Thirst

by Karen E. Taylor

Genres: Urban Fantasy

Synopsis

Surrender to the seductive world of Karen E. Taylor's Vampire Legacy series with these novels of two vampires who share blood in more ways than one. . . Vivienne Courbet may have lost her innocence over three centuries ago, yet in the eyes of those who sustain her with their delicious blood, she is a young, desirable beauty. But the eternal life Viv has reveled in is now facing a dire threat, one that has separated her from her blood sister, Deirdre, and may mean the end of their kind. For a dangerous cross-breed known as the Others has declared war on the vampire fellowship--and the fatalities have begun. . . Having fled to a small New England town, Deirdre Griffin and her lover, Mitch, have found a temporary respite in a place flowing with tourist dollars--and tourist blood. But when the Others inevitably close in, they won't go down without a fight--the bloodier the better. And when the battle calls for Viv and Deirdre to join forces, they will have to summon every morsel of hot, hungry, deadly thirst to live another lifetime. . .

Release date: October 24, 2011

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 433

Sample

Paris: the House of the Swan, 1719

I was not always the demon in the mirror. Once I was human. Born in the usual manner, I grew, I played, I matured. Attending church with Maman, I prayed, crossing myself in name of the Trinity, believing in that sweet salvation promised us by the priests. When Maman died, I stopped praying, stopped believing. And when I was old enough to be bartered and married, I rebelled, setting my feet on an irrevocable path, one that I would not now undo even if I could.

Such a familiar story was my life to that point that I need not tell it further than mentioning the rebellious girl, the unrelenting father, the late-night escape, and the long walk to the opportunities of the big city; in short, nothing that hadn’t been done thousands of times before and since. In time I found my way to one of the few places a young lady of my ilk could exist without the interference of father or husband.

The House of the Swan beckoned to me, the name seeming a good omen. Had I not been called Mademoiselle Cygnette by my nurse from a young age? Here, then, I thought, was a place for me to stay. To be honest, I had almost reached the end of my endurance; any place willing to take me in would have done.

The proprietress met me at the door, saw to it that I was bathed, clothed, and fed, explaining to me that such kindness must be repaid with work. I agreed to work in her house for a place to sleep and meals, but after two weeks of backbreaking labor, I discovered there was another job here, one for which a girl was clothed in fine garments and had her meals served to her, a job in which such a girl was courted by rich and elegant gentlemen. Not entirely innocent as to the nature of Madame’s business and aware enough to recognize the cunningness of her recruitment, I nevertheless knocked on her bedroom door one evening, looking for a way out of the kitchen.

“Entrez vous,” she called and I dropped her a curtsy in the doorway. She smiled when she saw me and clapped her hands together as if in amusement of joy. “Why, if it isn’t our newest little swan. Come in, my dear, and tell me how you are enjoying the work to which I put you.”

“If you please, Madame, the work is fine. And I am very grateful for your allowing me to stay in your house, but some of the other girls have been talking and I wondered if I might . . .”

She threw her head back and laughed. “I wondered how long it would take such a precious princess to tire of manual labor. But do you know what you ask? Tell me, Vivienne.” She rose from her chair and walked toward me, grasping my chin in her hand and turning my face up to her. “Are you a virgin?”

Now I was not, but she had no way to know that, nor was it in her best interests to prove that I was not. So I dropped my eyes and managed a blush and she clapped her hands together again. “Marvelous,” she said, with a wry chuckle, “never say more than you need to, my dear, and always let that blush answer for you.” She nodded her head and rang the bell at the door. “You’ll do just fine, my little swan.”

“Madame?” Chloe appeared at the door in answer to the bell.

“Take Vivienne to the empty room, Chloe, and set her up with some nice clothes.” She looked at me intently, then nodded again. “Yes, I think that some of Marie’s dresses will do, but none of the darker colors. White would be best.” Cocking her head to one side, she thought. “Yes, white. And pink. Something youthful, with lots of frills and ribbons.”

So before I became a creature of the night, I became a lady of the night. I should be ashamed to admit that the life suited me, but so it did, perfectly. The other women pampered me, dressing me as if I were a doll, brushing my hair and exclaiming over its natural curls. Madame was well pleased with me; she contrived to sell my virginity several times, until rumor of my existence became fact. Odd, how the fact really made little difference to the men; it was not virginity they craved, but rather the feel and look of innocence, the sweet blush of first love, something that I was able to provide them time after time. In this, they proved easy to please and so long as they were pleased, my position remained secure.

