The Vampire Stories of Nancy Kilpatrick

The Vampire Stories of Nancy Kilpatrick reflect the dark side of humanity, including our desires for passion, longevity, power, creativity and control. This volum contains 19 of her very best stories.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

The Vampire StoriesBy Nancy KilpatrickMosaic PressCopyright © 2000 Nancy KilpatrickAll rights reserved.ISBN: 978-0-88962-726-0ContentsTHEATRICAL VAMPIRES, Passion Play, Theater of Cruelty, Metadrama, EROTIC BLOODSUCKERS, Dark Seduction, The Game, The Hungry Living Dead, Vampire Lovers, MYTHOLOGICAL & HISTORICAL REVENANTS, In Memory of ..., Memories of el Dia de los Muertos, The Mountain Waits, BATS WITH BITE, The Shaft, Teaserama, Virtual Unreality, THE UNQUIET UNDEAD, Farm Wife, Root Cellar, UV, Sustenance, I Am No Longer, Leesville, LA, CHAPTER 1Passion Play"I'm looking for a man."Neanderthal eyebrows lifted. "You're in the right place, babe."Sweat-scent rode the smoke and Cheryl found herself sucking straw-size breaths through her mouth. "His name's Nightshade."The bartender paused a heartbeat. Green cone shades illuminated the felt on each of the dozen pool tables — islands of light amid the dense gloom. He nodded to the furthest corner.As she walked that way, Cheryl felt eyes like laser beams scan her body, stopping in places of preference — her high-thigh skirt, the short red t-shirt. No one said a word; they didn't have to. She wasn't unfamiliar with this macho world, although she never felt completely comfortable in places like this. She always felt alone.A game was underway in the corner. While one man leaned over the table, another seven clung to the darkness near the wall. A stack of paper money balanced precariously on the edge of the pool table.The sandy-haired man was just about to make a shot when Cheryl's heels stopped clacking on the hardwood. He turned as if the silence was noise, said "Fuck!", dusted his cue tip with blue chalk angrily and assumed a classic pool-player's stance. His cue pushed forward and struck the white ball too hard, at the wrong angle. The ball spun crazily and dropped into a pocket. He sent a murderous look in Cheryl's direction as he retreated to the wall. She folded her arms across her chest, feeling both guilty and defensive.Someone materialized out of the shadows. Tall. Lean. Long hair tied back, as black as the eight ball. His dark denim jeans and open black leather jacket fit his form like skin on a snake. A silver cross earring glinted in one lobe. She saw letters down the front of the midnight t-shirt:A B O AB Universal RecipientDramatic, she thought, then modified her judgement. Melodrama.He stalked the table, circling it twice with sexual grace, eventually stopping at a corner so that he faced her directly. All eyes were on him. In fact, most of the room had paused to watch. He lay the cue ball behind and to the right of the head spot then dusted his cue slowly, the motion sensuous. He leaned low across the felt, the leather of his jacket crackling softly. The light brought out a translucent quality of his flesh; shadows highlighted his cheekbones and a strong chin. A handsome corpse, she though, and he flinched slightly as if he'd read her mind.He made a bridge with his right hand and lay the stick across it. Cheryl noticed the handle. Mother of pearl inlays glittered beneath the yellow bulb. From everything Aleron had told her, that was just his style.The shot was a perfect set up. Cue ball. Eight ball. Cheryl's groin. He hunkered down behind the white, eyes close to the felt, and adjusted his bridge unnecessarily, going for drama again. She watched the cue ease back, the tip aim at the bottom of the white. The air cleared and the space between the two of them hollowed into a tunnel where time hovered.Suddenly his head shot up. Yellow eyes soldered into her green ones. Eyes the color of flowering Buffalo-bur — the Nightshade family. He winked at her at the same time his lips twisted cynically downward. Mesmerized by his stare, she heard more than saw the cue slide as if in slow motion. The cue ball started forward fast then suddenly stopped dead in its tracks. It shifted direction and spun under itself across the table. White barely tapped black. Black rolled willingly into the hungry mouth waiting to devour it.Reality fractured as if one of the green glass shades had crashed to the floor and shattered. Noise. Movement. Balls clinked, smoke clotted the air. He was already unscrewing his cue, returning the two halves to the case, pocketing the money. Walking past her."Nightshade!" she called sharply.He stopped but did not turn.She watched his broad shoulders tense as she