The Vampire’s Throne-2
2367 Words
Christopher breathed in Alice's scent, intoxicating in its beauty: soap, a light touch of a vanilla perfume, and her blood pumping through the delicate skin of her neck. Suggestions of her mood sang from her blood: hesitation, anxiety, and...he really hoped he was interpreting it right…longing. Longing for him? Or just longing for a successful show? He would have to drink her blood to know for sure, and he was enjoying his time with her far too much to break the mood. As far as he could tell, she didn't have the Sight to recognize him as a vampire, or any of the other supernatural beings drinking wine and sniffing each other at the show.
His pulse raced at the gentle touch of Alice's hand against his forearm as they meandered through the gallery. Everything about her fascinated him. Her movements held a grace that hearkened back to refined royalty of centuries past, while her gentle spirit was like that of a magical, woodland nymph.
Her beauty shone like a beacon among the stilted bourgeois milling about the art gallery. As they walked arm and arm through the gallery, Alice's brilliant glow drew everyone they passed. Christopher settled into the role of the strong and silent companion, only jumping into the conversation to support Alice’s lively explanation of her work. A tiger shifter flanked by her lovers came up to compliment a photo, and Alice launched into a charming, although somewhat rambling, description of why she photographed the cabinet in just that way. The tigress smiled, showing rows of perfect teeth, and Christopher felt himself stiffening up, protective instincts roaring to the surface which he clamped down before Alice noticed.
"I'm glad we dove back in." Alice's voice was steadier after the first lap around the room, but her grip on his arm was still tight with nerves.
"As am I." Christopher stared deeply into her bright, blue eyes.
I want to look into her eyes forever.
The thought flashed through him, stunning him with its certainty. He didn't sire other vampires often, but he always knew who he wanted within the first moments of meeting them. He pushed the thought down.
Not her. Please not her.
"Have you seen the rest of the exhibit?" He asked, actively distracting himself from his own thoughts.
Alice fiddled with the fringe on her wine-stained shawl. "I've seen it, but I'll be happy to view it again." She smiled at him. "There's so many wonderful pieces." Her joy was infectious and he held her hand against his arm, covering the back of her hand with his palm. Her skin was warm, her pulse beating fast as they moved into one of the side galleries of the other showcased artists.
She stopped short a little way into the room, pulling him with her.
"This one's my favorite," she said.
The photographer had captured the instant a champagne flute shattered. Glass shards flew in all directions, sparkling against a jet black background, forming perfectly symmetrical outlines like wings surrounding the remains of the glass.
"Absolutely stunning," Christopher said, not taking his eyes off of Alice.
A pink blush overtook Alice's cheeks. "You're not even looking at the art."
"Aren't I?" Christopher asked.
Alice blushed, turning quickly back towards the photograph. "Don’t you just love this? An instant, captured forever. Something we'd never truly be able to appreciate if it wasn't frozen in time for us to see."
Christopher regarded the photo. "Being frozen in time is not all it is cracked up to be." He frowned.
"But, don't you see? Even if the image is frozen, what the viewer perceives isn't." Alice's entire face lit up. "It doesn’t change over time, but time changes it." She pointed at the glass's stem in the picture. "You and I see a champagne flute, but in years to come, glass may be out of use and unrecognizable to people. Wouldn't that be magical? Seeing glass shatter for the first time, capturing what's a mundane moment for us in a way that translates across time?"
She'd make an amazing vampire. The tantalizing thought penetrated him again. "I see why Margot insisted you participate in this show. You have a unique perspective. Grounded, yet passionate," Christopher said.
"It's not usually an asset." Alice guided Christopher into a leisurely lap back to the main gallery. "I can't tell you how many school assignments I flunked because I got too carried away with the specifics."
He chuckled, noticing with a start that the art gallery had mostly emptied out, with only a few stragglers left. The gallery would be closing soon, and she would disappear from his life.
I should let her go. She would continue on her natural course: age and change and love and die like everybody else. And perhaps in a few hundred years he might forget the way light danced off of the curls of her hair, and how even the edge of a trashcan was lovely in her eyes.
“Would you mind if I call you sometime?" The words slipped out before Christopher could stop them, and yet he felt selfishly grateful they were out there. "I have had such an enchanting evening with you. I would love to continue our conversation.”
Alice smiled, handing him a small, white card from her handbag. “I would love that. The ‘business number’ on there is my cell.” She played with the edge of her shawl. “I had these made up for the show and thought it would look more professional.”
“I’m sorry I completely monopolized you tonight.” He didn't feel in the least bit sorry. "I hope you still had a good time."
Alice laughed. “Don't worry, I mingled as much as I could stand. You saved me from hiding in the corner all night. Besides...” She directed her gaze at her feet. “I enjoyed being monopolized.” She rose onto her toes to give him a quick kiss on the cheek before hastily gathering her things and heading out the gallery door.
Christopher touched his face, the shadow of her kiss on his skin like a blazing brand. The last patrons stumbled together out the door, giggling into their last complimentary glass of wine, and then he was alone in the echoing room.
“Well done, Christopher.” He hadn't heard Margot approach, but she could be as silent as a cat when she wanted to. She stood in front of one of Alice’s photos which captured a small portion of a building’s facade. The five-foot tall print showcased the intricate designs painstakingly crafted in a section of the cement.
