It was a sensible thing to have in any vampire residence, a basement, but until now he hadn't known of its existence. She threw him in, her face ethereally expressionless. He would have preferred a blaze of anger.
The girl followed, a whimpering thing, the coquettishness that had drawn him to her forgotten.
"You'll stay in there, Angelus, until you answer."
"But I don't know the question!" he cried.
It was no use. Darla laughed.
"I think you do, Angelus," she replied, shutting the door. He heard the deadbolt slide home.
She was right. He did. He should have expected it.
He looked at the terrified girl. He knew what she was expecting.
No.
He looked around the room. It was big. It must have stretched under the teahouse and right under the courtyard, he reckoned. One end was sectioned off with screens made of intricate lacquered latticework. He tried to move the screens, but he could not. He tried to break them down, but, again, he could not. They were reinforced, probably with steel wire. What was the point anyway? There would just be another wall and another thick locked door. If she wanted to watch, let her.
The rest of the room was furnished expensively, a four poster bed dominating the floor. It was not a pure Japanese room, though it was full of Europeanized Japanese detail. The light curtains on the bed were a delicate white silk, and the wood dark and slim, and there were piles of brilliantly coloured cushions piled on the bed and on other incidental furniture in the room. The overall effect was quite breathtaking. A small space screened off to allow a human occupant privacy. She had not ignored detail. There were bookshelves, too, full of expensive books.
A comfortable prison.
He returned his attention to the girl. She had climbed back up the steps, and was beating on the door, screaming in hopeless entreaty.
"She won't come," he said, lead in his voice.
At the sound she spun, suddenly silent. Her face was frozen with fear.
He had chosen her not only because of her beauty, but also because of her brazen confidence. Her jaw jutted forward as she smoked and laughed. She conversed easily in English with the men who strutted around her, daring each other to make the first move. It was Angelus who took up the challenge. His voice mellowed for the occasion, hints of his fast-fading Irish brogue coming once more to the fore. Darla stood to the side, watching her boy again.
He walked straight up to her, no circling, no waiting.
"You're new," she chirruped as he came close. "I've never seen you before. Who are you?"
"I am new," replied Angelus. He cast a scornful eye at the other men hovering about. "And I think you'll find that quality round here is improving."
"I think I'll be the judge of that." Her smile belied any doubt she pretended. "What's your name?"
"Angelus. And you are…?" He moved closer to her as he spoke.
"Ai. It means Love." She did not shy away.
"Now why is it I'm not surprised?" His voice was coming from his throat, and he could see it hitting her straight in the belly. "My, but aren't you a pretty thing."
His eyes said many things, but 'pretty' did not feature.
Darla laughed quietly to herself at the memory. She watched the girl melt under Angelus's expert attentions. No one could resist him. Not even Darla herself.
But this was it, and this was the girl.
When the party began to fade, Angelus brought the girl back to Ponotocho-dori. She was surprised he lived in a teahouse, but too drunk to care why. He could feel Darla behind them, so he waited for her with the girl in the teahouse.
Darla entered the room with her usual regal flair.
"Well done, Angelus. She is perfect." Darla held the girl's face between finger and thumb.
Angelus's bearing had changed entirely. Gone was the seducer, and in his place was the familiar vampire with a soul, hunched in pain. After his display at the party, it sickened Darla to see that miserable creature return.
"I thought you'd like her," he replied.
"Oh, she's not for me." She turned to Angelus. "I already dined on some of your competition." She walked to the back of the room, and pulled aside a screen.
"Not that I didn't think you could do it without my help," she continued. "I of all people know how impossible it is not to fall for you."
The girl looked confused, but did not seem to realize the danger she was in. Angelus did. When he saw the door, a thick, western, oak door, he knew. The door swung open. There were lights already lit in the room. Oh God, she had been planning this, planning it for tonight and he had never realized.
She moved faster than he could see in his shocked state. She leaned in close, and kissed him. He could taste the blood in her mouth and smell it hot in her veins. He was hungry. He had hunted, and now his demon wanted to feed. It came to the fore with a snarl.
The girl gasped. Darla laughed. Then she coolly flung him across the room, through the door and down the stairs. He fought back the demon in shame. Darla threw the girl in after him.
The girl who was now staring at him in terror.
He took a deep breath.
"Ai," he said, raising his hands. "I won't hurt you."
