Judas and the Vampires (29 page)

A young man stood in front of it, staring intently at me.  The man’s paleness and presence immediately announced he wasn’t from around here. As it turned out, he wasn’t even from this world.

Chapter 2

“You are getting ready to go out tonight?” he asked. His husky voice was almost musical in its timbre, and the accent European, the richness genteel. Long golden hair partially covered his eyes, which glowed iridescent around constricted pupils. “Beware, and be forewarned, Txema. Those who want to end your life have come. They are outside…waiting.”

Staring at him, incredulous, my heart raced faster than I ever recalled before that moment. Not even while driving for a game-winning layup.

“Who are you?” I demanded. “And,
how
in the hell did you get in here??”

“I am Garvan de Sang,” he replied while stepping casually toward me. Dressed in dark jeans and a burgundy sweater, his riding boots were muted by the plush carpet. His ashen skin looked garishly death-like beneath my room’s fluorescent light. It was as if every inch of his skin was covered in pancake makeup. 

I instinctively retreated to my dresser. I kept a Tazer gun there that was given to me for protection by my older brother, the day I moved into my dorm room this past August. But before I touched the drawer’s handle, my visitor appeared next to me, somehow traveling silently across the room in the blink of an eye. I gasped in surprise while chills traveled up and down my spine. I considered the absurdity of what I had just witnessed, and for a moment wondered if this was some kind of waking dream that I’d fallen into. But, my breaths rising into the air provided a frigid dose of reality. I could feel Garvan’s iciness siphon the heat from my very essence as his penetrating gaze studied me.

“Don’t be afraid,” he said, gently pushing my fingers away from the dresser. The coolness in his touch deepened, embracing my entire being. I couldn’t move. “We won’t hurt you, Txema.”

“Who’s
we?”
I demanded, surprised by the anger easily coming through despite my unease. I thought of every clothes accessory I had available to me that could be turned into a weapon. Perhaps my shoes, or the file in my makeup purse? “And, how do you know my name?”  

He started to answer me, but suddenly jerked his head toward my door, as if he heard someone lurking outside my room in the hallway. It could’ve been anyone. After all, when does a dorm floor ‘rest’, anyway? The look on his face reflected intense concentration. I also strained to listen, unable to hear much beyond my own nervous breaths.

Now, I can certainly understand if everyone out there is wondering why I didn’t simply scream for help. Really, in retrospect, I should have. It wasn’t like this man named Garvan didn’t frighten me. But something else…. Something in my heart told me, absurdly, to trust this stranger. At least for the moment. So insane, and yet I felt so compelled to trust this pasty man whose frozen touch both repulsed and exhilarated me.

He remained focused on the door, which gave me a chance to study him more. Despite such paleness, he was actually quite good looking. Not much older than me, his strong brow gave his eyes a glowering look that belied his delicate features. His profile revealed gorgeous cheekbones and a sleek nose that accentuated supple lips, tinted blue. If not for his powerful build that stretched the fabric of his cashmere sweater and tight-fitted jeans, I suppose most people would assume Garvan was a far cry from the nocturnal warrior that I later learned he is.

“Your man…Peter? He is coming,” he said, turning again to face me, the glow in his eyes brighter, as if on fire. “Is he always this punctual, to be so early?”

True, Peter was never one to be late for anything, and as such would often show up fifteen minutes early for our dates. Normally, I would be in the finishing touches of my makeup, which sometimes irritated him. But, tonight could prove even more interesting if he arrived and my uninvited guest decided to extend his visit.

“Yes, he is,” I agreed, feeling increasingly frantic about what to do. Should I do the normal person thing and scream my head off? Or, should I follow the crazy feeling that told me instead I should try to hide this man? Where could I do that in a cramped dormitory room? And if I couldn’t, what lame excuse would come pouring out of my mouth when I sought to explain his unwanted presence to my boyfriend? If things turned violent, I seriously doubted Peter’s athleticism would save him against Garvan’s unusual speed and quickness. “You should leave…
leave
now!”

