Final Days Page 2

  In her inebriated state, the thought brought comfort from her dire future.

  A death sentence. No time off for good behavior. No stay of execution.

  She flung her arms out. From now on, she lived life with every breath she took, all in.

  “All in!” she called out to the universe.

  “All in!” she repeated with impact.

  Dropping back onto the tiled floor of the balcony, she curled up, pulling her arms and legs in close, grateful everything still worked.

  Tomorrow she would book a flight to London.

  THREE

  The party went all night. Her friends didn’t need much of a reason to plan a party. Just that their favorite American friend had shown up unexpectedly two nights ago was reason enough.

  Cecil, Roscoe, Patrice and Alisa had been inseparable when they’d begun their reporting careers together. Percy had sent Alisa after he hired her fifteen years ago to London, the lone American amongst a team of four. They had become colleagues and friends instantly.

  They had gone to war together. Laughed and cried and recorded heartwarming and heartbreaking stories…together.

  This is what she came to London to do. To see them for what might be the last time. To laugh with them again, and talk about outrageous things they’d done together.

  Cecil and Roscoe were the wildest characters she had ever known. Practical jokers, they were known for incredibly elaborate, expensive, and intrusive gags on friends and shocked co-workers. Alisa loved them like brothers.

  And Patrice. Loud, aggressive, sometimes overwhelmingly obnoxious Patrice. Who’d had a crush on Alisa from that first day they’d all bunched together into a small booth in a diner on the west side to muse about how they were going to change the world. Youth was so wonderfully arrogant and optimistic. They had gotten drunk and giggled all night, walking back to their tiny flat, drunk and stumbling, holding each other up. And promised that they always would.

  Now, at this farewell party that no one but Alisa knew was the last one, she gave Patrice a long hug, in which the gruff Patrice held her too tightly, because Alisa had always known she had the biggest and softest heart of all. Once, years ago, Alisa had found her crying in the corner of their hotel room after they had interviewed the mother of a child killed in Afghanistan.

  And now, Patrice sensed something was wrong.

  When she pulled back, Patrice held Alisa’s face in her hands.

  “What’s going on, mate?” she asked.

  “Nothing. It’s all good, my friend. Thank you for this lovely party.”

  Patrice smiled again, and although she knew something was wrong, she didn’t pry further.

  “Okay, then. But you talk to me, if you need to, eh?”

  “Absolutely. Now, I think we need to join the boys in that drinking game. Can’t let the men win, right?”

  “Oi, no! A travesty right enough!”

  So she ended a long night with her closest friends, having decided that she would leave them with these wonderful memories.

  Alisa had always been the first one to turn in at night…a good eight hours too important to sacrifice. Not now. She closed the party along with Cecil, Roscoe, and Patrice by monkey-stepping down the boulevard in front of their flat. She couldn’t imagine a more perfect way to end their time together.

  By the time she had to rise the next morning to catch a plane to Scotland, she’d had about three hours sleep.

  Before she went out the door, she left a special gift for each of them on her borrowed bed. And a five thousand dollar check for one of the young women at the party who’d told them all that her six-year old daughter wanted to take ballet lessons, but she couldn’t afford them. On the bottom of the check, Alisa had written a brief phrase. Let her dance! What? It wasn’t like she was going to need that retirement account she had set up ten years ago!

  Alisa laughed all the way to the Isle of Man, her memories of so many crazy stunts with this crew of exceptional reporters. They had done a lot of good, helped a lot of people, with their stories. That was what a good reporter did. They would have marvelous careers ahead of them, and she was sorry she wouldn’t be there to see it. She’d always pictured the four of them someday sitting on the porch of a stately pillared home, old and complaining, telling war stories of their “glory” days. Well, when they did, she hoped they would remember she was right there with them.

  On her bucket list, she wanted to stand on the ragged cliffs almost at the top of the world at land’s end.

  Alisa rolled her head to look out the window of the plane. She was exhausted, but in a good way. As tired as she was, she could not sleep while her flight carried her across countryside so beautiful, she could not let herself miss one second. Plenty of time to sleep later.

  Her flight landed in Scotland on time, which wasn’t common, and she lifted her bag up carefully as she left the plane. Her hands were weaker now, and sometimes her grasp wasn’t strong enough to support anything with much weight. The symptoms of her condition were becoming more frequent. If they could just hold off another six months, she would finish this journey.

  It was so beautiful. The winds were strong, violent at times and very cool, but she found it enervating and life affirming. At this very moment, perched on the cliffs of one of the Shetland Islands, northernmost of the Scottish isles, she felt more alive than she ever had.

  Nothing matched the rawness of these ragged cliffs that cut the edge of land before the furious dark sea went on forever. Straight down and inhospitable, the top of the sharp-edged cliffs made a rough seat as she sat alone with only a single seabird calling to her.

  And the first tears began, slowly, then faster. An awful moment as she let herself finally accept that this was real, there was nothing going to change the future. She was dying and it would be soon. The loss, the awful loss, of the years she would not get. The moments of happiness and sorrow she’d never know. No chance now to have a family that she was never sure she wanted. No great epic love. She’d never get to look in a mirror and lament over increasing wrinkles and sagging jowls.