"What are you?" Her voice was a flat whisper.
"What you saw."
"I saw a demon."
"That's about right."
"But you say you won't hurt me?"
"I won't."
The girl looked a little less afraid. He could still smell it, though, coming off her in waves. He had to stop it.
"Come down, come away from the door." He stepped away from her, to give her space.
She slowly came down the stairs, never removing her eyes from him. He backed away further, until he came to a couch on the other side of the bed. He sat down, sighing.
Ai came towards the bed, touching the drapes, the sheets.
"What does she want with us?" she asked.
"I don't know," Angel lied.
"What question does she want you to answer? And what does it have to do with me?" She regarded him coldly.
He just shrugged, shook his head, and lay back on the couch. There was nothing he could say that would not scare her again, and he could not bear that. Not that smell.
She looked at him for a long time.
He watched her as she turned down the bed and found a yukata there. It, too, was white silk. She wrapped it around herself as she lay down. She flicked her eyes towards him.
"You will stay there tonight? On the couch?" she asked.
Angel nodded. She looked satisfied.
He listened to her for a long time, her breathing slightly erratic, her heart racing. But then it slowed, and she was asleep.
Finally. Only in sleep would she stop being afraid, and he could stop smelling that endlessly alluring tang. It brought back too much. How often he had reveled in that smell, loved it, felt it penetrate his body and bring him to such heights of delight. And the taste… he could taste it in the blood. Such a heady thing, fear! He had thrived on it almost as much as he had on the blood itself. Sometimes more, when the kill was not for food. He had filled Europe with fear. Now one room was pungent with it, and he was brought low in longing, need, denial, pain.
Soon he too fell into a fitful sleep. Dreams of the past tortured his repose. His face morphed and morphed back as he dreamt his way through dark streets in the past.
Darla. He felt her. She was close – where? Where? He wandered the streets, searching. What city was this? It could be anywhere. No, wait – Galway? Why was he looking for her in Galway? This is where she found him -
He woke when he heard a sharp noise. A sliding shutter in the door slamming shut. Food. For Ai. He could smell miso soup. Water, too, to wash with. She was gone. Not Ai, she was still there. Wrapped in her yukata, her glittering dress now thrown in a tired pile on a chair. She took the tray of food from the floor, brought it down the stairs and put it on a low table in front of the chaise longue.
She looked at the bowls and dishes in front of her, then looked at Angelus.
"You want some?" she asked.
He shook his head. She shrugged, picked up the chopsticks and ate.
He watched her. He could not remember how that felt. Solid food. The last time he had solid food was a long time ago. Maybe a dinner party that ended in a bloodbath, maybe supper after the opera, more drama in the parlour than had been on the stage. Maybe gore, a chunk of flesh from a ripped throat, a torn thigh. It felt like nothing. Nothing like blood.
Not so to her, obviously. She glanced at him now and again, but ate ravenously, unselfconsciously. Finished, she laid her chopsticks carefully across the empty rice bowl. Then she stood and brought the ewer of water and the basin behind the folding screen. He heard water pouring, splashing. He heard her breath, her heart.
Not too much fear. Not very afraid of him – just general apprehension. She was locked in a room with a demon.
She read most of the day. He didn't know what to say. He could feel the daylight outside, but she had to trust the slamming shutter in the door. Had to trust lunch in the middle of the day, dinner in the evening, supper before bed. Had to trust him. He lay on the couch, barely moving. His muscles were not about to atrophy. He could lie there as long as she wanted.
If he could only stave off the hunger.
Again, she lay in bed a long time before she could sleep. The smell of her filled the room. Pleasant, clean skin. Worry, fear.
Hungry. He heard her sleep. Darla was back. Try to forget her. He allowed his face to change, slowly, then he sank his fangs into his arm. White skin on the inside of the wrist. Nothing special – no – hardly anything at all. But enough to stave off the bloodlust for a while. He closed his eyes. Tried not to acknowledge that the thin blood in his veins would soothe him for no more than a couple of hours. Tops.
He dreamt again. Galway, cobbled streets in some places, but mostly dirt. Filthy tenant farmers, their filthy children, filthy wives. Potato-fed poverty. They could be tenants on his father's land, could be tenants anywhere. Could have been thrown out of their filthy homes by some pompous British landlord and red-coated soldiers, watched their whitewashed walls char, their old thatch going up in flames as hungry as them. Did his father ever have people thrown off his land? He didn't know, didn't care. Filled the taverns with buxom young things willing to sell more than drink. Fine with Liam.
