The rain from the night before had changed over to snow and she stood at her window, staring at the white world below her. Her second cup of coffee wasn't doing much for her and she had to blame herself for her lack of sleep.
Questions she couldn't answer kept her tossing and turning.
What was going through her mind when she called out to him that last time? How could she forget what kept him alive when she looked at those firm lips? How did his touch affect her so deeply?
But, it was the bright light of day now. Easier to put separation between them when taking into consideration that they would never watch a sunrise or set together. Even if she, in some horribly misguided fantasy, wanted to pursue a relationship with the vampire.
She repressed her shiver with another sip of hot coffee.
Having given up on sleep an hour before, she was already dressed, moving boxes and bag on the island. She was as ready as she could be. Except she said she would wait for his employee. She glanced at the clock anchored to the bare brick wall before turning her back on the brightness from outside. Only a few more minutes. She could be that patient, right?
Having lived on her own for so long, it chaffed a bit to be waiting for someone else. But, seeing as how this person was supposed to help her stay alive...
One more glance at the clock and she would wait the last couple of minutes in the lobby.
Locking up, she headed to the elevator and refused to remember the last thing he said to her before the steel doors separated them.
Much to her delight, she found the green-eyed man waiting for her. The one who warned her about her cut.
He stood from the sofa as she approached and held out his hand. "I'm glad to formally meet you," he said. "I'm James."
She took his hand and was impressed with his handshake. Not limp but not hard enough to hurt.
"Chevonne. It's a pleasure."
"Would you prefer driving or subway?"
"Driving. Please. The subway is going to be off-limits to me for a while."
"Elliot told me about what happened." He glanced up and past Chevonne. "Let's continue this in the car, if you don't mind."
"Please."
Snow crunched under their feet as they passed the maintenance men trying to clear the steps. The street had been cleared and chains laced the tires of the SUV he drove. She wondered if Elliot supplied the vehicles or were they owned by his people. He held the door open for her before climbing in. He must not have been there very long because the heater was soon blowing warm air.
She was beginning to think that the conversation was abandoned when he broke the silence.
"I was told to follow you, keep an eye on you but that if I were to make contact, then to back off." He kept his eyes on the road as he spoke. "I radioed in that I spoke to you and someone else was supposed to tail you." A quick glance at her. "Elliot informed me that you two have discussed this and for me to be honest with you. He said that you weren't too pleased when you found out."
She gave a quick nod. "Yes to both." She gave a little smile. It wasn't his fault. He was doing his job. "How did you become employed by... Elliot?
"I'm still not sure. One day I was panhandling, and that night, I was being interviewed by the most terrifying person I have ever met."
The brief laugh couldn't be stopped. "I'm certain I can relate."
Terrifying. Only, it wasn't wholly that. Even before she knew what he was, there was that aura about him. Powerful. Dominating. Perfectly in control. She couldn't help but wonder what he was like before he became what he was.
"Is he easy to work for?"
He pulled up outside of Jonathan's home and turned to her.
"In working for him, I've seen things that you couldn't begin to comprehend. Things that he hunts. Things that he protects people from. He's made of nightmare stuff, but he's not a monster and I would follow him anywhere."
Chevonne watched the green eyes watching her and she could see the truth in his statement. The resolve.
"Thank you," she said softly and he nodded.
"Don't tell him I said any of that stuff, okay? That stays between us."
"Of course not, and besides, with luck, he'll find my bad guy and I'll never see him again."
James gave her a look that she couldn't read.
"Come on," she said, looking over her shoulder at the townhouse. "Let's get this over so you can get home."
~~~
The next few days passed in that fashion. He would show up, she would leave with him, they would talk while she sorted through Jonathan's belongings. She would box things up and they would go by the charity drop off. He would take her home and she would drink wine in front of her window until her eyes grew to heavy to stay open.
She learned that James had a family in another state. A family he had lost to drug addiction. A family he was working on getting back.
