Damphir - 1. Chapter 1

It’s cold, bitterly cold; so very, very cold. The cold is dominating me and making it impossible to think of anything else, although there are, buried deep within me, memories of a time before when there was a warm bed and a soft pillow under my head. That’s about all that’s left of my memories from before; brief impressions of warmth and sometimes the feeling that there were arms around me, a soft chest to rest my head against; a warmth through which no cold could ever penetrate. But that was long ago; now I have nothing. I barely even have the memories anymore.

Sighing, I shift my position under my blanket of autumn leaves, trying desperately to find some warmth and comfort but the unrelenting ground is showing no pity to my battered body.

I was beaten again today... yesterday, but I was lucky – they beat me because they could, because all they could see was a battered scrap of humanity desperately clinging to life on the windswept streets of this great, golden city of hope. If they had looked deeper; if they had seen... I shudder and turn over, my face to the wood of the tree trunk.

There had been at least one vampire with the group, standing apart in that aloof aristocratic way they have, as if everyone else is beneath them and nothing more than a bad smell. As far as the smelling part, at least, he was way off. I cursed my luck; there were hardly any of them in the city, even though the whole point of this great experiment was to create an environment where the four races could live together in harmony.

I thought that he would see; that this would be the end, but he simply walked away, keeping his back turned the whole time. I guess I was lucky.

I’m beginning to feel a little warmer. It’s seeping through me like a blanket soaking up water when a corner falls into a muddy puddle. What a strange image to come to mind – a blue blanket, soft and warm. It has a yellow duck embroidered in the corner. As far as I know I have never owned one but it is comforting nevertheless even though the corner is muddy and...

Uh Oh. My eyes are closed. Better open them. It’s not that easy but I know that feeling warm and sleepy on such a bitterly cold night is definitely not a good thing. Rolling over I drag my aching body stiffly out my nest of leaves. It is in the roots of an ancient lilac tree and the scent of lilac is all around me. After steadying myself against the bole, I part the drooping branches, the only thing that has afforded me any protection at all from the bitterly cold night, and stagger out, gasping at the biting wind. I feel as if every time I breathe slivers of ice invade my lungs and I am burning.

It is one of those nights where the frost draws patterns on the puddles and the grass crunches under your feet. Sound carries a long way and the air is filled with sighs and moans as my fellow dispossessed struggle to find the warmth to survive another night. Mounds of newspaper and pathetic bundles of rags move and whimper as I pass; gliding across the grass without leaving footprints. I'm not dead but I am already a ghost.

The sky is beginning to lighten towards dawn and if I can manage to hold on for just a few hours I have money for coffee and a full breakfast. Once the cafe opens I can sit in the warmth for a few hours. They know me there and I might even get a free refill if the right people are on shift. Although there is one who doesn’t like me and stares at me like she sees the piece of shit that I am. Maybe she knows.

I almost smile to myself. I have a tendency to think that everyone who doesn’t like me knows: maybe she just doesn’t like me. I am, after all homeless, hopeless, and worthless.

My heart flips for a moment until I dig my hand in my pocket and feel the reassuring clink of coins that mean warmth and sustenance and another day of life. I wonder briefly how many more days there will be, with winter only just beginning to flex its grip on the city, but to be honest; right now I don’t really care.

Maybe when I am warm and have a belly full of food I will have fight in me again but for now I sway as I pass through the gate and catch myself on one of the ornate iron gateposts. It is so cold it burns. I examine the delicate tracery of featherlike frost flakes on the dull black metal. It is too pretty to comprehend. I touch the patterns and the heat in my fingers is barely enough to melt the frost. For a time I am frozen, caught in the frosted winter night, my breath turning crystalline in front of my eyes, my cheek resting on the back of my hand, mesmerised by the world of ice laid out before my bedazzled eyes.

I start to feel warm again and realise that I have slumped against the post and am beginning to slide down it towards the floor. Not good: not good at all. I know for sure that if I hit it I won’t be getting up again and so I force myself to push away from the frosty pole and stand up. For a moment I have to close my eyes as the world spins and for the first time a spike of fear runs down my spine. I’m not ready to die.

Staggering I drive myself along the pavement, doesn’t matter in which direction, they all lead to nowhere. I wrap my coat, such as it is, around my shoulders. I have never been very big, inframe that is. I am tall, taller than most: shorter than some, but spare and now downright skinny. My ragged clothes hang off me. I am a walking skeleton and soon I won’t be walking any more.