And life was good. Madame discovered that I had a passable singing voice and added me to the roster of the girls who could entertain the guests in public as well as in private. With girlish pride I looked forward to performing in the tableaus and dramas, loving the applause and the adulation. It was during this period that I learned how to read and write and speak a smattering of other languages. I was well fed and elegantly clothed, warm and secure.

As the days and weeks turned into months and seasons, though, I grew restless.

“Chloe?”

“Hmmm?” She gripped a brush in her teeth while she was dressing my hair, combing it with her fingers and forming it into long spiraling curls.

“Where were you before you came here?”

She took the brush out of her mouth and held up a mirror for me to see the results of her work. “Très bon, Vivienne. But it is easy when one works with natural youth and beauty. As for where I was? What does it matter? I am here now.”

I shrugged. “I am curious, that is all. It seems to me that I have seen nothing of the world. First I was at home and now I am here. And”—I got up from my chair, walked over to the window, and leaned my elbows on the sill, watching the people walking by—“it is good here and life is wonderful. But there must be something more, something wondrous. I know that the world is waiting for me and only me to come by and claim the prize.”

“And what would that prize be?”

I laughed. “I have no idea, Chloe. Which makes it all the more wondrous, don’t you agree?”

She gave a disgusted snort. “You have read entirely too many of Madame’s books. Chivalry and romance? There will be no white knight riding in to save you from the ogre. The best you can hope for is to save a little money against the time you will not be young and beautiful. It is true that now you are much loved, and men praise you for the softness of your cheek and the whiteness of your breasts. But do you think this life lasts forever?”

I sighed. “It should, Chloe.”

Then, one evening, almost one year after I had arrived at the House of the Swan, the owners paid us a call. Madame herself came to get me so that I could be introduced. I could detect her nervousness and her fear from the minute she opened my door.

“Vivienne,” she said, glancing around in the room to see, I presumed, if I was alone, “you have been summoned. Messieurs Leupold and Esteban have come and would like to meet you.” She fussed with my hair and fluffed up the frills at the neckline of my dress; her hands trembled and her voice sounded tight and nervous.

“Madame?” Never before had I seen her this flustered over the arrival of two men. “Who are these men?”

“Oh, my dear, they own this house. I merely run it for them. And oh, they never send word that they are planning to visit. No, sometimes the door just opens up and they are there. Voilà!” She gave a little humorless laugh.

“But why do they wish to see me?”

“They have heard of you, Princess. The men talk and the women talk and you are very much sought after. Apparently”—and she gave another little laugh—“you have acquired quite a reputation in a short time. But come, we have no time for small talk. They are waiting.”

With that she rushed me down the hallway and practically pushed me into her private bedchamber. There, surrounded by the heavy brocade and velvet of Madame’s accoutrements, in front of a roaring fire, stood two men, the likes of which I had never seen before.

They were not particularly tall, not particularly handsome. Dressed sedately, their hair was dark, their skin pale. One might have taken them for brothers, not so much because of their looks, but because of the similarity of their demeanor. They seemed to me more like men of religion than the sort who would traffic in this business. Nothing would ever distinguish them from any other man one might meet. Or so I thought, until they both turned away from the warmth of the flames and fastened their eyes on me. I took one tiny breath, overcome with terror and delight, amazed at the depth of those eyes and the worlds they promised me. In short, before a single word was spoken, I was lost.

“Go.” That word was not directed at me. Madame murmured a quick acquiescence, the door opened, closed. And we three were alone.

“Your name is Vivienne, is that correct?” The older of the two spoke and smiled at me.

“Oui, Monsieur.”

“I am Victor,” he said with a small flourish and bow, “and my friend here is Maximillian. Or Max for short.”

“Monsieur Victor, Monsieur Maximillian.” I gave them both my best curtsy, the one I had been taught to use before royalty.

The gesture was not wasted on them. Victor threw his head back and laughed. His laughter should have put me at ease; instead I felt a cold sweat trickle down my back. “No, girl,” he said, grown serious again, “we are not royalty, in any sense of the word. Just Victor and Max will do. What did that interfering old harpy tell you about us?”