said, "Aleron sent me."Now he turned, an animal focusing. A hungry animal. Ferocious. Before he could say or do anything, she said sternly, "My name is Cheryl. We need to talk. In private."He handed over his case to the bartender in exchange for a key to a store room. Cheryl entered first and walked toward the antique pool table in the middle of the small room, surrounded by three walls of empty beer cases. When he was inside, he closed and locked the door."Turn on the light!" Cheryl said, feeling the threat of blackness.Coming here, into his territory, wasn't such a good idea, she realized. Tense energy rushed toward her. She backed into the table, trying to avoid what she now realized was unavoidable, and braced for the inevitable. His powerful vibration overwhelmed her. In the darkness his lips barely brushed hers on their way to her throat. His incision was quick, precise, almost surgical. Painless. In no way dramatic. Obviously he wasn't the type to waste time when he was hungry, even if he had plenty of time to waste.Cheryl felt energy drawn from her veins, sucked up through her heart and down from her head. Cold silver light exploded on the inside of her eyelids, freezing her thoughts. Her limbs went glacial and began to numb. She struggled to shove him away but he was stronger, as she knew he would be. He could leave her near death. Vulnerable. Or worse. "Stop!" she pleaded, but the word was almost inaudible.Finally he did stop. Not when she asked, when he was ready. As he moved away, Cheryl's body collapsed onto the pool table, the weakened rind of a fruit after the pulpy juice has been sucked out.More light flooded her brain, a myriad of stabbing colors. At first she though it was an hallucination from rapid blood depletion. But the faint chatter, the clink of ceramic balls striking one another told her he'd opened the door and she was losing him. "Wait! Please," she gasped.He closed the door. He didn't have to. She knew that. His energy was still impatient and as bright as hers had become faded and dim.Cheryl propped herself up and looked in his direction. She could not see him but knew he could now see her clearly in the dark. "I need help.""Call a doctor.""Aleron said I could trust you.""Aleron lied.""Before he died he told me where to find you. He said to tell you he's calling in his chips. You owe him. Pay me."He was on her before her pulse could move along the small amount of blood remaining in her body. She suspected if there had been any blood left worth taking he would have yanked it from her veins and left her to the mercy of the mortals.He grabbed her hair. His eyes glowed supernaturally, shooting yellow sparks at her in the darkness. His pale face flashed disbelief and pain. She knew he and Aleron had been close, once, and suddenly understood why.Whatever his face betrayed, his words belied those feelings. "Were you a masochist before you died or did it come with the transformation?" He shoved her back against the table. She heard a click. White funnelled light from the shaded blub overhead rocked crazily around the room. Cheryl howled and covered her eyes against the solar-like glare."What did you expect?" he demanded. "I'd greet one of Aleron's castoffs with open arms? Welcome to my nightmare, sweet virgin of the dusk? I always wanted a child.""Aleron said you can be cruel."He laughed. The sound cut through her like a claw ripping its way down her backbone. "He should know." Teeth bared, he looked fierce. "He didn't teach you much about vampire etiquette before it bit it, did he? How unlike him not to foster independence. Maybe we should go nip Miss Manners."He grabbed Cheryl and forced her to look at him. The power he emanated was horrifying and beautiful at the same time. "One, vampire baby: never, ever venture into the territory of another nosferatu. It's an act of aggression. What happens next is instinct. You just got a taste of mine as I got a taste of you. Got that?"She nodded weakly."Two: we are a solitary species, in case Aleron didn't manage to convey that. If you should accidentally wander into another's designated dining area, get the hell out as fast as you can. Am I making myself clear?"She nodded again.He looked at her with a combination of revulsion, pity and annoyance, and pushed her away from him. "How long?"Cheryl propped herself upright. Her head swam. "What?" She felt his impatience like an assault."What do you think I'm asking? How long have you been coming to pool halls?""I've been like this just over a week. Ten days.""Damn!" He ran a hand through his hair. "Aleron was always a sucker, so to speak, for blondes. And brunettes. And redheads. So, why are you here?"Cheryl