But for now I push my battered body to stumble on, one hand against the wall to steady myself. There are no lights but I don’t need them, my night vision is excellent. I drag my bones through the darkness with no thought of where I am going only that I have to keep moving or die.

I am stumbling more and more and I’m starting to hallucinate which can't be good. There are flashes of light on the periphery of my vision and the crystal frost is rising in swirls in the shape of bare breasted women who hold out their arms towards me. Wow, that was a strange one... women?

My head is so full of sparks and flying shards of crystal I catch my foot on a kerb and fall. Reaching desperately for support my fingers scrape across the wall and, as I land heavily on my knees on the ground, I barely even notice that I’ve torn the skin half off them. Hanging my head I gasp in pain. My knees are agonising and my mind is filled with red hot pain.

Collapsing onto my side I curl in a ball, moaning and gasping until the terrible sharp pain begins to subside into a persistent ache. I landed badly and my knee joints are hurting so much I am afraid to move in case I can’t. Eventually I manage to sit up and bend my legs. Sitting in the gutter with my knees drawn up and my head resting on them I sob like a child.

I am sobbing so hard it takes a while for me to notice the smell. In fact I don’t notice it, at least not nearly quick enough. It’s the howl that brings me back to myself. It sounds close but I know enough of the distorting effects of such a night as this, to realise that it is still far away. The second one is a lot closer so there are either two of them or they are moving very, very fast.

Then I smell it. I can’t believe I didn’t smell it before. It is fresh and strong and... ah FUCK. It’s me. For the first time I realise with horror that my skinned fingers are bleeding, dripping onto my clothes and the road. Why the hell didn’t I realise, didn’t I smell it myself? There are... things that can smell blood miles away, at least blood like mine. And now... now they’re coming.

I raise my head and look around and groan. Oh no. Why here? Why did I have to come here? My knees scream as I drag myself to my feet, but they support me. I am too weak to fly and so I have to run. I have to run as fast as I can, faster than I have ever run before... and I do.

The ground flies beneath my feet and when the howls come again they are at first further away but then they orient, they follow and I am not strong enough to outrun them.

I look around frantically for somewhere to hide, somewhere to escape, somewhere... But I can’t do anything but run. I can barely do that. I can’t fly; I can’t jump: I can’t... I can’t run any more. The adrenaline is burning off rapidly and I am running out of time even faster.

I am too exhausted to think, running on pure adrenaline, moving on instinct with no thought other than to escape. I am truly the prey. I am going to die. I know I am going to die. There is no escape, not like this, not with me like this. They are getting closer, closing in on both sides, soon one or both... or something else will catch me and I have nothing to fight with.

For a split second I falter. I close my eyes, fighting fatigue and weakness and when I open them again...

It’s like running full tilt into a brick wall. I would have ricocheted back if a hand had not shot out and caught me, pulling me forward to connect again with a chest like steel and hold me there. I look up, shocked, and think ‘Oh Shit.’ Just before I pass out.

I open my eyes I don’t know how much later and find my face pressed against the same iron hard chest. Strong arms cradle me as my captor walks, fast, through the darkness. I can smell him. I know what he is. Sure as hell he can smell me and yet... “Why?” My voice is just a harsh croak and I’m not even sure he’s heard it, or that he would care if he had. He may very well be taking me somewhere private to...

But I don’t think he is. It’s a strange thing, a very strange thing given my past and the fact that I have spent my whole life hiding from people like this, that I trust him absolutely. This is very likely to be one of my last moments of life, that when I raise my head from his chest the teeth that hover above it will tear open my throat but... there is something, something that is telling me I’m safe, safer than I have ever been and I don’t understand. I don’t understand anything.

“Why?” I repeat and struggle to move my head back so that I can look up into the face of the man who is carrying me so gently. The man doesn’t stop, doesn’t break a stride. For a moment he looks down without a sound, studying me with a frown on his face. His eyes are very dark, almost black and large in a perfectly symmetrical face. He has the typical long black hair, pale complexion and aristocratic expression of his kind but he is different. I don’t know what it is that makes him different. It’s not in the way he looks but the way he is looking at me. There is something deep in his eyes that seems to be calling out to me. I can’t take my eyes off him.