“She said nothing, sirs, nothing that could be considered demeaning. But she seemed”—I hesitated a second, then continued—“frightened. Perhaps because you own the house and hold the power . . .”

At this the one I was to call Max shook his head. “Perhaps, but I doubt it, little one. She is frightened of us because she knows it is safer that way. Humans have such a good instinct for furthering their own lives. But you”—and he gave me what I supposed he thought was a kindly smile—“you aren’t frightened.”

I laughed, a high-pitched and ringing laugh men often called enchanting. “No, Max, I am not. I have been afraid of so few things in my life. My nurse always said as I was growing up that I had the temperament of a man. That I would come to no good end as a result. And, well, here I am.” I laughed again. “So she is proven right. But still I am not frightened. Life is too short for fear or worry.”

“Is it, Vivienne?”

Something in the way Max said those three words made me shiver in anticipation, as if he knew a secret I did not.

I smiled at the both of them, wondering what exactly was expected of me. Was I to seduce them both? Together? Separately? A soft knock at the door brought me out of my speculations and I crossed the room to answer. Madame came in without a word and set down a tray containing tempting little morsels of food, fruit and cheese and bits of bread together with a fine vintage red wine and three of her best crystal glasses.

She patted my arm as she walked back out of the room. It seemed as if she was crossing herself, but that was silly. Madame was hardly a religious individual. I shrugged, closed the door after her, and, on impulse, reached over and drew the bolt shut. “There,” I said, moving over to the tray and pouring wine, “that is much cozier. No interruptions.”

We raised our glasses and drank a toast. “To long life,” I proposed; Victor and Max exchanged a curious glance, then pressed me to sit down on the couch while they fed me and fussed over me. When half of the food was gone and all of the wine, they asked me to stand in front of them.

“Turn around,” Victor ordered, motioning with his hand, his voice growing stern.

I did so and when I faced them again, their expressions had become more alive, more animated. I felt a flush of excitement, as warming as the fire.

“Take off your clothes.”

I had heard that phrase hundreds of times since coming to the Swan, and obeyed it each and every time. At times I would undress slowly, playfully, drawing excitement from each little movement; other times I would be hurried and frantic. The outcome, of course, was always the same. Never had the action been fraught with peril or fear; it had always felt as natural as the sun setting and the moon rising. But to stand naked in the presence of these two men seemed somehow an irrevocable step, final and forever. And I had lied to Max, for I was frightened, more than I had ever been in my meager years, more because I did not know why.

I wanted to run and I wanted to stay. I wanted these men to leave and never return, while at the same time I knew I would regret that parting for all of my life. Poised on the brink of the unknown, I froze, unable to move, unable to speak. Caught in the gaze of their eyes, I could barely breathe. The room grew unbearably hot, the flicker of the candles distorted my vision so that it seemed that Max and Victor hovered over me like two large and merciless birds of prey, I took one step backward and crumpled to the floor.

When I awoke, I was lying on the couch, my dress had been loosened, and the room felt lighter. Holding a glass of wine to my lips, Max knelt next to me. I smiled at him, rather shyly. “I am sorry,” I said, “I’m not sure what happened. It was very strange, it seemed that the two of you were . . .” I couldn’t finish the thought. Instead I craned my head up and looked around the room. Victor was gone.

“He left,” Max said, easily reading my thoughts. “I asked him to. I suspect that the two of us were a bit much for you. We are not your typical gentlemen.”

I laughed at that and reached over to caress his face. He jumped slightly at the touch, but then leaned into my hand. His skin was smooth, cool to the touch, and although his eyes reflected the flames of the fire, they were also cold. So deep and fathomless and yet, so dead. I lifted my other hand and cradled his face, mesmerized by his eyes, wanting to do nothing but stare into them forever.

“What are you?” The whisper escaped my lips before I could think.

“Do you really want to know?”

“Oh, yes.” I breathed as his mouth came down on mine. “Oh, yes, please.”

Whatever I may have thought of Max afterward, that night he was, for me, the perfect being. He seemed at once an angel, a man, and a demon. He possessed me in ways even I had never known possible. Bringing me to the brink of ecstasy over and over again, he tested my limits, my strength, my passion. The feelings I felt were not love, not for either of us, but I was captivated, nonetheless. Watching the light from the fire sculpt the fine lines on his ageless face, I saw his canines grow and sharpen in his pleasure, felt them graze my skin as he kissed me. I knew his true nature then and reveled in the knowledge, welcomed his bite, wanted the opportunity to give everything I had.