  No point in planting a tree, she’d never see it grown. She had never had a pet. Her mother had not been a kind woman and she’d hated animals, so there had never even been a fish in Alisa’s childhood. But she’d always hoped someday to get a puppy or kitten, because her heart told her, even as a little girl, she would love it to pieces.

  As much as she’d realized she’d wanted to be there for the major human events, like the day a rocket left for Mars, or maybe finally the cure for cancer, it was the little moments of a life that she would never get, that she regretted most.

  She thought of the little storage container she kept outside the city that held some family heirlooms, antique furniture she’d kept for the day she bought a little house in the country. There was no point in keeping it now.

  Alisa pulled her thick cable-knit sweater around her and slipped the collar up to cover her ears. She was shivering now, the brutal northern wind off the wild sea almost an assault. No matter. It was good to feel it, to revel in the experience, because soon she would never feel cold again. Never experience the warmth of a soft sweater against cool skin. She wouldn’t know it, of course. Death was the end of life and all things attached to it.

  Suddenly, perched at the top of the world overlooking the ragged edge of Scotland, her bucket list turned into things she would miss.

  Star-filled skies. The full moon, Saturn’s stunning rings, Jupiter and those amazing Galilean moons. Sexy high-heeled shoes. The new season of a favorite TV show. Warm chocolate chip cookies. Waking up on the first day of spring to the sun and soft breezes to wander outside in bare feet with hot coffee, ready to say goodbye to winter for a little while. Cicadas in late summer. And the kitten she never got to have.

  So much to lose. Life. Precious. More so when it’s stolen so soon.

  Now, wrapped tight in the heavy sweater, Alisa just let herself breathe. And enjoy this very moment. That’s all
it was now. Moments left, to find joy in every one of them. Her job was easy now. Live. Love. Breathe.

  She was on a journey. The final one, because the symptoms were advancing quickly now. Travel around the world one last time. Enjoy every breath. Say goodbye.

  Pushing up, Alisa took one last lingering look at the angry sea. She nodded before she turned away. Goodbye Scotland. Check. Off the list. She would not see this shoreline again.

  FOUR

  Dawn, when the day awakens and stretches its arms to envelop the world, was the quietest time in the village. It was when the vampires turned in to sleep and the human blood-bonds had yet to rise.

  Ahmose loved this part of the day most. He could walk it, briefly, until the relentless ultraviolent overcame his limited ability to tolerate that spectrum of light and he had to turn in like all the others. But that tiny strip of time, for him, was a bit of the magic that weaved through the lives of the first blood vampires on this dark continent. His clan had lived here in Zambia in South Africa for over a thousand years. Happily. Safe.

  All beings, human, or super-naturals, animals and insects, were children of the Mother Earth, born to thrive on this planet of plenty. But his clan of vampires, all born vampires, rather than made like most who lived all over the world, were called the children of the moon because of their connection to that celestial satellite. It moved through the beautiful skies of the Mother and brought power to the children of the moon. He was leader of this group of forty first blood vampires. They had been forty-two at one time, but two had been lost to the outside world and no one had seen them since.

  Ahmose moved to the door of his dwelling as his skin began to heat. His home sat at the highest point in the village, a large yurt like most of the villagers lived in. Although, as leader, his was the grandest.

  It was time to go in and sleep until darkness came again. He would, anyway, even if his skin could take the daylight. A vampire was anthropologically wired to tire intensely at daybreak and need to seek shelter and rest.

  Just reaching his door, he opened it and was about to close it behind him when he caught movement outside and stopped to look.

  Windari, a first blood as old as he was, stood outside her yurt, her face to the coming day. He watched, sheltered from the direct light inside his doorway, as the sun moved across her face.

  She spread her arms, and turned directly into the white light, her face and hands going bright red.

  He felt a moment of alarm and started forward when her eyes shifted and she looked directly at him. She smiled and backed into her home, closing the door silently.

  What the hell? He closed his door, too, and slid the protective shield over it, then turned into his living area.

  Was she considering seeking the light? Ending her life?

  He sighed as he dropped his clothes on the floor and headed to his bed. Tonight he would find Windari and there would be a discussion.

  Before he got into his bed, he poured a glass of his favorite spiced wine and sat on the edge. It was cozy and extremely comfortable, but missing one thing that would make it perfect. A mate. Shoazan. A woman capable of bringing vampire children into the world, the rarest thing on earth. In all his many years he had never met her. Destiny promised that the leader of the children of the moon, he himself, would bring forth a new generation. But he had been denied that destiny for so many years, he began to believe it was false.

  Draining the glass, he stretched out on the plush mattress, pushing the satin top-sheet aside. It was warm tonight, even with his environmentals set on cool temperatures, because Mother Earth was warm this time of year and his people were connected to her. He wished he could sleep outside where the natural air would cool his skin, but he was vampire and that would never happen. Even first blood vampires, as powerful as they were, could not control the earth and the moon.