Suddenly he stops and sets me down. I am too unsteady to stand alone and he uses one arm to press me against him while he raises the other hand to brush the hair away from my face. I am utterly helpless, too weak to struggle or speak. My head is lolling against his shoulder and my arm hanging limp at my side. I couldn’t raise either if my life depended on it, which it well might.

It is too much effort to look around and the only things I can hear is the beat of his heart and the hiss of his breath. He is staring at me with such an intensity I think I might very well get lost in his eyes. I find myself wishing that I could raise my hand to touch his face and my face to touch his lips. Am I crazy? I’m helpless in the arms of a vampire... there’s only one way this encounter can end, and it won’t be with a kiss.

Slowly the long, pale hand tipped with obsidian claw like nails, strokes my cheek. Something rises within me and I purr, half closing my eyes, lost in the sensation. My breathing quickens as the caress becomes more intense, the fingers sliding through my hair to stroke the nape of my neck, the thumb drawing circles on my cheek, brushing across my lips. It is the most intensely sensual experience I have ever had.

An arm like a steel band draws me closer still, pressing me against him length for length. He is excited and he is making me... I gasp and my eyes fly fully open as the grip on the back of my neck becomes painful. I had thought... hoped? That he was going to kiss me but...

“Aw...”

“Am I hurting you little beast?”

“Y...yes.”

“I know what you are. I should kill you.” He speaks matter-of-factly in a soft sexy voice that sends shivers down my spine because I know in that moment that he won't.

“Yes. You should.”

“Do you think that I won’t?”

“I don’t... care.”

He looks deeply into my eyes and frowns. “What are you?” he asks, no longer pretending to try and intimidate me. There is something in his face that tells me he is as confused and possibly overwhelmed as I am.

“I... I’m nothing.”

“Cut the bullshit little one. I know that you are not what you seem. So what are you?”

I am confused now. What does he mean? “What do you mean? I... I am... I am as I seem. I’m not hiding anything.”

The black eyes burn into me and I am again frozen as he bends closer and I close my eyes in the moment before our lips meet. He forces my mouth open and tastes me deeply. I am shivering, my breath panting, a growl rumbling low in my throat.

When he raises his head his eyes are as flat and closed as ever but there is something... something. I wish I were thinking clearly. I wish I knew what he is thinking, what he is going to do with me. I am cold and sore. My knees are agony and barely supporting me, my hands hurt, my neck hurts and I am tired. I am so very, very, very tired and I...

“I can’t hurt you.”

“I... I’m glad.”

“Do you know what that means?”

“I... it means that I don’t die tonight?”

He gazes at me as if he can’t believe what he is hearing. “How do you feel little one?”

“Sick and sore. I’m tired and...”

“That’s not what I mean,” he commands, hypnotising me with his eyes. “How do you feel about me?”

“I don’t...” What the hell does he expect me to say? What am I supposed to feel? What am I supposed to think?

“Don’t think.” He snaps.

“I...I feel... safe.”

He stares at me for a long moment and then kisses me again. The hunger rises and I press myself against him somehow finding the strength to put my arms around him, returning the kiss as passionately as he is giving it. I am gasping for breath, my heart pounding, my pulse racing. A rumble begins deep inside me and turns into a deep purr that is almost a growl. It seems to excite him and he ravishes my lips.

And then he stops. He raises his head, panting, his lips bruised from the kiss and stares down at me. It’s been a long time since anyone has done that. No one has EVER looked at me like that.

He buries his hand in my hair again and shakes his head. “I can’t do this. I have to think.” I open my lips to speak but before any sound can emerge he yanks my head to one side and sinks his teeth into my throat.

With a gasp I cling to him desperately, my heart pounding in my chest and head. “Please, please no...no...”

I know it’s stupid. What’s the point in pleading? I am completely at his mercy. I can do nothing. I’m going to die, I know it... hell I can feel it now but... but I...

Moving on instinct I raise my arms and grab his head then turn my own, even though the pain of his teeth tearing me is almost unbearable, and bury my own teeth into his flesh. Purely by luck I hit a vein and his hot blood bursts into my mouth in a heady explosion of flavour and strength.

With a cry he throws me away from him and I fall. With the added strength given to me by his blood I drag myself to my feet and run.