Before he bent to drink fully at my neck, though, he stopped and pulled away from me. I gave a moan of disappointment and reached my arms up to bring him back to me.

“No.” He stood up and towered over me where I lay, gasping for air. “Do not tempt me, Vivienne. I am very hungry, but I have dallied here too long and it is close to dawn. If you feed me now, I will take too much and you will surely die. I don’t have the time to replenish you, nor do we have the time to prepare a place for you. And I would not force you into this decision so soon.”

He began to put his clothes back on and silent tears flowed down my cheeks. My entire body felt emptied, as if he had drained me of the will to live. I heard myself saying, over and over, “Come back to me. Oh, please, come back to me.”

He laughed as he headed for the door. “Enjoy the dawn, Vivienne, for if I return for you tomorrow evening, it will be your last.”

He did return. He drained me to the point of death, brought me back to life with his own blood, wrapped me up in blankets, and carried me away to my new existence.

I was nineteen years old; I would never age, never have to sicken and die. The entire world stretched out at my feet and worshiped me; life was an adoring servant willing to give me everything I could ask. Made forever beautiful and forever young, I never once regretted that evening.

Toledo: the House of Esteban, 1768

“I do not care whether it’s Christmas Eve or not, Max. I’m hungry. I’m bored, and I’m going down to the village.” Even knowing that I sounded like a petulant child didn’t stop me from voicing my complaints. “This place is as quiet as a tomb and it’s driving me mad.”

For the first fifty years, Max and I had traveled extensively, sometimes just the two of us and sometimes with Victor. That life had been nomadic and exciting. There had always been new experiences, new people, and exotic foreign cities to explore. But when a year ago Max had decided to acquire and live in his ancestral home, the thrill faded. I felt trapped in this huge drafty house, I was always cold and always bored.

“Vivienne, we’ve been through this a hundred times. You are too noticeable, too memorable. Must I remind you that the last time you went into the village unattended, three bachelors presented themselves the next day to ask my permission to court you? You make entirely too much of an impression on the local boys. They’ve never seen your like before.”

I gave a dry laugh. “They have barely seen my like now. I can’t have spent more than ten hours out of this house since we came here. I’m weary, Max, and so filled up with ennui I could scream. And let’s be honest, I am not your daughter, nor your wife that you can order me about or keep me prisoner here.”

“You are not a prisoner, Vivienne, but I worry about you—”

I cleared my throat, interrupting him. “Must I remind you,” I said, echoing his tone and words, “that I am seventy years old and more than capable of survival all on my own? I have already learned everything you were willing to teach me, years ago. Let me out, Max. Or let me go.”

“And where exactly would you go?”

“Back to Paris.” I sighed. “And haven’t we had this conversation before?”

He laughed. “Yes, so many times that I can’t number them.” Then he shrugged. “Fine, go into the village. Find yourself a nice young man to feed on. But try not to be seen by any others. They ask questions, they are capable of drawing the obvious conclusions. This is my family home; I do not wish to be driven out of it.”

“I understand.” I jumped out of my chair and got my cloak. “Thank you, mon cher. I know that you are concerned for me and that you do your best to keep me out of trouble. But what you do not understand is that I thrive on that same trouble you try to avoid. You are happy here, hidden away, with your library and your cellar full of mice and wine. I need excitement and singing and dancing. And every so often”—I kissed him on the cheek—“just a little hit of trouble.”

I heard him laugh as I headed for the door. “Vivienne?”

“Yes?”

“Be careful. And have Frederick ready the coach for you and drive you into the village. That way you can stay until the crack of dawn and still make it back here safely.”

Christmas Eve and I was free at last. It didn’t matter that Frederick would be staying quite close to me or that he was likely to take back a full report to Max on our return. I wouldn’t expect anything else of him—he was Max’s servant after all. I could ask him to leave, I could get angry with him, but it would do no good. He could not help obeying his orders and had been told, no doubt, to keep a tight rein on me.