In return, she told him about the man who's things he was helping her with. How he had stood by her side after the accident that stole her memory. The amount of times he told her stories of the things they did in school. The way he was there for her, holding onto her while she cried, because everyone, including her family, pulled away from her.
She realized that she was able to laugh sometimes at the memories. That it didn't kill her to think about the past. It hurt. It would probably always hurt. But she could live with that.
Then, everything changed.
After clearing out his closet, she found a panel in the back wall. She stood staring it it. Just because these revelations were always horrifying in the movies didn't mean it would be now. It could be a safe. That wouldn't be unheard of.
James must have seen her stiffen because he asked her if she was okay.
Keeping her eyes glued to the wooden door, she tried to say she was fine. But she couldn't because she wasn't. Having never believed in the supernatural, the paranormal, until his death, had that never happened, she would have known then what evil felt like. It surrounded her, teasing her skin, filling her lungs.
Clearing her throat, she asked for a box. A new one. Because she didn't want anything in the hole in the wall touching anything else.
A shaking hand slid fingers beneath the small indention and she pulled, wondering for a split second, if she was the new Pandora. Expecting streams of black smoke to rush past her on the way to freedom, she was surprised to find a few books and nothing else.
Her knees almost dropped out from under her as the air left her lungs in a slightly hysterical laugh.
"I must be the worlds oldest child," she said when James stepped up beside her.
"It's okay," he said, taking her hand and giving it a squeeze. "You got shoved into a world that most people will never know about. It's okay to be afraid sometimes."
"Thank you." Taking the box from him, she took the books, still expecting to feel that evil, but it was gone and perhaps it was the fear of the unknown that was going to be the death of her. "I think that's enough for today. How about we knock off early. We should be able to finish up tomorrow and you can have your weekend free."
"Sounds like a plan." He took the box from her and together they left.
~~~
A couple of hours later, as she was sitting in the floor, letting the warmth of the sun soak into her, she slid the box of books up and took one out. It was beautifully bound in black leather and seemed older than time.
The words on it were written in a language she couldn't read. But, that was what the Internet was for, wasn't it?
After an hour, she shoved the book off her lap, age be damned, and jumped to her feet. She had gone days without whiskey and now, all she wanted to do was drown in it. How... She stopped midway to the kitchen before changing destinations. Racing her body, she dropped to her knees beside the toilet and rid herself of the coffee she had been drinking.
He...
Stomach long since emptied, she sat back, panting against the tears.
Now, she was ready.
Running to the kitchen, she grabbed the bottle and twisted the cap. Bringing the bottle to her lips, she gave a half laugh, half sob. "See you on the flip-side, Johnny Boy." She turned the bottle up, letting the warmth fill her frozen soul.
Did...
She turned it up again, trying to wash away the pain and the anger that were warring within her. From across the room, she glared at the box with the evil books. She knew. She knew. Listen to her instincts. Wasn't that what Elliot said? And her instincts screamed at her to not open the fucking door.
Another long pull and she was starting to feel it. The lethargy. The numbness creeping over her. Could it fix what was broken inside?
Carrying the bottle with her, she made her way to the couch. She was finally starting to heal, damn him. No, damn her. More whiskey down the throat.
How long had she been staring at his card, lying innocently on the table. How long had her eyes been tracing that gold emblem on the black surface. She lifted her eyes and it was still light out. How was that possible? She felt like she had been frozen forever. But she was drunk now, wasn't she? Not as much as she wanted to be. Could there be enough in her home to make her forget the words that stared at her from her computer screen?
She reached for the bottle again, only to realize she was holding it. It slipped from her fingers, shattering on the floor and maybe that was for the best.
The card called to her again. It wasn't instincts that made her pick it up and look at the the number on it, it was desperation. It took a few tries to get the number in and it was still daylight. She just wanted to leave a message for him. That was all. Just a message.
She pressed the send button and cleared her throat. She had no idea what she was going to say, but that didn't matter, did it?