  His hand slipped down to run over his cock, erect now because he’d thought about his phantom mate. He’d have to bring one of his favorites in after he rose tonight to take care of the over-active organ. Vampires by their very natures were extremely sexual, but lately he’d been excessively needy. He wondered if perhaps it was because of his dreams.

  Erratic, intense, he’d been dreaming quite a lot for several months that something was coming to his village. Blessing or disaster, he did not know. The portents were there in the dreams, vague as usual, so he had to try to interpret the meanings. He couldn’t. But he worried that it was something bad.

  He needed a seer, a first blood with the talent to read the portents and divine the future. The village had one a long time ago, but she was one of the missing. So Ahmose was left to interpret the odd images and events in a dream-world he was not familiar with. Time would resolve the question, but he wished he could be more prepared for whatever would come. For now, he would sleep and try not to dream.

  Windari watched Ahmose as he entered his dwelling. Such a magnificent man. Their leader, functionally and spiritually. The son of the moon and father of the new generation, someday, if the right woman would be found. It pissed her off that he never considered her for his mate.

  She turned and prepared her dwelling for rest and caught her image in the wall of mirrors along the side of her rest suite. Smiling, she watched herself as she slipped out of the sheer dress she liked to wear. It covered little. Why not? Her body was incredible. Vampires had amazing bodies, but hers was exceptional. And that face. Her mother couldn’t have graced her with a more beautiful visage. She was stunning and powerful, the perfect mate for their king, and he barely noticed her.

  Standing, her legs spread, her fingers traveled along her shape, tracing perfect breasts, flat belly, and into the folds between her legs. Ahhh. That was the spot.

  She liked to make herself come. And watch. If she’d been able to get Ahmose in here, she would have loved to have him fuck her in front of these mirrors. But none of her subtle invitations had been accepted. Subtle, because it was considered disrespectful to be forward. Otherwise, she would have thrown him in here and mounted him long ago. And if that had happened, he would never have left her.

  Now, though, she reached for a large vibrator and sat down on a velour couch she placed in front of the mirrors for the very reason of getting herself off. She hadn’t had a regular lover in centuries. A few blood-bonds for their skills with their tongues, but no intercourse. She was waiting for Ahmose. Only a king would do.

  The mechanical toy worked wonders and she screamed in release just minutes after insertion. Modern technology had much to commend it, she thought, as she placed the long device back on a shelf with a variety of other sex toys she had ordered from a place in Germany.

  With a satisfied sigh, she threw herself down on her pink satin sheets. Her eyes searched the darkness after she turned off the lights. Something was in the air. She felt it whenever she was around Ahmose. Something was coming. It concerned her, but made her hope that things between them may yet change. Windari fell asleep on her stomach dreaming of Ahmose’s cock moving inside her and his fangs at her throat.

  FIVE

  Some distance away in Southern France

  Koen crawled out of bed, wishing he felt rested. He didn’t and he knew it was because there was a problem in his household. When there was a problem, sleep had to wait until it was resolved. He’d been like that through most of his ten centuries of life. Had never learned to just let things go. He was a fixer, especially when it came to family.

  And the two missing vampires were family. Or close enough. Jacob had been with his new son-in-law, Bas, for two hundred years. Now that Bas and Koen’s daughter, Park, had moved into his villa in the south of France, Jacob had come too.

  Koen admitted he liked the man quite a lot. They’d gone to town together a few times to share blood meals and find women for the sex vampires needed almost as much as they needed blood.

  And Starla, the cute girl from Alaska that had come up missing in the first place, causing all this trouble, now a brand new vam
pire, was a friend of Eillia. Eillia was important to him, so the little vampire Starla was too.

  Still, he was exhausted, most of the time lately, but this issue of disappearing vampires needed to be addressed immediately. Things had gotten out of control last year, and by fuck, it wasn’t going to happen again this year. If he had anything to say about it. And he usually did. He was an ancient first blood vampire. Usually, the world around him bent to accommodate his desires.

  Since first blood vampires were born as vampires, they were much more powerful than vampires made by infusing a human with enough vampire blood to trigger a conversion. Changing the base DNA structure of the human’s body, the blood infusion would painfully rewrite that human, who would live as vampire for the rest of their life. But would never have the skills and powers a first blood had naturally.

  Essentially, first bloods were the parents of any vampire that lived in this world. And there were very few of them. To Koen’s knowledge, only about twelve existed, mostly in this part of the world. He conceded that it was possible there may be others elsewhere, but since a first blood emitted life signals through their lifeforce that other first bloods could read, he doubted it. It was true that they could mask that lifeforce, if desired, but there would be no reason for them to do so. He felt confident that the dozen or so he knew of now were all that survived.

  He and his clan lived amongst the humans undetected, maintaining anonymity and peace. Their homes, often compounds, were usually elaborate and isolated, so no one realized that the residents there did not age or die. Any vampire could use compulsion to control humans or erase inconvenient memories.