crawled up onto the pool table so she could sit; she didn't have the strength to stand. She studied his vitality and wondered how he's react if she asked him for a little blood. Just to tide her over."Don't even think about it," he said."As I so obvious or can you read minds?" Her brain felt dried out and the room was weaving worse than the light. She bent her head, trying to keep from passing out, and fell forward. A hand like a wall held her up."I hope Aleron rots in hell!" she heard him say, accompanied by the muted sound of leather crackling.The scent spread up through her nostrils and down her throat. Copper roses. She opened her eyes and saw a river of rubies. He pulled her head to a slit in his chest and her lips found the wound as easily as a nursing baby finds a nipple. She held his shoulders in a vice grip and sucked. Warmth flowed in, expanding out from her stomach and through her icy body, defrosting her. The metallic roses blossomed and warm rain coated her flesh. Warm rain in moonlight ...Suddenly she was cut off. It was as though a silver knife severed her into two sections — heart and head.He shoved her away. "Greedy little leech. Don't expect to be invited back to any of my parties."She felt much better. Mind clear, body energized. She was still hungry. He pressed two fingers to the wound near his heart and within seconds the bleeding ceased.As he was slipping his t-shirt and jacket back on, she noticed defined muscles dancing beneath his skin. "Why'd you help me?" she asked.He turned away."I mean, you could have left me here to rot. Aleron said you might."He turned and the look on his face was amusement. "Aleron said that, did he?" He threw back his head, opened his mouth and roared with laughter — he looked like a wild animal so self-satisfied that for once it lets its guard down. His stained incisors glinted steel-strong and were longer than Aleron's. She felt in her own mouth with her tongue: her eye teeth would grow. Aleron assured her of that. In the meantime, she'd have to find another way to pierce skin. If she could bring herself to do it. All the blood she'd drunk until now had come from Aleron.Again, his words said he was privy to her thoughts. "I suppose Aleron fed you with an eye dropper." His eyes turned serious and one side of his mouth pulled back in disapproval. "As of this moment, vampire baby, consider yourself weaned. Tomorrow night you eat or starve."The idea frightened her. She didn't know how to feed. Didn't know if she could even bring herself to do it. Drinking some blood from Aleron, and now Nightshade, was one thing. Taking it from a breathing, pulsing mortal ... Someone who was very much alive as she herself had been not so long ago ...He reached out and instinctively she ducked, but he only pulled the cord and shut the light. He crossed the room, opened the door and was gone. Cheryl hesitated then jumped up to follow.Nightshade had collected his case and was already starting down the steps to street level by the time she caught up. His hips held just the right amount of tension. His stride was long, his legs muscular and powerful in the tight black denim and she had trouble keeping pace. Aleron had told her that her strength would increase over the years. What he didn't tell her she had deduced: for a while — and she didn't know how long — she would be as fragile as eggshell, far more sensitive to impending daylight than he, more volatile in her needs. In fact, her hunger was outrageous by any standards she knew. She wanted food — no, blood — when she wanted it, and all other drives paled in the face of what she was quickly learning was a compulsion. Not one she had any control over either.Nightshade stopped beside a black Jaguar with tinted windows. This is probably where he seduces his victims, she thought.After they were both seated, he looked at her. "Better buckle up, darlin'. At least that's what I tell the warm-blooded men and women who usually sit in that seat."Suddenly she was tired of being toyed with. "Look, if you can read my mind, just say so.""Anybody can read your mind. Your heart's on your sleeve and your thoughts, mundane though they be, are imbedded in your pretty little face like gossip from Variety."Despite the insult, she felt a secret thrill that he'd called her pretty. She stifled that thought, though, in case he was aware of it. "Where are we going.""Nap time."Annoyed with him, she stared straight ahead, not waiting to give him any satisfaction. Not wanting to give him anything. This old vampire, new vampire routine was growing stale. But even as she thought that, she also felt surrounded by liquid exhaustion, a feeling much the same as when