A male voice answered, but it wasn't his. It couldn't be his because he was asleep because he was a vampire and the sun was still up. "Please tell him that he was right." She didn't know who she was speaking to and it didn't matter. Surely the person on the other end of the line would know that was for Elliot. "I'm sorry to bother you," she muttered before trying to hit end. A muttered curse and she finally did. It was a new phone. There was no reason to throw it.
Should she try to get her last bottle? The sky was painting its masterpiece and tears dripped off her face.
Her phone rang.
"He... Hello?"
"Chevonne?"
"The sun's still up."
"That doesn't matter. Are you alright?"
She laughed and it was ugly. "You were right, Elliot. You were right about everything."
"Are you home?"
"I'm... At my apartment. But I need to move. It's not home because I... I can't live here anymore. I didn't mean to disturb you. I just wanted to tell you that you were right."
She couldn't talk to him. He told her. And she didn't want to hear 'I told you so.'
Her thumb slid across the screen and the call ended.
Getting to her feet was a challenge, but it was worth it. She had another bottle waiting for her. Her socked feet got wet and she frowned. Why? Taking a step back, she barely felt the broken glass slice into her heel. But she felt the whiskey burn. It was okay. It was an antiseptic, right? Wasn't that what the westerns did? Pour booze on everything from gunshot wounds to a splinter?
Shrugging it off, the promise of oblivion too tempting to resist, she limped past where they had once learned to dance the tango. That was a tequila night. They had had so much fun, even when he dropped her because they were both tipsy. That fresh pain took her breath.
The new bottle at the island, she climbed up onto the stool and stared out the window as twilight took over. Twilight gave way to night and the knock on her door made her jump.
No one buzzed...
The knock came again, louder and more insistent.
Easing down, she almost slipped in the puddle of red below her foot. Maybe she should ignore the door and check on her foot. Because no one buzzed.
The knock again, louder still. She was going to get a complaint it that kept up... She got to the peep-hole and tried to see through it. A blink and there was light brown eyes. Frowning, she twisted the bolt, leaving the hotel lock in place. Cracking the door, she stared as his eyes turned black.
"What did you do?" he asked.
"I didn't lure my best friend to what was supposed to be her certain death. That's what I didn't do." The tears welled up and she couldn't keep them back. "I cut my foot and there's blood everywhere and you can't come in. I don't need your help—."
"Chevonne, open the door."
She shook her head. "You shouldn't have come here, Elliot. I'm fine. I just thought you should know just how—" she broke off and tried to shut the door.
His palm stopped it. "I won't ask again. Open the door. Please."
"Or your going to force me."
"Yes."
She closed wet eyes and rested her head on the door frame for a moment. There was no reason in the world for him to be standing there. She didn't ask for anything. Just told him the truth. She took a deep breath and closed the door to unhook the last lock.
Opening the door, she turned and limped towards the kitchen, leaving him to lock up. "I don't know why you're here, Elliot. There's no threat. No bad guy. Because you already killed him, didn't you?" The laugh was harsh and she flinched from the broken sound.
Before her fingers closed around the unbroken bottle, she was swept off her feet and he was carrying her into the bathroom. He hadn't said anything since coming in, and his clenched jaw should have brought fear, but it didn't. Should he end her life, she could stop being afraid.
"I told you not to come in," she said to his black eyes. Eyes that matched hers. Only, his wasn't natural.
"I'm not sure what else to say to explain how dangerous your situation is right now." She could hear the anger in his voice and it stoked her own.
"Maybe I don't care, Elliot. Maybe I want you to kill me because I can't take it anymore." He sat her on the edge of the tub and turned on the water."Maybe I want him to find me and make all this end."
Silently, he took her foot and pulled the blood soaked sock from it. She didn't miss the way his throat moved as he swallowed. She waited for the fear to hit her and it didn't. Because she meant it.
"If you wanted me to kill you, you wouldn't have tried to keep me out." His voice was low and she sucked in a breath as the water hit the deep cut. "You could use some stitches."
