The Vampire’s Redemption

“Fine,” she said. “You’ve got two minutes.”

Eli gave her a relieved smile. “Thank you.”

Jack hesitated. He looked between the two of them for a moment, then he lightly touched Danielle’s arm. “I’ll in the back if you need me.”

She nodded and watched him walk away. When Jack had disappeared in the back, she returned her attention to Eli. “What is it?”

“Michael is in trouble.”

Danielle’s stomach clenched. It was an automatic reaction, and she hated herself a little for it.

“What kind of trouble?” she asked, and she hated herself all the more for asking. Why did she even care? But she couldn’t help it. She couldn’t fool herself into believing she really did not care about Michael any longer, because in fact, quite the opposite was true.

“The withdrawal kind.”

Danielle frowned. “What are you talking about?”

Eli sighed. “He gave up drinking human blood. Well, from the source, that is,” he clarified. “Stephen and I have been giving him blood bags from the hospital, but it’s not quite the same thing. From what I gather, it’s one hell of an adjustment.”

“Is he sick?”

“Very.”

Danielle winced. “I don’t understand. He said he didn’t kill people.”

“He didn’t,” Eli said firmly. “He only took what he needed.”

“Then why would he give it up?”

Eli hesitated. “For you.”

Danielle blinked, her heart jumping to her throat. “For me?”

Eli nodded. “He’s in love with you. He says he doesn’t want you to be afraid of him, and maybe if he stopped getting his blood from people you’d go back to him.”

Danielle was shocked. She had gathered enough information on vampires to know that what Michael was attempting to do was a gigantic challenge that most vampires were unable to go through with.

“I…I can’t go back to him,” she said, but she sounded unconvincing even to her own ears. “What do you want from me?”

“I want you to help him. You don’t have to go back to being in a relationship with him,” Eli said. “But you’re the only one who can make sure he doesn’t fall into temptation. If he does, chances are he’ll kill someone now that he’s not used to feeding from the vein anymore.”

“I can’t—”

“Look,” Eli snapped, “he’s doing this for you. The least you can do is help him out.”

Danielle’s eyes flashed in anger. “The least I can do?” she repeated, incredulous. “I don’t owe him anything. I didn’t ask him to do this.”

“Fine,” Eli said. His dark eyes stared back at her with the same steel that shone in her own blue irises. “But if he kills someone, it’s on you. Have a good night.”

With that, Eli jumped off the stool and strode out of the pub, never once looking back.

Danielle watched him go in utter shock. Her head was spinning with the information she had just been given. Michael had given up human blood for her. He was basically giving up himself—or rather, what he had become. And that’s when something clicked. Michael had become a vampire. He had been made into one. He never chose this.

Danielle thought about being stuck in a world you didn’t choose for centuries, and she shuddered. Michael was trying to set himself free, and Eli was right; the least she could do was help him.

*****

Everyone has their demons. Michael had not looked his in the eye for centuries, and now that he was, he found that it wasn’t a pretty sight—except that at times, often, it was. His demons ran thick and dark and oh-so-sensual. They haunted not only his mind but also his body. Constantly. Night and day, day and night. Every second, every moment.

Some nights were better than others, and most of the time it didn’t feel like the craving was tearing his insides apart any longer. But it was there, under the surface. Under his skin. Always. He constantly felt like he was standing on a precipice, and God forbid he looked into the pit; if he did, he would fall down and drink again. And this time, for the first time in almost two centuries, he would kill. He could only imagine Stephen’s reaction if he were to start again. He could see the look of utter disgust on Eli’s face, as if he had drained him. Most days the thought of his friends’ rejection if he were ever to drink from the vein again and bleed somebody dry was enough to help him suppress the instincts.

Some nights were better than others, but tonight was not one of them. The vampire wanted to hunt. He wanted to feed, to kill, to taste. God, the taste. Michael had to pause in the deserted street and steady himself against a lamp post, because the memory was enough to make him dizzy with want. He could taste it—warm, metallic, alive. Blood. How many people can actually taste their demons?

Yes, but you’re not people, are you? You’re not even a person. You haven’t been a person in almost three hundred years.

Michael was never one for self-pity, but he had found that one of the side effects of giving up drinking from the source was that all those questions that other vampires asked themselves every night of their non-lives came rushing in. All the doubts, all the self-loathing. Those were the times when he was most tempted. It would be so much easier to sate the hunger and silence the memories. But it was a luxury that he forbade himself to ever experience again; the stakes were just too high.

The tremor that shook him next, shook his whole body. Michael stumbled against a wall and let himself slump down until he was sitting on the asphalt. The rains had come to the Ojai valley, and everything was wet from the day’s storms. Michael landed in a pool he had not noticed in the spur of the moment. The water and mud drenched his pants.

Perfect, he thought angrily.

But he also welcomed the cold shock; it distracted him from thoughts of warmth. Warm blood on his tongue. Warm blood sliding down his throat. Warm blood filling his whole body. Warm blood making his veins pump and his heart race, even if just briefly. Warm blood making him alive. He could almost feel it rushing through him—blood that did not belong to him but that he had claimed for himself.

Michael suppressed a scream and pressed his head back against the concrete wall, breathing heavily through clenched teeth. The craving had not been that overwhelming in nights, and it scared him.

“Hey, buddy. Are you okay?”

Michael started. The imaginary drumming of the blood pumping through him was so fierce and loud in his ears that he had not hear the man approaching. He scowled, annoyed. Alleys just weren’t what they used to be anymore. It used to be that you could do your business in peace and everyone would mind their own business.

“Go away,” he managed to growl out.

“I’m just trying to be nice.” The man opened his arms in surrender, the whiskey sloshing audibly in the liquor bottle he was holding.

But it was another liquid that Michael heard—blood sloshing in the man’s veins. Over it all, triumphed the drum of the man’s heartbeat.