“And I will, before he gets here,” said Garvan, chuckling as he regarded my panicked expression. His fiery eyes so clearly revealed his arrogant amusement. “But, not before you promise to stay here all night. You
must
make sure you do. If he decides he can’t abide by this, then he leaves alone. Am I clear?” 

His face flushed as he said this. It was as if whatever blood he carried in his veins suddenly rushed to his cheeks, sending also a surge of anger that further ignited his eyes. I could scarcely concentrate enough to formulate an answer, shaking my head to avert the spell of his words infecting my thoughts.

“I-I don’t know if I can promise that,” I told him, feeling defiance rise against a hostile takeover of my will. “It’s my birthday, and we’ve been planning tonight’s dinner date since last week.  Peter’s gone to a great deal of trouble—“

“We are out of time!” he interrupted me, glancing at the door again. “So, you leave me no choice.”

In the instant that followed, he suddenly disappeared. At least, it seemed like he did. I felt something warm on the left side of my neck. The warmth soon became painful, two pinpricks that felt as if little knives were digging into my jugular vein. Then I heard the window’s latch unclick and click shut again in rapid succession.

Surprised, I gasped and reached up to where my neck throbbed, like a little girl who just got stung by a wasp or venomous spider. Wetness grazed my fingers. When I brought my shaking hand before my eyes, there was blood.  It dripped down my fingers.

Just then, Peter’s familiar knock rapped upon my door.

“I’m coming!” I called to him, trying to sound as unalarmed as possible. 

Garvan was nowhere to be found. The slight sway in the curtains wasn’t enough to prevent me from checking under the bed and in my closet. I began to feel weak and woozy. Feeling a wave of sudden nausea, I worried our dinner date was really going to suck!

“I’ll be there in a minute…. I’m just getting my shoes on!” I said, more plaintive after Peter’s second knock, the loudness revealing his irritation. But I had to look. I needed to see what caused the pain and my blood to drip down my neck.

I stumbled over to the mirror Tyreen and I share. Two small streams trickled down the left side of my neck, threatening to spill onto my dress. Luckily, the black wool would keep it from being immediately noticeable—even to Peter’s keen eyes. But what happened when I wiped a Kleenex over the twin wounds astonished me even more. 

There were no punctures in the skin. No seepage, just fiery redness. The redness was brightest above a pair of birthmarks. ‘Little pink teardrops’ is what my Grandmother often called them. Like the tears tattooed beneath the eyes of the gang leaders in Richmond’s low-rent district, though not as dark in color. Now they were inflamed, tender to the touch.

But still no blood.

I looked back at the deep crimson streaks in the tissue I held, trying to make sense of what just happened. Meanwhile, Peter’s urgent knocks grew faint….distant. Then, the world around me went black.

Chapter 3

I
’m not sure how long I was out. When I gradually came to, I heard Peter’s voice…getting gradually louder.

“Txema…Txema? Shit, I think she’s waking up.”  

His image was hazy, but I could tell he was looking at Tyreen and her boyfriend, Johnny, as he said this. He sounded shaken, and the concern in his voice touched me…pulling me out of a dark cold place I’d fallen into. I’m not sure that I landed anywhere, just that I was immersed in a sea of thick blackness. At one point, I felt constricted and unable to move. Held fast in close confines, it felt as if a coffin that was too small for my build.

I remembered then the whispered voices that were talking back and forth. It was too difficult to understand the words, although the accent and cadence sounded French…and maybe a little Spanish. There were several of these voices, and most of them were male. As they spoke, the constriction lifted. Drifting on my back, softness now caressed me, as if I lay upon a lush feather bed. The voices echoed upon one another, soon joined by others that sounded alarmed. A cold grimy hand seized my throat, and that’s when I began to awaken, just before Peter spoke.