"I'll be fine."
His fingers touched her chin and she lifted her head. "Yes. You will be. Because you are a fighter."
"I don't feel like one."
"You just got sucker punched by reality. Now, you sit here and I'm going to clean up because if I don't, you may get your wish." The hint of red in his eyes gave proof to his words.
~~~
Thirty minutes later, she was sitting on her couch with her foot propped up on the coffee table. Elliot had brought her a glass of whiskey, surprising her, and asked her if she had a needle and thread. She knew what he was going to do and she hesitated before telling him where it was. The broken glass and blood were long gone, but still her foot bled. More whiskey was the last thing in earth she needed, but it was a pain killer.
She no longer saw the flashes of red, but there was no sign of the light brown either.
"In the guest room." She closed her eyes and tried to remember. Why was it so hard to think? Whiskey. The same stuff that was in her hand. It was still hitting her hard, but then, with the amount she had to drink, it was surprising she was still awake. "There's a chest of drawers in the closet. Third drawer down. The sewing kit should be there."
He left her alone and she studied the glass in her hand. She had been doing so well.
His voice startled her. Back so soon? Ah, but vampires were supposed to be fast.
"You are going to want to finish that," he said, sitting beside her on the couch.
"I'm not sure I should," she said. "I've had far more than my fair share. I didn't even feel the cut. Not really."
"Then we'll see how it goes. If it starts to hurt you, let me know."
She took a deep breath and nodded. "Do you think you can do it?" Would he understand what she was asking?
The lift of his shoulders made her smile. She would live or she wouldn't. She gave him her own shrug in return.
"How do you want me?"
The curve of his lips was not a comforting one. "We'll start like this and see where we end up."
He helped her twist until she was laying on her stomach with her foot in his lap. Her spine refused to relax, despite her big words about not caring if she died and if it wasn't for the whiskey, there was no way she would have let him touch her. But then, if it wasn't for the whiskey, she would have never called him, and the cut wouldn't exist.
"Are you ready?" he asked and she buried her face in her arms. His fingers touched her foot and she jumped. His laugh was dark and she forced herself to relax. Another touch and this time, she stayed still.
"As I'll ever be," she said, closing her eyes against whatever was coming.
Nothing happened for the longest time and her eyes squeezed tighter and he said "Take a deep breath."
She took that wise advice and let it out at the sharp prick of pain. It wasn't anything she couldn't handle and eventually, she relaxed into the cushions of the couch. He would dab at the cut every so often and once again, whiskey was to blame. Alcohol thinned the blood. Why didn't she remember that?
Elliot hit a tender spot and she made a sound and went stiff. He stopped, hand on her calf and she could feel his fingers tighten. Her heart jumped and his words cut through the room. "Be still."
She did as instructed but was desperate to see his eyes. But one didn't always get what they wanted, did they. One last clench of his hand and he resumed the sewing of her flesh. Twice more, he hit spots that seemed to have more then their share of feeling but she kept quiet. Then, he was finished.
Sitting up, he got to his feet and stepped away from her. Without a word, he turned and walked away, down her hall, to the bathroom. When he returned, he carried gauze and tape. "Last thing," he said.
Making quick work of the bandage, he held her foot for a moment, fingers lightly grazing her skin. "How did you find out?"
There was no reason to play dumb. She had already told him that she didn't believe him. Something had to have happened to have changed her mind. "You don't feel it?"
"I feel a lot of things right now, Chevonne, only one of which is pleasant. Please narrow it down."
She sat up and slid her foot from his lap. Glancing at the book she shoved in the floor, she asked, "Can you read Latin?"
"No, one of many shortcomings, I'm afraid."
She nodded to the book. "I can't either, but the Internet is an amazing invention."
Elliot retrieved the book and her laptop. He read the words she had already memorized and she lay her head back.
"This is impossible."
The tone in his words pulled her tired head up. What new horror did he discover?
"What is?"
His eyes met hers. "He didn't summon a vampire. He summoned a god."