Lonely Vampire

Chapter 2-2

Tino Verona became aware of the other vampire almost too late. He quickly threw up his shields, while visually searching the trail below him in an attempt to find who it was who had piqued his senses.

He saw no one who wasn’t human. Frustrating, since he had felt the other vampire’s presence. He leapt lightly from the retaining wall down to the trail ten feet below. Although new to the city, he was aware the trail ran for miles in either direction, and his prey could go either way in the blink of an eye.

Or anywhere else, as far as that goes. I shouldn’t care. In fact, I should be relieved if they do. I’m not looking for trouble, which might happen if I wandered into their domain.

Tino had found out soon after his turning, over a thousand years ago, that his kind were very territorial when it came to the area of a city they considered their feeding grounds. An area no other vampire should venture into without permission. He’d learned that lesson well when he almost truly died as a result of venturing where he wasn’t wanted. Since then, he had steered clear of any vampires he sensed who were Old, or close to it. He was a lover, not a fighter, playing on his dark good looks to find companionship among the humans—if one of them interested him.

After waiting for a few moments, and still being unable to pinpoint where the vampire was, Tino decided that caution was the better part of valor. He casually walked up the ramp leading to the street, then continued on to where he’d been going before he’d sensed another of his kind.

Like the humans who camped along the creek, he too was homeless. But for him that was only temporary. As with any vampire, he didn’t seem to age, so he’d had to move on, leaving behind a nice condo and his nightclub in Philadelphia, in the process.

One can only come up with so many reasons for still looking twenty-six after fifteen years of living in the same city. The idiotic ‘It’s in my genes’ is so clichéd. And for damned sure I’m not about to claim I’ve had plastic surgery. That’s so…narcissistic.

So he’d told himself, while deciding one more time in his long life where to live next. He’d settled on Denver for the practical reason that the vampire population was low. And, of course, on my third day here, what happens? I come across one. That’s what I get for expanding my horizons in search of a new home.

At the moment, he was staying in a luxury hotel in Cherry Creek. When he had done an online search of neighborhoods where he might like to live, the area around the hotel had looked promising. Not anymore. Damn it.

He returned to the hotel, then settled down to look for another part of the city that might suit his tastes. Money was no object. Having lived for well over a thousand years, he had accumulated more than he could ever spend, thanks to smart investments. If he found a house he wanted, all he would need to do was go online to notify one of his banks to transfer money from his account to that of the seller’s.

Now this might work. He zoomed in on an area that one site said was one of Denver’s wealthiest neighborhoods. It was also fairly close to the center of the city, which is what he’d wanted when he’d first chosen Cherry Creek. When he found two available homes that appealed to him, he emailed the realtor to inform her he wanted to set up an appointment to view them the following evening. Given the sale prices, well over a million each, he had no fear that she would be unwilling to do so.

With that accomplished, Tino left the hotel again to look for supper—but not where he had almost run into the other vampire.

* * * *

After following the unknown vampire to a nearby hotel, Armand was satisfied he would pose no problem. He’s undoubtedly visiting Denver and came down to the creek for the same reason I did, to find dinner, unaware he was poaching in my territory.

With that thought in mind, he went home.

* * * *

Tino had been correct in his assessment of the realtor. She had bent over backwards to accommodate him. He liked both houses, but one had two added inducements. There was a high stone wall surrounding the property, and it had been built in the late thirties, meaning it didn’t have large picture windows, the way the other house did. Hardwood floors and—due to interior remodeling—an open floor plan on the ground floor were added incentives. The kitchen—not that he’d ever use it—melded into the dining area, with a curved, granite-topped bar separating them. A waist-high wall kept the living room area apart from what would have been other rooms in a normal floor plan.

Upstairs, there were actual rooms. The master bedroom was carpeted, opening onto a balcony that overlooked the city. It also had a fireplace, as did the living room. All it all, it quite suited his tastes.

When he told her he would pay the full price, rather than going through the hassle of getting a mortgage, the realtor said she would talk to the sellers. She assured him they would agree. They wanted the house sold a quickly as possible and might even be willing to drop the price in exchange for cash on the spot.

She was right, and two weeks later Tino moved in. In the interim, he shopped for furniture. Again, paying cash had its advantages. The stores he visited were more than willing to make deliveries in the evening, without questioning why. It was the same with the shop where he ordered heavy drapes to cover all the windows. They sent a man out to do measurements, and the night before Tino was due to move in, a team from the shop arrived to hang the drapes.

“Home, sweet home,” Tino murmured as he entered the house that was now his, lock, stock and barrel.

Even though he had traveled light when he came to the city, he still grumbled, “Unpacking sucks,” after taking his bags up to his bedroom to empty them. When everything was put away, he returned to the living room, turned on the TV, and settled down to watch a popular show about vampires he’d discovered while at the hotel, scoffing often about how unreal it was.

When it was over, he felt bored and hungry and set off to find supper. Given that going back to where he’d run into the Old vampire was out of the question, he figured his best bet was in downtown, with its preponderance of homeless people.

* * * *

“Again?” Armand murmured when he sensed the presence of the vampire who had been down by the creek two weeks ago. Apparently he wasn’t just passing through town.

After shielding and going invisible, he homed in on the vampire’s location—in the alley behind the club. He moved silently forward until he saw the male.

Handsome, in a rakish way.

As he watched, the vampire approached a young man, saying something to him. The young man nodded, gesturing to a darkened doorway, then took what Armand presumed was money. At that point, the pair disappeared into the alcove.

A few moments later, the vampire reappeared. Armand was waiting for him, visible but still shielding. “You are trespassing on my territory,” he said with quiet ferocity.

The vampire merely smiled, asking, “Do you own the whole city?”

“Not all of it. My territory spreads west through all of downtown—as well as south to the Creek, where I first saw you.”

“Not a small area.” The vampire paced, keeping his eye on Armand. “Can I ask who you are?”

Armand nodded.

“Well,” the vampire said, lifting an eyebrow.

Armand chuckled. “You wanted to know if you can ask—which is obviously possible since you speak.”

“Word games? All right, I’ll be direct. Who are you? Will that get me an answer?”

“Armand Lyon. And you are?”

“Constantino Verona. Tino, to those who know me personally.”

“Italian, I presume.”

Tino chuckled. “Way back in the mists of the past. Armand is French. Right?”

“Correct. Although it has been over well over two hundred years since I last lived in the country of my birth.”

Tino stopped pacing to lean against the alley wall, smiling when the young man he’d fed from appeared, scurrying away toward the sidewalk at the far end of the alley. “Sorry for intruding on your territory,” he said to Armand. “But I’m new to the city, so…” He spread his hands.

“From where?” Armand asked.

“Most recently, Philadelphia. I decided it was time to leave, for the usual reasons.”

“Not aging.”

“Exactly. How long have you been here?”

“Almost one hundred years,” Armand told him. “Under various aliases.”

Tino nodded. “So you’re the grandson, grand-nephew, or what have you of who you were when you first arrived. I’ve done that a time or two, in the last thousand years, when I had something to keep me in one particular place. Then wanderlust would hit, and I’d take off again.”

“Well, if you decide to remain here, I suggest you find somewhere else to feed.”

“Third time in your territory is not the charm, I take it.”

“Not if I catch you at it.”

“Duly noted.” Tino gave Armand a mocking salute. “Hopefully, we won’t meet again. Arrivederci.”

“Adieu,” Armand replied—a moment too late, as Tino had vanished. He may be, according to him, over one thousand, but he acts like one of the punks who hang out along the 16th Street Mall.