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Immortal Cupid
by Idda
Author's Note: none of these characters belong to me(except the dead ones:) ; I don't know any
of the people mentioned here; this story is and pure and absolute fiction; and it's also my
very first one, so comments are *very much* welcome ;))
**********************
A ragged gasp echoed in the quiet night, stirring nothing in the vast square.
In his arms, the blonde prostitute tensed in shock as he sank his teeth into her tender white
neck, her hands grasping his shirt as the first waves of deadly pleasure hit her thin frame.
The thick blood tasted of alcohol and cigarettes, of a life spent in dirty smoky bars and cheap
mattresses.
To him, it was the most divine nectar.
In a sweet bout of ecstasy, he rocked back and forth with her body grasped tight in his arms,
drinking mindlessly. Her golden wavy hair smelled of citric fruits, contrasting with the musk
of her clothes, the sweat of a thousand different men who had touched those milky white arms
before him. She was like a marble statue of decadence he had picked carefully out of the so
many the Italian nights could offer, to give him this unique pleasure of feeding greedily as
he set free her battered soul.
And this one, this 30-something trashy whore, she was somewhat special; she had killed her
last 'client' at cold blood, just before he caught up with her in this damp alleyway near the
piazza. Her heartless attitude about the murder made him wonder if she had already done this
before, if she was merely a killer, just like him... well, there was only one way to find out.
Now here she was, swooning in his arms, and he was seeing the faces of a million abusive fathers,
a horde of different men that had played that painful game of violence, sex and money, over
and over, every single night if her life. Smiling, he stopped for a moment, and studied his
sinful angel, a victim that could have passed for his twin, so tall, so blond, so beautifully
blue-eyed. She had a serene expression on her face, like she was about to fall asleep, her
full rosy lips parted as she breathed slowly, with a little difficulty. Actually, looking better,
it almost seemed she was trying to whisper something...
He bent his head, listening carefully for the thread of sound she was struggling to say: ''Dar...''
''What, dear?'' he asked in Italian, gathering her even closer to him.
''Darren.......'' she whispered, the Venetian accent thick on the pronunciation of the double
'r'. Could that be the name of the man she murdered? Or was she calling out for a loved one
at the final minutes of her poor life? The girl's struggle to pass this message enticed his
curiosity.
And then, she was humming a sweet melody, very weakly at first, but stronger as she managed
to reproduced a full pattern of simple notes. She was tried to move along this lovely song,
but found herself already too weak to do it. Mercifully, he swayed her light body, humming
along the tune perfectly as he granted what seemed to be her last wish- dying to the sound
of this beautiful music.
''What is this, darling? An old lullaby you used to fall asleep to?'' he asked into her ear.
''And who is this Darren? Is he the man you just killed?''
But she had closed her eyes, and seemingly also her every other sense, relaxing into the song.
He knew she was already too far gone to answer any questions. All he could do now was try to
get to her memories as he plunged into the flowing river of her blood again, drinking her past
along with the rest of her life...
~ He saw the blue sky of a bright summer day, warm and beautiful; he felt the hot gust of
wind blowing on her hair and carrying away the cloud of cigarette smoke she puffed into the
air. She was tired, depressed, bitter. Around her the beautiful city was full of life and happiness,
and she was feeling out of place. Leaning over the balcony of the second store flat, she gazed
at the overcrowded square, watching the teenagers as they cheered and screamed, boys shirtless,
some girls too. It was a summer music festival, and all week it had been like that, heat and
pop songs, and the Italian youngsters passing out under the sun as they saw their idols on
the stage. She thought it was stupid. And now there was this band playing, and the girls were
shrieking madly, and it had finally dragged her out of her lover's bed to see what was all
the commotion about. She looked over to the stage, and smiled. The singer was grabbing at his
crotch. ~
Against him, he felt the girl's body going slack, and she was smiling.
~ She thought he was very beautiful. Dark hair cropped short, thin frame and toned arms naked
under a tight black t-shirt drenched in sweat. He had a mischievous little smile on his pale
round face, surveying the damage he'd done with that impish gesture, looking proud of it. The
long silent break between songs was quickly being filled with more cries from the audience;
and suddenly, they all roared as the band played the opening bars of their next song. Voice
going husky, the sexy front man announced it's title and launched into the romantic words of
the hit, silencing the crowd: ''I'll be your dream, I'll be your wish, I'll be your fantasy..........''