Who was he looking for? He couldn't find her – wait, that's not right, he didn't know her before. Angelus shook his head in his sleep. He didn't know her then.
He woke to the same day. Same day noises, not a word from the girl. He paced for a while, just for a change; she read again. Sometimes tears silently rolled down her face, and she didn't turn the page for too long.
For nights, while Darla watched, he recycled the same blood. It got thinner and thinner. No taste. Bad vintage. He laughed with no sound and no humour. He felt her eyes on him, but they had stopped burning. Then he slept fitfully, dreaming of Galway, dreaming he had a heartbeat. His chest rose and fell almost all night, humanness of dreams and shallow sleep. Darla, powdered hair, dress too good for the place. Where was the alley? He had to find her. He thought it was just over there… He knew this place. He had come here since he was old enough to ride out from the estate. Where the hell was that alley? He heard her voice –
He woke to the sound of a laugh. He had morphed in his sleep – hunger. Darla laughing, quietly. He was getting thinner, turning into a skeleton.
She lay on the bed, her breathing even, heartbeat a peaceful dub. Maybe – no. He moved anyway. No. But if he didn't touch the neck, she wouldn't wake up, might never even know. But no. He would never do it. He was over by the bed, gently pulling back the covers. She'd never know. He could do it painlessly, tiny scars only, and if he bit her there – she'd never know. He pushed her yukata up her thighs. She lay on her back. He gently pushed her legs further apart. He could sense the blood. Close to the surface at the top of the thigh. Her heartbeat remained steady, breathing undisturbed. He stroked her thigh softly. She did not move. A little more, circles on her flesh with his fingertips. She shifted slightly. But nowhere near consciousness. Would he do it? He leant in close and ran a rough tongue against her skin, high on her thigh, where she would not see it if – could he? He leant in again, nuzzling this time. She sighed. He froze. She did not wake. He could. Just a little. He could control himself. Control himself after he – he bit, gently, his fangs sliding into her flesh with the practice of age. He withdrew them just as gently, blood beginning to flow into his mouth. Elixir. He had just nicked her artery, a tiny cut, not big enough to cause profuse bleeding. He stayed at the crux of her thigh until the bleeding stopped, blood flowing down his throat, soaking through his system, tingling in his fingertips. Tingling everywhere. He licked her thigh clean, reluctantly drawing back. She moaned softly, and moved in her sleep.
Angelus felt intoxicated. He returned to his couch, lay down, feeling as close to peace as he had since he had come back to Darla. He could feel her there. For the first time since she had locked him in this room, he could not imagine her expression. Pride that she had made him cave? Anger that he did not finish it? He tried to forget her again.
His dreams would not let him.
Days passed. Ai became paler, spent more time on the bed, less time reading, less time conscious. Every night he said no, even as he slid his fangs in he said no. Every day she became weaker. He knew they would not get out until she died. He vowed he would die first. He knew he wouldn't.
Darla there every night, chasing her, trying to find her in the maze Galway had become in his head.
Then one night he found her.
He looked at her lying on the bed. Finally! He moved to her, dropping his clothes as he went, and kissed her, deeply, invading her pliant mouth with his tongue. He opened her yukata, her body once more fitting into his. He kissed her all over, he heard her moan, faintly, spurring him on. His ready cock entered her, and he began to move, making love to her, feeling her warm against him as he had never felt her before. He thrust into her, all the while devouring her with crushing kisses. It wasn't enough, he could feel it wasn't enough. He moved to her neck, nuzzling then biting down, his body already pulsing pleasure as he came close to climax. He could feel her shuddering underneath him, her blood pouring, pumping into his veins, it tasted different after so long without, so much more full of something, full of life – He came, thrusting into her, prologing his orgasm, emptying her of blood, feeling her melt away in his arms.
He drew back and looked at her, his face glowing, hers white and blank. Ai lay there, her eyes rolled into the back of her head, her neck at an unnatural angle, the last drops of blood in her emaciated body seeping from the puncture wounds.
He withdrew from her, still wet and warm.
"Is this enough?" he whispered, his face tilted slightly towards where Darla was hidden, but his eyes still fixed on the eyes inches from his face, glazing as he watched.