Blood Rebel [COMPLETED]

Chapter Seven - The Offering Interrupted

When the Bleeding was over Selene left the theatre directly, wearing her costume and full make-up. She imagined it would be how Hector would want her. She pulled a dark scarf around her head and slipped a long coat over her dress, and left through the stage door. Fortunately there were only a few fans waiting for her, and she signed autographs with a flash of a silver pen that would double up as a weapon if she needed it.  

She trotted through the backstreets, anxious to stay out of the way of roaming Vampires. Often Selene had to weigh up the pros and cons of either taking the main roads and being mauled by fans, or taking the backstreets and being attacked by a vagrant. She looked at her watch: it was about half past three in the morning and still dark: Hector would be awake, and she was nervous.

She listened to the sound of her feet on the pavement, hearing the gentle patter and squeak of her rubber-soled pumps on the concrete, a pair of gold dancing heels poking from her handbag. If she focused hard enough, she could almost forget what was about to happen. 

But she couldn’t forget entirely: part of her felt drawn to Hector. He had always been inaccessible, powerful; but he looked out for her, even if he never actually said as much. The fact that he was a Vampire, the same as the Bleeders who lined the stage behind the criminals once a week to sink their teeth into the helpless white flesh of their necks and bleed them dry, was only a minor consideration at that moment. 

She could count on one hand the amount of times Hector had bared his fangs, in all the years that he had owned her. He was not violent, not vicious; at least not by Vampire standards. He still had to eat, of course, but she had never seen him do it. She didn’t know where he went. She wondered perhaps if he feasted at the Bleedings at other theatres, but she couldn’t be sure.

She let herself in the basement entrance, and dropped off her bag in her bedroom, dropping it down beside her bedside table. She checked her appearance in the mirror, and realised she looked exhausted.  All she wanted to do now was to lie on the bed and fall asleep.  But she couldn’t tonight.  Instead, she opened up her make-up box and fixed her face. Then, putting everything back carefully inside, she closed it, clicking the lid down.

For a moment she rested both her palms flat on top of the case and stared at herself in the mirror, although she barely registered her own reflection. She sat on the bed and slipped on her gold heels, got up and walked slowly from the room, down the corridor and up the stairs. The house was quiet and dark, and as she approached Hector’s room she was surprised not to see a bar of light under the door. He must have turned out the lights. She knocked and waited.

“Come in.” 

Her heart beat quickened, and heat rushed through her, flooding her body.  She paused, her hand raised towards the door, and questioned the sensation, wondering if it was nerves, fear or something else; something more akin to excitement. She turned the door handle and let herself in. 

Hector was standing with his back to her, looking out the window, the full length curtains pulled back on either side. She wondered if he had been watching her as she walked down the street. Could he have seen her from this window? She wasn’t sure. She closed the door and moved to the centre of the room and knelt on the floor, as she had been instructed. She lowered her head and waited. It seemed like forever before he spoke again:

“Stand up.” 

She stood, and looked at him. He had barely moved, but he had turned to face her, his hands deep in his pockets. The only light in the room was the moonlight from outside; it cast a bluish glow over everything: the four-poster bed, the thick velvet drapes that hung from it, and the silk chaise longue near the wardrobes.