~
And he smiled too, slowing down to allow them both to savor that delicious memory.
~ She felt happy, she swayed along to the music, all problems and sufferings of her rough
life forgotten......~
Her heart was beating slower.
~ .......and then he was crooning to the end of the song, in a high-pitched voice that made
her smile in blissful delight; a handsome blond guitarist approached and for a minute they
looked at each other in the strangest, almost intimate way. But now the song was fading, and
all she could hear were the beautiful notes of the acoustic guitar...........~
He held her tight at this final moment; the vision was fading.
~.............and she was there, with that exquisite dark-haired singer; he had come for her
in the dead of the night, drunk and lost in the city streets, and she couldn't believe her
luck. They were back at his hotel, and he was eager, but so very sad afterwards...he was crying,
hands on his face, saying...........~
She tensed suddenly, her blue went eyes wide, as if a sudden burst of fire had brought her
back to life.
~.......crying, and saying, It's not you I........~
''Please Signore!'' she gasped, clinging to him desperately. ''Please tell him!!''
~............not you, that song, I love............~
She whispered something coarsely in his ear; a name, a confession from the bed of a celebrity
who shared it with his cheap one-night stand, in the frenzy of alcohol-indulged depression,
trusting her never to tell, or knowing he'd probably not remember enough of that night to
actually regret it.
~...............not you, that song belonged to h-...............~
She was dead.
He stared at her glassy eyes for a long moment, thinking on all he'd learned in those brief
minutes.
Then he spit on his hand and covered the marks on her neck with his saliva, watching pensively
as they miraculously faded away.
He let her body slide from his arms onto the ground.
And as he left the dark alleyway, his sensuous lips were curving in a wicked grin.
A famous band, a twist of fate, a nervous breakdown in a luxurious hotel; and a dark little
secret slipped trough a dead whore's lips into the ears of a particularly bored night being.
All of suddenly, he thought to himself as he considered the pieces of this interesting little
puzzle, I feel like playing cupid.
***
PART 1
The tall blond man stood next to a car on the other side of the street, watching casually
the scarce late night activity in front of the pretty little hotel.
A car stopped on the curb, a lady in an extravagant dress and disheveled hair stepped out.
A small group of drunk party goers stumbled into the building, tripping on their own feet as
the girls swung almost empty wine bottles in their hands. Trough the quick opening and closing
of the glass doors, he saw the dozing receptionist waking up started with their noisy laughter.
Then it all went quiet in the street, and the slow settling of the Venetian morning mist went
on undisturbed.
Only a few of hours before dawn. He knew he had to move quickly.
In the darkness, he went from the front to the back of the hotel. Opening the heavy gate of
the garage with a little of his preternatural power, stealing through a handful of fancy cars,
quietly into the large empty kitchen, he finally stepped silently trough the soft green carpet
of the lobby, and pressed the elevator button. The old receptionist snored loudly behind him
as the doors slid closed and he ascended to the 4th floor.
He padded down the dark hallway to the thin slit of light leaking through a half open door.
Just as he'd expected. So far, he had been right about every little detail of the path he made;
now he hoped he was also right about why he had decided to come here.
He entered the room slowly, taking in the slight mess on the small living room first. There
were beer bottles on the small table, little chips and their plastic packets scattered over
the white sofa and the carpeted floor, as if someone had been using them as weapons in a playful
war. A few pieces of masculine clothing tossed here and there. It made him smile. Pop stars
and their eternal common and characteristic mess.
Moving into the bedroom itself he found what he was looking for, and unconsciously, he held
his breath at the sight.
More bottles and more clothing scattered around the expensively white room.
Lying nude on the bed, curled on his side, a sheet tangled around his lower body as if to
intentionally cover him and keep at least a little of his decency in the whole situation, was
the victim of the prostitute that fate had put in his path.
He took a few steps closer to the bed, and examined the pale body. There was a red spot on
the mattress underneath him. He moved to the other side of the bed, trying to see the wound;
but the man's arms were over the place where it should be, covering part of chest and stomach
ad also most of his crooked face.
