Dark Promises
Chapter One
The artist lay on his back, his head resting on a pillow while he slept on the couch. The curtains were still drawn, dispersing some of the late morning light. His face was pale, pigment disappearing as death stilled the blood that was left in his face. His breath had stopped completely and his heart was still. He showed all signs of death, but the restless tossing and turning begged to differ. A darkly clad figure stood in the corner of the room, watching his death slumber with indifference. She was still dressed in the gown she had worn the night before, but it was smoothed back to the perfection it was in before the heated moments they had shared. She moved silently to sit in the overstuffed chair that was across from the man's moaning body. She knew that he would be very weak when he woke up, and would need to feed soon. She had already gone out herself the night before, knowing he wouldn't wake up until later. She still held the vials of blood she had collected in her purse. She smiled upon remembering the fear so evident in her prey's face. The girl's eyes had widened in terror, and her lips had opened to form a silent scream as Melanka's fangs had shown in the bright moonlight.
She was brought back to this moment by his frantic moaning and thrashing. She walked closer and caught his fist in an iron hold, so that he wouldn't hurt her or himself. His face was screwed up in pain, and his eyelids fluttered slightly. She smiled in affection. Even in death he was beautiful.
She had found him by a local gallery. His work was being displayed at the far end of the low budget exhibit, and was wonderful. He had brought life to his paintings, making the wind seem to blow the long rows of wheat and the sun would shine warmly over the land. Even better were his still life's, where fruit glistened in the candlelight, the shadows alluding mystery. She approached him one day, requesting a still life of herself. It took some persuading and a pretty sum, but he finally agreed to it. He confessed he had never done a painting of a woman, so he cautioned her of the outcome. He wasn't sure that it would be up to her high standards, but she reassured him that that the outcome would be glorious. She still remembered the uncertainty he had shown on the first day, but as time went by, he grew confident in his abilities. Such a sweet, innocent young man, she thought ironically. His moaning quieted, and his restless movements ceased. She moved closer to him, her hands resting his still hands on his chest. She bent down and stared at him, watching as slowly he opened his eyes. His beautiful green eyes were no more. Black, heartless orbs stared back at her, much like her own.
"Welcome back, Michel," she whispered. His eyes focused on her face, and a small smile grew like a flower on his lips. He sat up slowly, but put his hand to his head when he sat up straight, as if he had a horrible headache. He seemed to finally notice his chest had ceased moving, and fear crossed his pale face. He tried desperately to suck in a breath, and Melanka smiled at the habitual movement. Tears filled his eyes as a great stinging filled his lungs. His body trembled with the force of his pain, and he tried to clear it away with coughing. But it only worsened the pain, and he cried out from the agony. Men never were good at handling pain, Melanka thought. A frown creased her brow, and she put one white hand on his head. He stopped struggling against fate, and turned angry eyes upon her face.
"You! You did this to me!" he growled. She only stood up and smirked at him.
"And what have I done to you?" she asked coolly. His scowl widened, as he couldn't explain the phenomenon. Why was he alive, even though his heart was not beating? Even though it hurt to breathe? She cackled loudly, and placed her face close to his.
"You are now part of my kind, part of my family. You are a vampire. Immortality is yours," she whispered. Michel just stared at her, his face emotionless. But his head was full of thoughts. He denied her answer with passion, searching for any rational way to explain it. His eyes grew unfocused as he continued to ponder his situation, unaware of anything outside his head. Melanka saw her chance, and moved quickly and pulled out one of the vials of blood. She grasped his head in an iron hold and tilted him back so that it would be easy to force feed him the crimson liquid. He sputtered, choking on the liquid. Some of the coppery tasting liquid escaped his mouth and ran down his face, but he had to swallow the rest, or drown in it. Melanka pulled back quickly, just barely avoiding Michel's swinging fists. Even though he was extremely weak, his punches would have hurt. She sat up straight and packed the vials in her purse once more. Michel sat on the couch, choking on the red fluid. But his body seemed to have a mind of it's own. It licked the liquid from his pale lips, and swallowed it greedily. He lay back on the couch, sick at the thought that he just drank something's blood, and it was being digested in his stomach right now.
Or was it? Since his heart stopped beating, did his other natural processes cease to work also? He closed his eyes, sick to his stomach at the thought that he was a living corpse, which had yet to rot. Melanka put her cool hands on his forehead, almost comforting him. He opened his eyes and clung to her, like a baby would its mother. But wasn't it so? Wasn't this immortal woman his mother now? She made his living possible. She created life in his unbeating heart. He laughed suddenly, great booming chuckles. His body shook with the force, making his muscles tighten. He was hysterical, but he didn't care at the moment. He was alive, and could live forever. His laughter dissolved into wracking sobs, and Melanka rocked him to the beat that his heart used to beat.
So, do you like it? I tried my best for you people! I'm glad the prologue got such good reviews, and I hope the first chapter can live up to it. Okay, I'll stop rambling, and let you review, which you were planning on doing, right?