughts. Some days I even missed this time. I spent years and years pondering life and its true beauty. Some days I wished mine had taken another path or that I had chosen differently. Even though the pain God had seen fit to grant me as a human was unbearable, there were days, like today that I would gladly welcome it back, if I could only trade away this gnawing pain in the pit of my gut, the yearning, the thirst. Tonight was one of those nights.

I let out a sigh as I reached for my discolored handkerchief to wipe the last of the young man’s life blood off of my chin. I stared into his now paled eyes and took a moment to appreciate his beauty. He couldn’t have been more than 21 and truly was handsome. How young and naïve he was to come home with a child of the night, though he honestly couldn’t have known. Even I could admit that I probably seemed irresistible to the boy, if only he had known. Energy his blood gave me surged through my body as did the ever growing guilt.

“Dammit Etta, pull your damn self together.” It’s not like I entered this life yesterday and I had to get this cleaned up before he stained my master’s cushions. He was a man who you did not want to deal with even on his best of days, much less is he was angry.

I delicately cradled the boy’s body in my arm and began to head over to the large grated area to the back of the room.  The grate leads down to the furnace that all of the “used” bodies are sent to be disposed of. I gently laid him down upon its cool metal surface and headed over to the leaver on the wall. As I turned, I stole one last glance at his beautiful face as a tightened my grasp on the lever. I pulled with everything in me and the grate began to creak open. Just then the unthinkable happened.

The face of the boy contorted and his eyes flew open as he gasped for air. The bloodcurdling scream left my lips before I could stop it and horror filled me as this not so dead boy began to fall to his death, soon to be engulfed in flames. I released the trigger on the wall and ran as fast as I could reaching him just in time to grasp his hand, slick with sweat. In this moment I knew the terror in his eyes reflected that of my own.

The next few moments would etch in the rest of my story, though I didn’t know it at the time. My choice to save this boy would change everything. He would be the one to save me.

“Boy, if you don’t stop struggling you pull us both to our deaths. Now stop it, I am trying to save you!” I struggled to pull him up; the fire licked my fingers, daring me to let him go. Something about this boy was different, if I, a vampire couldn’t kill him I sure as hell was not going to let him kill me.

With a last heave I was able to pull his smoking, sweat covered body from the furnace’s fiery clutches. We both lay on the floor, chests heaving as our lungs gasped for air. Amidst the gasps I heard the boy, “Who, what, wh…” He then lay still, silence filled the room.

“Oh no, I didn’t go through all of that just to have you die on me now.” I looked him over, and what I saw definitely was not good. The multiple wounds I inflicted on him were still oozing blood and he was burnt, his lower torso looked charred and blistered. My adrenalin rose and I panicked. Without thinking I pulled my dagger from my boot and nicked my wrist and as I cradled his head I pressed my arm to his mouth, willing the blood to flow through him and heal his wounds. “Stupid, stupid boy, don’t you dare die on me.”

He eventually pressed his parched lips against me and began to drink. The power the blood of the damned carried. I saw his wounds being to heal before my eyes and as he healed he became stronger, though still not entirely conscious. I pulled my wrist from his mouth and bound my wound. Breathing, he is breathing. Thank God.

Just then a knock.

Ever persistent another knock sounded on the door to my chambers.

“Etta? Henrietta my dear, are you quite alright?”

His voice was like silken poison slithering in past the door and through me. My Master, he cannot see this. He cannot know of what I have done. He must have heard my scream and this boys, stupid, stupid boy!

“Lucien, a moment my lord please, I am not decent.” What am I going to do with this? I desperately scanned the room for a place to put him. My eyes lingered on the mahogany chest at the foot of my bed, my mother’s mahogany chest. Without thinking another moment I grabbed his body and threw him in slamming the lid. I strode to the door, only now noticing my charred right hand. I withdrew it into my sleeve.

I opened it welcoming Lucien in. He strode with his unusual, haunting elegance into my chambers. “I heard you scream my dear, is everything quite alright?” I couldn’t make eye contact with him but even still I could feel his obsidian eyes burrowing holes in me.

“Alright? Oh, -ahem-, yes my lord everything is quite fine. I just had one who did not want to die.”

“Ah but we must be more careful my precious Henrietta, we cannot let the other hear of their fate now can we?” His talon like nails etched a line on my jaw drawing blood.

“No my lord, I please ask for your forgiveness. This will not happen again.”

“I would expect nothing less from you. Goodnight my dear.” With this Lucien’s cloak twisted around him like smoke and he strode from my door.

I don’t think that I have ever felt such relief in my entire life and I say this with all honesty. I slowly made my way over to my plush, down feather bed and turned on my bed side lamp. The dull light shone on my wounded hand. I winced as I contracted my fingers, popping unhealed blisters that had formed on my knuckles. “Fire, it had to be fire…” My blood had healed the boys burns with ease yet an undead’s skin was more complicated, we did not heal the same as our living counterparts. This would take time to heal.

I leaned over the side of my bed and latched the lock to the wooden prison I have placed the boy in. “I’ll worry about you and this”, I motioned to my hand,” tomorrow, it’s almost sunrise and too late to be flooding my mind with such things.”

I turned off my bed side lamp and rolled under the covers, cocooning myself in a feather fortress that no one, not even Lucien reach me in.