So I ignored him as best I could and walked to the church. Services were just starting and I knew that I would find Diego there. Sliding into one of the pews in the back, I searched out the crowd until I saw him, seated toward the front, with his mother and father and an entire pew full of his brothers and sisters. Señor Perez was the second richest man in the village and Diego was his first-born. Young, handsome, and strong, his blood had the sweetest taste, honey tinged with cinnamon and cloves.

He felt my stare, turned in his seat, giving me a nod and a slow, lazy smile. My heart beat just a little faster with that smile; my gums tingled with anticipation. “Happy Christmas, indeed,” I whispered as I slid back out of the pew and quietly exited the church. Diego would know where to find me.

Back in the far corner of the churchyard was a cemetery, lined with huge old trees. I walked through the graves for a while, pausing to read some of the names and dates. Most of them had lived fewer years than I now possessed and that fact made me sad. And pleased me all at the same time. If life was good and something in which to rejoice, why shouldn’t I be pleased with my seemingly endless years? I laughed softly and spread my arms, curtsying to the assembled dead. “Pardon, Messieurs et Mesdames, that laugh was not at your expense.”

I heard the service ending and knew that Diego would arrive soon. “Where shall I hide?” I asked of the closest gravestone. “Behind a tree? No, that is too simple. How about up a tree?” I inclined my head as if I could hear the answer from the grave and laughed again. “Yes, that will do. Thank you for the suggestion.”

I climbed the nearest tree and sat on one of the lower branches, my legs swinging back and forth, waiting for Diego.

“Vivienne?”

I kept quiet and watched him move through the paths. Finally he stood almost directly underneath where I sat. I waited until he turned his back to me, then dropped down silently and came up behind him, putting my hands over his eyes.

“Surprise, mon chou. And a joyeux Noel.”

He picked me up and swung me around. “Where have you been? I have been walking here almost every night looking for you. Why can’t I call at the house for you? Not being able to see you is driving me crazy.”

I made a face, probably lost on him in the darkness. “It is Max again. He thinks because he likes to live as a hermit that I should too.”

Diego shook his head. “He keeps you as a prisoner in that horrible place, not even letting you out on market days.”

“That does not matter. Max has his reasons and there is no arguing with him. Let’s not waste our time by talking about it.”

Diego kissed me then, his lips soft against mine, his tongue darting into my mouth. Oh, but he was sweet. And when I was with him, I felt young again, although I was older than his grandmother. I wrapped my arms around his neck and returned his kiss, pressing myself up against his warm muscled body.

He pulled me down to the ground, still kissing me. Then pushed away abruptly. “I almost forgot. I have a present for you.”

I smiled, deep enough to bring out my dimples. “A present? For me?” I clapped my hands together. “I love presents.”

He laughed indulgently. “I know you do, Vivienne. And so I bought you this.”

He handed me a small parcel, wrapped in a silk handkerchief and tied with a ribbon. I unfolded the cloth and saw a tiny but ornate silver cross with a delicate chain. “Oh, it’s lovely, Diego. Thank you.”

I unfastened my cloak, letting it fall to the ground, and handed the necklace back to him. “Here, put it on me,” I said, turning around and holding up my hair. He fastened the clasp and I turned back to him. The cross nestled in the notch of my neck and I put my hand up to it.

“Thank you,” I said again, “I will treasure it forever.”

He smiled and kissed the tip of my nose. “I am glad you like it. Alejandro said that you wouldn’t. He said that you couldn’t possibly wear it.”

“Why would he say that?”

Diego looked away. “He says that since I only meet you at night and since I come back from seeing you pale and tired, that you must be one of the walking dead. But no, that is nothing but nonsense. And what does it matter what Alejandro thinks?”

I laughed, perhaps a bit higher pitched than normal. “Yes, it is nonsense. But you must tell him that I meet you at night because that is the only time I can get away from Max. And”—I gave him a wicked smile—“you are pale and tired for the best of reasons. Because you have been making love to me for most of the night.”

“I can’t tell him that.”

“No?”

“No, I would not tarnish your reputation. I love you, Vivienne. I wish to marry you. And tomorrow, regardless of what Max thinks, I will call and ask for your hand.”

“No, you mustn’t. Promise me you won’t, Diego.”

“But I don’t see what the problem is. . . .”