she used to dive into a pool and be engulfed by water. Pressed from all sides. Weightless. Alone.When Cheryl opened her eyes she was lying in darkness alone. She sat up and banged her skull against something solid. She felt above her and to the sides and realized she was in a wood box, a coffin. A panicked scream was just erupting from her gut when the ceiling raised and strong light poured in."Sleep well, my little seraphim?"When she could tolerate the light enough to open her eyes, Nightshade's perfect features filled her range of vision."Let the hunt begin!" he said with a sonorous tone, walking away. Then, "Shake your booty, scream queen."She sat up in what was a coffin-like box. It wasn't like any coffin she'd seen before, not that she'd seen many. Aleron hadn't slept in one, but he did require complete darkness. As did she. The rectangular box was big enough for two, and she was naked. "How'd I get here?""You metamorphosed into a bat and flew in your sleep." He stood, legs apart, hands on his slim hips, wearing a variation on yesterday's outfit, looking handsomely ferocious. "I carried you in from the car, how do you think?""You didn't sleep with me, did you?"He raised an eyebrow, crossed his arms over his chest and made a disgusted noise. "Aren't we being just a tad precious, princess of darkness, not to mention unnecessarily chaste? And ungrateful. I don't have a spare casket. I wasn't expecting company until the millennium."She hauled herself out of the box and onto a platform that took up most of the floor. Her clothes were next to the coffin. She felt his eyes licking her body and her nipples hardened; she dressed quickly.The hardwood floor was a stage. A heavy scarlet curtain with big tassels along the hem hung at the edge of it, and beyond a domed ceiling littered with blazing stage lights. Out in the darkness she saw rows of ornate seats. Other than that, the relatively small space was bare. "This is a theater!" she said astonished, slipping her skirt up over her hips, remembering that Aleron told her Nightshade had been an actor, and a good one, at least before he changed."No kidding. All the world's a stage, honey, and the play's the thing. I am the star of this farce," he crossed one arm over his midriff, extended the other above his head and bowed deeply. His body snapped upright. "And you're the bit player.""Why are you so hostile to me?" She turned on him, sick of his cynical jabs. Hunger made her irritable.He walked to stage right and flipped a switch. The platform with the coffin on it lowered into the floor; wooden floorboards raised to disguise the opening. Another switch clicked and footlights caught her from below. She cringed to avoid the searing light."How did Aleron die?"She'd been waiting for this question but now that he'd asked she didn't know where to begin. "It was out of the blue. Could you turn those lights off?""You mean it wasn't cancer? He didn't wither away? How odd." Nightshade stalked her. She was intimidated by that wave of power she'd felt the previous night. "Cut to the chase, honey. You might have all night, but I have plans to keep and miles to go before I sleep.""There was a fire in my building during the day. The firemen came with their hoses, breaking down doors and windows ..."He turned and walked away from her, his cowboy boots slamming the boards."He died instantly. I don't think he suffered."He spun back. "You don't think he suffered? How the hell would you know, you fledgling twit?""Look, don't take it out on me. I didn't start the fire. I would have saved him if I could."Before she could blink, his face was in hers. "How come you survived? Aleron had two centuries of experience under his belt. Seems suspicious to me.""You don't think I did that to him? What possible motive could I have? He was my protector. He helped me adjust.""He brought you over. Was it against your will or did you grow up in the burbs loathing garlic and dying to sleep on dirt?" His face was cold, murderous. "How about revenge? You wouldn't be the first. Like I said, Aleron wore blinders." (Continues...)Excerpted from The Vampire Stories by Nancy Kilpatrick. Copyright © 2000 Nancy Kilpatrick. Excerpted by permission of Mosaic Press. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

About the Author

Nancy Kilpatrick is an internationally renowned, awardwinning author of thirty books, including seventeen novels, five collections of short stories, and has edited eight anthologies. Her works are acclaimed in the genres of dark fantasy, horror, fantasy, and mystery. She was born in the United States and now lives in Montreal, Canada.

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