“Where am I?” I uttered weakly, trying to raise my head. Somehow I had moved from the floor near our vanity mirror to Tyreen’s bunk bed, directly below mine. Someone had moved me…maybe Peter? But I did black out, so possibly I stumbled there myself.

“You’re in our room, baby,” said Tyreen, gently. As soon as she spoke, my vision cleared. Her bright green eyes were aglow, perhaps from worry. It made me fear for what I looked like, and I suddenly remembered the miniature crimson rivers trickling down my neck. “It’s okay…it’s okay…Shush-h-h!” She blocked my hand from touching my neck. 

“Babe, you’re going to be just fine,” added Peter.

Tyreen deferred to his invasion into my personal space. If not for my disorientation, I wouldn’t have minded his closeness. He was dressed in his favorite tailored suit, and mine too, since it accentuated his powerful upper body. Traditional dark blue, with a burgundy tie. “Just relax, and lay back…. That’s it. Good girl.”

Normally, I would bristle at that last remark. But, feeling as I did, I gave in and allowed him to baby me.

“What happened?”

My question was directed more to my roommate than my boyfriend, who was pulling a blanket up over my arms.

“Peter found you lying on the floor, by the mirror. When you wouldn’t wake up, he called me on my cell phone,” she said, glancing over at Johnny, who nodded to confirm this.

“Well, that’s not exactly how it went down, but pretty close,” Peter said, ignoring the sharp look Tyreen shot him. “After you said you were coming to the door, I waited. Then I heard something fall over in your room, and I thought you might’ve tripped on something. Maybe it was a chair or a table. Hell, it could’ve been the shoes you couldn’t find, for all I knew.”

Honestly, this is one of the things I
don’t
care for about him…this need of his to over-analyze and over-explain. It can make him seem like an overbearing prick. I think if he’d pay more attention to the reactions of those around him more, he’d figure out when to shut up. Perhaps more of the qualities I
do
so love about Peter would shine through. More about that later.

“What time is it, anyway?”
     “Seven-twenty,” said Johnny, his tone devoid of the compassion of his girl, and even more prick-ish than my guy. But at least he had the good sense to defer quickly once Tyreen glared at him, perturbed. No doubt when Peter called her, it ended up interrupting something going on. Something intimate, would be my guess. Both he and Tyreen were dressed in sweats and matching UT sweatshirts that were disheveled, and not what either had on an hour earlier when I last saw them. Besides, they both had that ‘FF’ look in their eyes.

“You were out for at least an hour,” Tyreen added, still worried. She smiled compassionately at me. 

I’ve rarely seen a smile that can light up a room like hers. Really, when both she and her man turn it on, they look like frigging movie stars. With her big green eyes, long braids, and soft ebony complexion, she could be Beyonce’s younger sister. She possesses the same husky voice and vivacious curves. Johnny’s chiseled face and ripped physique make him look like any of the young stud rappers these days—especially when he gets a serious look in his soft gray eyes. He’s got a great sense of humor, too…just not so much that night.

“An hour spent squirming around for the most part,” said Peter, again with this obsessive need to clarify the specifics of what happened. This time, though, I detected sincere worry and compassion in his voice. “I was ready to call the paramedics, but Tyreen stopped me. It looks like she was right, because you did come out of whatever this thing is.”

Hmmm …to hear him talk like this. I’m referring to his
tone
, and not the actual words. I tuned out most of the message. I’ve seen other girls nearly swoon over his chiseled looks and charming smile, but I must confess it’s the sexiness in his voice that gets me. There’s a warmth and assurance there, when he finds the right thing to say and doesn’t obsess so much. 

“You seem a lot better now,” Tyreen added. “So as long as you take it easy tonight and rest up, you should be fine.”

“What about our date?” The disappointment in my voice was readily apparent, I’m sure. “It’s not too late to make it to the restaurant before they stop serving!”