Thanks so much, guys! I really don't know where this is headed, but anything Bonenzo is better than nothing, right?
…
France, 1916.
…
When you have no one you care about or who cares about you, when, you have no place to call home, no purpose, when, on top of all that, you're bloody immortal and a monster, so you don't even really have your bloody life anymore, then the best way to try and do good in the world, to do something is help others fight the good fight.
Right?
As shots flew above his head and the dirt and mud in the trench stuck to his worn shoes, Lorenzo St. John gritted his teeth against the feeling of pure terror at seeing all these men torn to shreds, at fighting his own damn urge to feed on them.
He had been a vampire for thirteen years, and it hadn't gotten any easier yet. But he figured that he'd probably have a lot of time to get used to it, seeing as he couldn't easily be killed.
Not for lack of trying. He had made himself a bit of a name, actually, "the crazy one" they called him. His comrades, poor fellows that feared him just as much as the enemy.
He always volunteered for the most dangerous missions, always ran straight for the bullets, and rumor had it that he had been torn to shreds on more than a couple occasions. Yet here he was, unscathed and just as sullen and dark as usual.
Rushing past the other soldiers, he peaked over the side of the trench, because he had heard a peculiar noise, like a whoosh of air perhaps, but rather unlike the sound a stray bullet or a bomb would make.
Not the Germans, then. He sighed. Tired, he briefly contemplated just walking out of the stinky darkness surrounding him and letting the enemy pierce him. At least the pain would remind him that he wasn't completely dead yet.
It would also be completely stupid. A few people that swore up and down they had seen him get blown up was one thing, his whole battalion witnessing his miraculous resurrection a complete other.
No. He'd have to endure the panic filled screams on both sides, the frightened faces of the way too young boys sharing these trenches with him. He'd have to do his best to protect them, do something decent.
Then he heard it again, this time louder. He felt it, too. A strong gush, ripping at his coat, the only semi-clean piece of clothing he still owned.
"You hear that?" A wide-eyed boy, probably no older than 17 gripped his shoulder harshly, and Enzo had to suppress the urge to shrug the poor kid off.
"Stay here," he told him, gruffly, then gently put the kid's hand down. Taking a deep breath, closing his eyes, he braced himself. "I'll take a look."
And out of the trench he climbed, barely registering the young soldier's worried pleas to stay.
It was so incredibly dark. Even with his enhanced senses, he had a hard time seeing much more than the light of the enemy's fire, here a silhouette, then there.
Then he saw her. She was a pretty face, huddled in a heap on the ground, too gorgeous for a place like this, with her strange clothes and dark curls. What was someone like her doing in the middle of a battlefield?
He rushed over to her quickly, turning her over slightly to check whether she was alive. Her eyes flickered, then opened, the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen.
"What on earth are you doing here, love?"
The frown she gave him told him that she had absolutely no idea either. Had one of the higher ranking officers brought her over from one of the local brothels? Hidden her here this long?
Doubtful. He strange clothes didn't look like anything he had ever seen those girls wear (and he had seen quite a few of them. A man had to have some kind of joy in his life…). Besides, hiding someone so beautiful, so exquisite from a bunch of half crazy, half feral men seemed impossible.
He would have smelled her, too…
"Let's get you up," he breathed, unsure what he was doing, what he should be doing. But he couldn't exactly leave her lying there, that much was for sure.
Gently, he tried to pat her down, inspecting her for any injuries, when her hand flew up to grab his wrist, and fire returned to her gaze.
"What are you doing?"
Rolling his eyes, he scoffed lightly. "Don't flatter yourself, gorgeous. Just making sure you're unharmed. After all you're lying sprawled out on a battlefield. Besides, I'm a gentleman, I don't generally take advantage of helpless women."
"I'm not helpless." Her scowl was kind of adorable. Also annoying. Shaking him off, she slowly sat up, blinking as the noise of the war around her seemed to filter in to her conscience more. A bullet zipped past them, dirt flying up as it landed a few feet from where they sat, and she suddenly shrank against him involuntarily, the sudden touch, her warmth, her smell intoxicating him. Gasping lightly, he forced himself to relax, to not let his vampire side come out to play, and it took him a moment before he was sure his veins wouldn't be scarring his face and it was safe to look at her.
"Did you say battlefield?" she asked, her tone somewhere between incredulous, annoyed, and panicked, and as she looked up at him, he could only nod.
He was sure the darkness changed her features somewhat, but even here, in this mess, he could see how stunning she was.
"Okay, this is gonna sound really weird," she told him, clearly unaware that she was still clutching his arm as she said it. Not that he minded.
"Not much fazes me anymore, love."
"Can you tell me when and where we are?"
"When?"
Nodding, she looked up at him, and briefly, he wondered whether she might have bumped her head.
"August 1916 - give or take a few weeks. France. The Somme. You know, where the war is currently being fought…" He raised an eyebrow, giving her a pointed stare, but she seemed surprisingly calm, as if she was mulling something over in her head.
"World War 1. I didn't know you fought in that one too."
"I beg your pardon?"
A loud boom, then a thunderstorm of machine gun fire announced that things were heating up again, and the girl shrank against him a little more, breathing accelerated, and the smell of fear more distinct now. So she wasn't as cool as she was trying to be.
"I'm sorry. Never mind. Okay. Okay… I need to get out of here. This is definitely not gonna be the place where I'll solve this ridiculous mess. Chances are higher I'll get shot to smithereens and then the whole freaking thing was completely for naught. Where are you when I need you, Grams, you promised you'd get on this. You'd be here for me."
She was muttering to herself, but he heard her anyways. His hearing was simply too good. That didn't mean he had any idea what the bloody hell she was talking about.
"We should get you to the medic. If we can make it back down into the trench that is."
Grinning at him, she shook her head. "I can't believe this," she said, suddenly reaching up to run a finger over his lips. "I know I'm here for you."
"What are you talking about? Who are you? Did someone send you?" Suspicion, a sense of fear began creeping up his spine suddenly, and it had nothing to do with the war around them. What if another vampire had sent her? Maybe the one who had turned him? What—
"Oh gosh. It's starting. I don't remember my name. I know yours. You're…" She gasped, clutching him again. "I don't remember! I thought this was going to go slower! It wasn't supposed to happen yet. I mean, I know I love you, you're the love of my life, why don't I remember your name?"
Following some random instinct, his arms flew around her, holding her, gently pressing her against his chest. "It's alright, love," he breathed, "I'm here. You'll be okay." Hoping he'd give her at least a bit of comfort. This poor damaged soul. What could have happened to her?
He wasn't ever going to find out, however, because right then, right when he placed a soft kiss on her feverish brow, the wind around them picked up, whirled them around, tugged at his clothes until he was certain they'd both be blown away, but then the wind pulled her out of his grasp and a bomb detonated right beside him and all he could think, all he could feel for a few hours or so was just an immense pain that took all his memories of that night away.
...