“Alice told me this photo was taken seventy-two stories up. Can you believe it?” Margot asked. “She had to bribe a window washer to let her use his rig, but she didn’t have the right harness. The wind at that height was so wild and strong, it nearly blew her off the side. It was a hell of a risk to take, but look at what she did with it.” Margot sipped her glass of champagne thoughtfully, rising an eyebrow in his direction. “That kind of persistence, over centuries... I think we’d all be very impressed with what she could do.”
Damn it, not Margot too. “Oh, hush,” Christopher said. "That's not why I was talking to her, she's special and…" His voice trailed off when he looked over at Margot.
She was opening and closing her mouth like she was trying to speak, but no words came out. With an annoyed grimace, Margot pointed at her throat and then at Christopher.
Christopher's stomach churned. “s**t! I do not compel you to hush.” His words reversed the compulsion of his inadvertent sire command, and Margot massaged her now unlocked jaw.
“Ugh. I’ll never get used to that damn hortari.” Margot took an impressively-large swig out of the champagne glass she was holding.
“Me neither.” Christopher sighed, running his fingers roughly through his hair. This was why he didn't see Margot or his other sirelings as often as he wanted. He'd gotten out of the habit of carefully choosing his words to avoid even the hint of a command. As the vampire who turned Margot from human to vampire-kind, his words were impossible for her to resist and he hated it. The sire command, called a hortari, was the one part of being a vampire that Christopher deeply resented.
This is why you cannot turn Alice, the rational voice in his mind reminded the part of him that still wanted to run after her.
He followed Margot back to a door marked "Staff Only" at the back of the gallery. She glanced at him and finished off her champagne like a shot.
"I'm sorry," he said.
She waved away his words, pressing a code into a keypad by the door. "Just watch it with the definitive sentences, okay?" She set down her glass. "I'm glad you were able to come tonight." The door slid open and the lights switched on to reveal a high-ceilinged room. Art covered every inch of the walls and up onto the ceiling, most of it hundreds of years old: masks from Nigeria and Mali, paintings from Parisian masters who never got their big breaks, headdresses from Native American cultures so old that their names were lost to time. The effect was chaotic and a little mad, but still gorgeous, much like the room's decorator. Christopher never regretted giving Margot the chance at immortality, and she'd used her time well.
"Tell me, how have you been?" He asked.
Margot poured another glass of champagne. "Fine as things go. Roxanne the succubus passed through town a few weeks ago and we had some fun before she moved on." Margot waved the bottle in his direction. "Want any of this?"
“No thanks. I never understood why you drink that human stuff. It’s not like you’re able to get drunk.”
“I like the bubbles.” Margot walked over to the wall and tilted a stunning portrait of a n***d woman to the side until Christopher heard a click. “But you have the look of someone who needs to get drunk for real, and I have some excellent options in here.” A panel in the wall opened up, revealing a bar set and wine fridge filled with hanging bags of blood.
“Anything 'A positive' would be great, thanks.” Christopher stretched his arms behind his back and sat down on one of the low couches in the middle of the room.
Margot handed him a crystal glass filled with blood. “Cheers.” She sipped deeply from her own glass. “I have an instinct about you and Alice.”
Christopher sat up straight, nearly spilling the blood down his wine-sprayed shirt. "What are you talking about?"
She laughed. "You, her, the way you just jumped at the sound of her name like you got poked by a unicorn in the ass." She swirled the blood in her glass slightly. “I'm not wrong. You like her.”
He leaned back. “She’s magnificent, what's not to like?” Christopher sipped from his own glass. Emotions from the blood's donor washed over him as the crimson liquid necessary for his survival coursed down his throat. The male donor had been drunk and in love when he donated, his emotions rich and rolling within his blood. With each sip of the man's heady happiness, Christopher wondered more about what Alice was doing right now. He eyed his glass, then Margot. With her choice of vintage, she was definitely trying to play matchmaker.
“Alice has a profoundly passionate worldview and a good eye.” Margot pointed an accusatory finger at Christopher. “Perception like that is worth preserving for the centuries.”
He groaned. Margot's words matched so closely how he'd felt when he first met Alice.
“That’s true.” Christopher took a long gulp of blood. “The way she thinks, her passion, her kindness...” He turned away. “...her immense beauty. It would be a crime to let all she is wither and fade away.”
Margot frowned. “Then why are you hesitating?”
“I'm not." He was. "If she agrees to be turned, I will do it, but...”
“But you have your rules,” Margot smiled, her expression wicked. “You must want her bad if you're this conflicted about turning her. Poor sire. You can bang her, or turn her.” Margot kicked off her high heels with a happy sigh, settling next to him on the couch.
“You know why I have my rules. It would be monstrous to sleep with somebody I have such absolute control over.” Christopher sighed. “I can barely spend time with you or the rest of my sirelings as it is. But you're right, I need to put my attraction to her aside.” He nodded, sure in his decision. “She’ll be a tremendous asset to my sire line, to our family.”
"Good. I’ll be glad to have her. You’re a good sire. Even if we're sad we don't get to see you often, we're all grateful you’re so careful with avoiding the sire compulsion."
Christopher shrugged. His brother, Rhys, had a distinctly different view of how a sire should treat his turned vamps. In his twisted way, he thought he was actually helping his sirelings by taking away their will. As the last sirelings of the Vampire King, Christopher and Rhys were the only heirs, and their conflicting approaches to sireing made presenting a unified example for their people impossible. Christopher had spent centuries trying to convince the king to set laws for how sirelings should be treated, with no success.
“I’ll offer Alice the transition, explain how it all works, and let her decide.” Christopher said.
“I’ll drink to that.” Margot lifted her glass.
“To Alice.”
- Writer