Sighing, the vampire realized this was it. He would have to turn the body, and consequently
he'd discover if there was any hope at all. What didn't please him was the fact he might end
up just gazing at a cold corpse and all this trouble coming here would have been useless. But
even if he wouldn't admit to himself, he had grown a bit of compassion for the poor man in
all this. He deeply wished he would at least have one last chance...
Leaning over, he put his hard hands on the white flesh of his back; and in a surge of hope,
he felt still a faint warmness on the soft skin.
Gently, he turned up the body, glad when it moved with no resistance at all, muscles and limbs
perfectly flexible as he lay the young man on his back. His right arm fell next to him with
the shifting, and the vampire saw his rather pretty face at last. Just as beautiful as the
girl remembered, he thought.
Then he looked down, finding the source of the blood that stained the bed. A large gash cut
his body from a few inches under his right nipple, trailing down to right above his navel in
an ugly red bow.
The vampire let out his breath in a relieved sigh, only then realizing he had been holding
it all along. It was quite a long wound; he'd probably have the scar for the rest of his life.
Because, somehow, this man's chest still rose and fell at each breath; and that cut, in spite
all it's bleeding mess, was only superficial.
Ah, the tragedies some feelings could cause. What would have happened if she hadn't fallen
in love with this lovely stranger the minute she heard his angelic voice? What if the cold
wind seeping through the open window hadn't been enough to coagulate the blood? What if he
had been desperate enough to take the matter into his own hands?
Then one young talented life would have been wasted because of the strange twists and turns
of the heart, who always caused such complicate passions and fuelled such disastrous events
that invariably only ended in sadness and pain.
Well, this time it wouldn't end like that, not if he could help it. And, judging from the
state of things, he knew that if he couldn't, no one else could; and he would have never ended
up here.
He ran the tips of his cold fingers over the pale round face gently, following the traces
of his tears down to his stubbed chin, touching a light thumb on the parted pinkish lips to
feel the slight brush of air as he exhaled in his sleep. ''Well, Mr. Hayes, seems like you
will live to love with your very breath after all.''
He gazed at the dark-haired singer for a moment. So this is the one behind those passionate
lyrics, the one with who sang with the intensity of a burning Romeo earning for his darling
Juliet. And indeed, just who is this one who enflames his heart so much? He realized he knew
nothing of the one Darren had gone to such extremes for.
Well, I ought to find out if I want to bring them together, oughtn't I?
But first, he had to take care of this one.
He examined the wound again, finding himself hesitant on what he had to do. This wasn't a
dead corpse after all; there might be some kind of consequences from this unusual way of healing.
But it was all he could do, so he at least had to try.
Taking a stony left wrist to his lips, he tore open the vein with his teeth; and laying down
the pouring fount to the gash, he covered it in his blood carefully.
The young man moved slightly, his head turning a little to the left, a soft sound issuing
from his throat. The vampire smiled knowingly. No matter what type of exchange, the preternatural
blood was invariably pleasant when experienced, by mortal or immortal.
He pulled back his arm; the singer was quivering, little spasms on his fingers and arms, his
breath growing labored as the blood worked it's magic on his flesh. Slowly, the wound closed
itself, and his toned chest and firm stomach were whole and immaculate again.
The vampire surveyed his work carefully. His 'patient' had stopped trembling, and seemed to
have lapsed into an even deeper, more peaceful sleep. He felt his forehead for his temperature;
it was warmer than before, but not too much. Satisfied with the results, he pushed the cover
up on the languid body and smoothed a few rebellious strands on his short black hair.
Getting up, he gathered the stained sheets carefully, pushing them out of the window; he'd
take care of it later. In a haste, he picked up the broken glasses and other evidences of the
quarrel-resulting mess that it had been before.
He passed to the living room, searching for anything that might betray the earlier events
there too. Finding none, he decided to leave the present mess untouched, as not to rise any
suspicions.
Finally, the blond vampire stood on the bedroom window, feeling the signs around him for precisely
how much time he had before the sunrise. The stillness of the city around him and the brilliance
stars among other faint signs from the world told him he had at least two.
Then he glanced back at the sleeping beauty on the bed, and smiled. It was time to go get
the charming prince.
***
..to be continued.
other fics to be read
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