The Nightlife: New York

Page 8

Michelle cupped his face with her hands. “Oui, is my fault. You were not truly prepared, but now you know. There will be no excuse next time. You must never make this mistake again. Let this be a lesson.” She was dead serious. He caught the flow of her emotions leaking through their psychic bond. She had an unwavering resolve to ensure that Aaron never abused another woman––a deadly resolve.
He followed this thread of thought in Michelle’s mind via their connection. This bloodslave thing was a real sore spot for her. She’d seen it happen before. He caught a shadowy glimpse of numerous faces. Thin, emaciated faces. A great heap of sadness and grief hid just under the surface of her mind. He almost reached into that pile of writhing snakes, but thought better of it. He shied away from her pain and leaned back to the other side of the bench seat.
She held him with her calm, unnerving gaze. He’d dug a little too deep, traveling through unwelcome corridors of her mind.
“I will do whatever is necessary to be certain you respect them. Do not test me.” There it was in her mind, plain as day for Aaron to read. She would ensure he was careful with the women they fed from, even if it meant killing him. This mistake was on her, a freebie. If he continued abusing women it would get serious. A non-negotiable issue. He sensed a dark gruesome history underlay Michelle’s strong feelings. She had been a victim.
* * * *
CHAPTER 6
Aaron stood beside Michelle on the roof of her apartment building, looking out over the city lights, breathing in the smells, listening to the night sounds of passing cars and people living normal lives. To his enhanced vision the night sky-line and rooftops glowed with illumination. He could see everything, almost as if it were daylight. His night vision was superb.
Standing there looking down on the world, he felt divorced from the human race, an outsider peeking in windows but never truly entering within. He’d felt this way before, especially after his father’s death, but now it was real. He was truly disconnected from all of humanity.
The tangs of city life in all their ripe flavor drifted on the air; remnants of meals cooked, unwashed sweaty bodies, sewer vents and auto exhaust. He took it all in, identifying each scent with the understanding that he would never again be mired in such things, human things. It was exciting, but equally intimidating. He had no one in the world but this strange woman he called Master. His father had been gone for years, and his mother bailed on him shortly thereafter. Relations with Kyle and Delia and all those other people who were once a significant part of his life couldn’t continue. He was detached from the world and all its problems, and it felt kinda … good. He felt free, like a great weight had lifted from his shoulders, all expectations gone. There was no one to answer to, no one to buy beer for, no one except Michelle. She reminded him of this new weight of expectation as she squeezed his hand demanding attention.
She’d brought them to the roof but hadn’t bothered to explain why. She turned to him, “Is a good time to learn how your new body moves. Is purely instinctual. Don’t think too much. Watch me, I go first, then is your turn.”
With that, she did the craziest thing he’d ever seen. She stepped right off the roof of her twenty story apartment building and landed gracefully on the fire escape catwalk two stories below. No ceremony, no warning. She did it like it was the thing to do when standing at the edge of a building. Like the chicken that crossed the road to get to the other side. She touched down as if nothing. Virtually no impact from her landing.
Michelle continued doing the impossible by leaping across the alleyway, flying fifty feet through the air, and gradually descending in a graceful arc until she landed on the wall of the neighboring concrete building. As she hit, she crouched down into the impact and vaulted off the wall back out into the alley for another graceful arc of descent. She glided down at an angle into a textbook perfect landing precisely at the fire escape catwalk outside her apartment window. With each of these artfully executed maneuvers she descended lower and lower as though traveling down a switch-back trail from a mountain top.
After all that, she had the audacity to lean out over the catwalk railing and look up at him with an innocent smile. “Now is your turn.”
He was stunned into silence. He stood there with a dumb expression, his mouth open in awe. She was a friggin’ Jedi master, a super hero (heroine). Spider Woman, Cat Woman, and the Black Widow all rolled into one. And just how the hell was he supposed to keep up? How could she expect him to do that shit?
When he regained the ability to speak he protested loudly, “No. Fucking. Way!”
She had that I’m-not-playing-with-you-Imbécile look.
He tried to reason with her, “Maybe this is another one of those situations I’m not quite ready for yet. I honestly don’t see how I can do that.”
“You can do this, no problème. Your body knows how to move. Is like breathing. Don’t think about it!” She smiled again. Wonder Woman hadn’t even broken a sweat. She stood there with an expectant look.
“No way José. No can do.” He shook his head. A dread sensation settled in the pit of his gut. She’s fucking serious. She really wanted him to jump. Her impatience with him broadcast over their psychic bond. He sensed what she was about to do a split second before she did it. That was all the warning he got.