“No,” I said, perfectly serious now and feeling all of my seventy years. “You do not see. Nor do I wish you to see.” I gripped his shirtfront and pulled him close to me so that he could see into my eyes. “You must not ask to marry me. I cannot marry you, cannot marry anyone. Do not speak of it again.”

He moved back from me and I felt the fabric of his shirt tear under my fingers. “Vivienne? What is wrong? You do not sound like yourself. Why can’t you marry?”

I sighed. “I am sorry, Diego, I just can’t. And that is all I can say. Please do not ask me again.”

“But—”

I put my hand to his mouth. “Hush, mon chou, not another word. Don’t you want to know what present I brought for you?”

He kissed my hand. “You didn’t need to buy me a present.”

I laughed, happy to see that he had dropped the subject of marriage. “I did not buy your present. I brought it with me, and hid it. Somewhere underneath all these clothes.”

He put his hands on me and began to explore. “I don’t see any presents,” he said, unfastening the ties on my blouse. “I will have to keep looking.”

“Please.” I breathed the word, loving the feel of his hands, needing his warmth and his weight. “Oh, please. Find it quickly, Diego.”

And he did. We made love there in the cemetery for hours, testing each other’s endurance and strength. And when it was all over, I nipped at his neck and drank just a little, not to feed, but to hold the taste of him in reserve, to savor as I lay in my lonely box in Max’s cold house.

Toledo: the House of Esteban, 1769

“There must be a way.”

Diego and I had managed to meet almost every week since Christmas. Max had given up on trying to keep me at the house; perhaps he feared I might really return to Paris, leaving him alone. Why he feared this, I had no idea. It was not as if I provided him comfort or companionship; quite the contrary, we had begun to have bitter fights, when we spoke at all. It was much like being tied to an unloved marriage partner, without even the dubious comfort of the phrase “ ’Til death do you part.”

As a result, Diego became the one joy in my life. I, who had always lived for pleasure, who had always looked forward to the setting of the sun with relish and anticipation, was reduced to relying on a human man.

“There must be a way,” he said again, “a way we can stay together always without Max interfering.”

I gave him a long discerning look. He had grown accustomed to my strange life, accepting that I could only be with him at night, welcoming the taking of his blood that occurred every time we made love. There was a way, I knew. If I were to transform him into a vampire, Max would have to accept him into the house. There would be no danger of exposure to the outside world; Diego would no longer be a stranger to be feared and guarded against; instead he would become a trusted member of the family.

“There is a way, Diego, mon cher. It will be difficult, but well worth it. And we can stay together forever.”

He kissed me. “I would walk any path to be with you, I would face the devil himself for you, I would die for you.”

Such noble and endearing words, they were exactly what I had wanted to hear, making me ignore the voices that urged me to hold back, wait. I would not wait.

Seventy years of living had not necessarily made me wise; rather I was as foolish and headstrong as I had been at eighteen, always making impetuous decisions when I should have stood back and considered my actions. And I knew this about me, even at that time, so I had no excuse for what I did.

At first, it seemed that everything would be fine. Max was not particularly pleased when I presented him with his newborn vampire son, but grew quickly accustomed to the situation. After all, here was somebody new for him to intimidate and frighten and teach in all things vampiric.

And Diego changed in more than physical ways. He looked to Max now for direction and guidance, readily embracing the bloodthirstier aspects of his new life. I forgave him this little betrayal; Max was undoubtedly the better teacher of the two of us, and I still had Diego to myself in the long daytime hours when he slept with me in my coffin.

When he advanced to the stage of being able to hunt alone, Diego changed completely. Demanding his own coffin, he grew withdrawn and surly, never speaking to me, and rarely to Max. Every so often a body of one of the villagers would be found, dead and drained, brutally savaged. Since there were wolves in the forests and it was a particularly bad winter, the blame was laid there. At first.

Max reassured me. “The boy is young and it is all new and exciting to him. He’s playing right now with his powers; he will settle down, no doubt, and begin to exercise discretion about his feedings.” Then he ruffled my hair. “We are not all as civilized as you, my dear. You seemed born to the life, knowing instinctually those things you must do to survive. Even when they seem the wrong things. I did well in choosing you.”

I laughed. “It was not much of a choice, Max. One night we met and the next, voilà! And I certainly don’t know why you did it.”

He gave me a sharp look. “Do you not indeed? W