Of course I don’t get far. I hadn’t expected to. I just didn’t want to go down without a fight. As I run I feel something that I have not felt in a long time, an almost irresistable urge to change. I have fought it for so long and now it doesn’t matter anymore and so, by the time I am grabbed from behind, lifted off my feet and slammed against the wall with a hand at my throat I don’t even look human any more.

He is glaring at me, seemingly even more angry about the way I look than the fact I’d run. “Little bitch,” he hisses as he backhands me across the face sending stars bursting inside my head. Struggling to stay conscious I growl and bare my teeth at him, spitting. My hands come up, claws striking like lightening to rake across his cheek. Eyes wide with shock he lifts his hand, the one that isn’t around my throat, to touch the bloody scratches.

He backhands me again and I taste blood in my mouth. By now the adrenaline is pumping again, wiping away the weakness, the pain, the fear. With one hand around my throat he only has one free and, although he tries to pin me with his knee between my legs I twist my hips to one side and hook my ankle around his, catching him by surprise. His grip loosens on my throat as he stumbles and I kick him in the face as I run again and try to manifest my wings and rise from the ground. My clothes are hampering me and I shrug out of my coat, just as he slams into me and I fall flat on my face with his heavy weight on my back.

The fall winds me and for a moment I can’t move. My claws dig into the earth and then retract, then dig again and retract while my tail thrashes, trying to whip him, to wrap around his neck but it isn’t happening. With one hand he presses my face into the dirt.

“You’d better be worth this you bitch,” he hisses then he sinks his teeth into my neck again. No matter how much I struggle I can’t move an inch and slowly the world fades.

***

“But why are you leaving and, more to the point why are you leaving him here?”

“I need time to think.”

“Do you? Doesn’t the way you were thinking, or not thinking, last night tell you anything?”

“Yes, it tells me that we’re both in a lot of trouble and I need to think about what that is going to mean for us. I need to get some space to work this through and I have research to do.”

“Research?”

“I have no idea what he is, Fougue. He smells human, is obviously part vampire, changed like a were and... and very nearly flew. I think if he had not been so weak he would have.”

“Flew?” Fougue drew back and frowned. “What do you mean flew?”

“I think he has wings.”

“But...”

“Exactly.”

Fougue shook his head. “Then surely you should stay and talk to him.”

“I don’t trust myself to be in the same room as him, Fougue, not yet. I was... I came close to killing him and yet... When I am with him, when I am looking into his face I don’t know if I want to tear him apart or take him into my arms and never let him go. I feel fiercely protective of him and there is a danger that even if I don’t kill him I might kill anyone else who threatens him in any way.”

“I can’t pretend to understand.”

“I don’t understand myself, Fougue and that is why I have to go. If I stay then there will be serious consequences and I have no idea how to deal with them. I cannot afford an incident at this time.”

“When will you be back?”

“I don’t know. A few days, maybe more.”

“And what do we do with him in the meantime?”

“Take care of him, Fougue; take very good care of him.”

Fougue frowned. “The others won’t like it.”

“The others,” he said coldly, “will learn to like him or learn to live somewhere else. This is MY house and who I entertain here is up to me and no one else. They will not question me on this and I expect you to make that perfectly clear. They will treat him well or face the consequences.”

“Valentine...”

“Valentine is a spoiled bitch and it is about time he learns a lesson in humility.” He smiled a secretly amused smile. “Besides, I think the newest member of our family will be a match for any of them given time.” He frowned again. “He is weak. He will not admit it and he will not show it because the vampire in him will not allow him to. But he is weak and frightened. I think he has been on the streets for a long time and not taking care of himself. He is wounded in body and spirit and he needs taking care of.”

“That I can do.”

“It’s not going to be easy. He has been running for much of his life I think and he is not going to find it easy to stop. He is distrustful and afraid, and with good cause. There are few out there who would suffer one such as he to live if he were discovered and it is only the fact that he is such a mix of scents that cover each other and compete with each other that has kept him alive because it confuses the hunters.”

“You’re right that he’s lucky to have lived so long. He’s what... seventeen?”

“Older I think.”

“Most Damphirs don’t make it to their teens let alone through them. He is clearly resourceful and strong.”

“On the whole, but I think his reserves are depleted. He is not strong now and because of that he will fight all the more.”

Fougue smiled and nodded. “Too stubborn and too proud to admit weakness and accept help. I think I have experience in dealing with that too.” The two men’s eyes met and there was true friendship and understanding there.