“Jump now and follow in my steps!” Michelle spoke in that strange resonant timbre of command and he jumped off the side of a twenty story building involuntarily.
“Oh shit oh shit oh shiiiiit!”
Much to his surprise, he made a decent landing on the catwalk below, same as Michelle. The thirty foot drop felt like only three feet. Continuing on with the follow in my steps command, he leapt across to the neighboring building, descending in an arc. He basically followed Michelle’s path, but had underestimated his strength. When he hit the wall of the neighboring building feet first, the cement cracked a ten foot wide spider-web. He launched off the wall exactly as she had done, mimicking her movements and following her path of descent, but a large piece of the wall dislodged behind him and fell to the alley below. He was far more powerful than he knew.
In his final maneuver, he miscalculated again, using way too much force for his jump. Instead of landing on the catwalk as she had, he plowed straight into her. Of course, she saw him coming and intercepted him. She spun and slammed him into the wall, redirecting his force and knocking the wind out of him with a bone-crushing thud. He thought he heard something crack, but he wasn’t sure if it was his back or the wall. Felt like his back, maybe his ribs. It took a moment to catch his breath past the sharp pains in his back and chest.
“See, I told you! Next time listen when I tell you something!” she snapped with a smug grin. “Stupid Americans. Think they know everything!” she spit in derision.
“Tu me pèles le jonc!” She let him know his behavior had gotten on her nerves in her not-so-cute-anymore French accent. With this she heaved Aaron over her shoulder, spinning 180 degrees. He went flying out into the alleyway tumbling end-over-end, headed straight for the pavement. He had absolutely no forewarning. She’d cleverly concealed her intention to toss him over the railing of the catwalk like yesterday’s newspaper.
“Oh Fuck! Oh my god!”
Though he had no warning, he recovered quickly. As she had attempted to explain earlier, he instinctively knew how to manage the fall. Like a cat with nine lives and inhuman agility, he twisted and turned in the air to bring his spinning momentum aligned for a feet first landing. He dropped into a tight little crouch with the impact, his hands touching down for balance. He fell four stories without injury.
Michelle shocked him further by issuing another compulsory command, “Come to me now!”
He leaped into the air, snatched up the bottom rung of the ladder twelve feet off the ground, and scaled the fire escape. He pounded up the stairways at a breakneck velocity any fireman would be proud to witness. He reached Michelle on the fourth story in mere seconds. The little psychotic witch welcomed him with a smile.
He watched her with trepidation. She damn near killed him twice in the span of a couple minutes. He couldn’t decide whether he should laugh, scream, cry, or beg.
As she opened the window to let him into her bedroom, she mocked him. “Est-ce que tu as le démon de midi?” Having a mid-life crisis?
He followed her inside and wisely kept his mouth shut. She went about the apartment doing this, that, and the other thing, girly things. She kept her distance, letting him calm down. How courteous and considerate of her.
Sitting on Michelle’s bed, steeped in the scents of her perfume and other distinctive body odors, he attempted to reconcile his new reality. He was now a blood-sucking vampire with amazing physical strength and agility, and some rather interesting talents for seduction. He had exceptionally acute senses and could read the minds of those nearby. He was a slave to the will of his drop-dead gorgeous––though slightly psychotic––vampire master whom he found difficult to trust and was fast learning to fear. The question was how did he feel about it?
Stuck. Stuck on her, and stuck with her.
She seduced him effortlessly every time she spoke in that alluring-irritating-cute-sexy-maddening French accent. Despite all the reasons he shouldn’t let emotion color his dealings with Michelle, it was too late. That war had been lost before it began.
Love at first site.
Whether she was a guardian angel or a demoness didn’t matter. He was smitten, infatuated, and he could hardly keep his eyes off her. She had him good, right where she wanted him, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. She owned him; body, heart, and soul, and she hadn’t even fucked him yet. He knew she didn’t feel the same way about him. He was a trainee, a liability, not a man to love or respect.
All things considered, he decided it wise to conceal his thoughts deep in his mental vault and try not to wear his foolish heart on his sleeve. He might be her slave, but that didn’t mean he was without pride.
She slipped up on him quietly, and her fingers traced a pattern over his shoulder, sending a zing straight to his groin. “Are you planning to scowl for the rest of the night or are we going to have sex?” She gave him her Helen of Troy smile that could launch a thousand ships, sending them all to their demise.