The next snippet of a story from Vampires Don't Drink Coffee and Other Stories, in celebration of Hallowe'en 2021, tells the tale of Melissa, who suddenly finds herself homeless and then the beneficiary of a house in the country in her aunt's Will. As we pick up the story, she has just arrived.
The Monster Within
A cup of tea, she thought briskly. Everything always looked better over a cup of tea. As she went into the kitchen she noticed a door going down to a cellar or basement, but found it locked and the key missing. Shrugging, she located the kettle, filled it and switched it on, then fetched in her meagre luggage. Having put away her provisions, she made herself a cheese sandwich.
The sky grew darker and darker, forcing her to put the light on. The air seethed with menace, the clouds a deep purple edged with violet shading into black. The wind whistled down the flue of the kitchen range and moaned under the eaves. Bouncing on its hinges, the solid wooden door into the walled garden swung open, then crashed shut again. Melissa forced herself to take slow, deep breaths.
A low rumble reverberated across the heavens, soon followed by a jagged flash of lightning. Rain came on its heels, slashing diagonally from the livid firmament, a strange yellow light issuing from beneath the black thunder-heads. There was a sharp crack and the kitchen light went out. With recent events so fresh in her mind, Melissa shrieked and dived under the wide pine table, her heart jumping towards her mouth. Cliché or not, lightning had been known to strike twice...
She wrapped her arms around her head, the chunky sleeves of her thick brown cardigan helping to give the illusion of safety as she lowered her face towards her folded legs and curled herself into a tight ball. The elements roared and crashed outside the house, a primal game of Quidditch between the forces of heaven and earth. Electricity sizzled and snaked across the angry sky; the wind howled through the crone-fingered branches of the plum tree outside the back door and the fierce downpour gouged furrows in the pinkish grey gravel of the yard.
How long she huddled there, trying to ignore the raging thunderstorm, she could not be sure, but gradually she realized it was quieter overhead. She braved a look out of the window, a tall casement painted white with four panes of glass, and saw from the greying light that due to the storm, dusk had fallen early. Also, unsurprisingly, this being the middle of September, the temperature had dropped several degrees, despite the residual warmth from the oil-fired stove. The drum solo outside was still going on, but with slightly less intensity, indicating that the electrical orchestra was slowly moving away.
Easing her cramped limbs, Melissa crawled out from under the table, pulling her fingers through her long, caramel-coloured locks.
“Good evening.”
She jumped at the unexpected greeting, fetched herself a vicious bang on the head and squealed loudly.
“Ow! Damn it!”
A candle flared to life and the owner of the rich, velvety voice stepped forward into its gentle light.
“Who the hell are you?!” she demanded. Still on her knees, she cradled her sore head in one hand, too concerned with her hurt at that moment to have time for fear.
“You must be Melissa,” he said. “I am Giorgio.”
“What!”
“You received your aunt’s letter from the solicitor, did you not?”
Melissa nodded, her startled wits struggling to cope with the reality of a tall, dark haired and sinfully handsome man instead of the feline she had imagined.
“Oh my...” she breathed, “you’re not a cat, you’re a toy boy!”
Lips twitching, Giorgio slid a wry glance down his muscular torso. “Hardly a boy,” he remarked without a trace of self-consciousness.
Melissa’s cheeks flamed. She had not meant him to hear. “I’m sorry,” she stammered. “It’s just I thought... I assumed... quite wrongly, obviously... that my aunt... must’ve acquired a cat... or something...” Her voice faded in embarrassment, her eyes unable to meet his, with their lurking enjoyment of her discomfiture, yet at the same time drawn to his magnificently toned body.
He was wearing a black sweatshirt and black jeans, emphasizing his narrow hips and broad shoulders. Melissa suddenly felt breathless. She and Ian had never been intimate; she had wanted to wait for her wedding night and he – as events had so tacitly proven – was almost pathologically shy of commitment. Not only had he not supported her in her time of need, he had almost always managed to wriggle out of family gatherings and had never invited her to spend the night at his flat, although he had slept on her sofa often enough. In spite of this, however, she had no doubts as to the meaning of the heat pooling in her loins. For the first time in her life she felt an overwhelming physical attraction to a man.
As if he was aware of the effect he was having on her, Giorgio smiled with feline satisfaction and raised her hand to his lips.
“I bid you welcome, Miss Andrews,” he said with old-fashioned courtesy.
Aroused from her trance, Melissa snatched her hand away and jumped to her feet, resisting the urge to rub her tingling skin on her jeans.
“So who are you, the butler, the gardener or – or a conman on the take?” she asked tartly, taking refuge in indignation.
Giorgio’s grey eyes took on a stormy hue, but his voice was deceptively calm when he replied:
“I am, you might say, a permanent house-guest.”
“And how did you talk my aunt into that one? Hypnosis, or good old-fashioned blackmail?!”
Melissa knew she was being rude, but could not help herself. What other explanation could there be? Her aunt had been eighty-three, not averse to the occasional game of Bridge with her friends, but mostly happy to potter in her garden, doze over a book and generally live out her days in quiet seclusion. She had died naturally on that bench – or had she? Melissa looked at the man in sudden alarm.
He rounded the table with the easy tread of a panther; before she could move, he was in front of her, his hands grasping her shoulders. She knew a stab of fear even as she raised her chin in an effort to quell the electricity which surged through her at his touch. She met his smouldering gaze squarely, but could not prevent a nervous swallow. Power exuded from him; a power she was scared to admit, even to herself, that she found intriguing.
***
Giorgio’s mind registered in passing that the girl was so slender, she was almost undernourished. Her shoulders were thin; her beautiful face, lifted so defiantly to his scrutiny, fine-boned and doll-like. He took her chin between finger and thumb, well aware that she was trembling – and why. The pulse of her blood called to him; the scents of her soap and shampoo, the food she had eaten and the essence that was purely Melissa bombarded his senses. He had been aware of her presence from the moment she had arrived, but had not been prepared for the way his blood thrummed with desire the instant he made contact with her body. It would be so easy, he thought, to bend her to his will, to taste her sweetness, but she was innocent and afraid. He would not take advantage, even though the beast within him demanded otherwise. He squeezed her chin.
“Did your mother not teach you to be polite to guests?” he asked, deliberately making his voice calm and compelling. His eyes held hers when she would have looked away, full of remorse.
“I – I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “I’m not normally rude. But... my aunt... was elderly, and you... you’re...”
Giorgio raised an eyebrow. “I?”
You’re gorgeous! Her thought was as clear to him as if she had spoken it aloud, but he carefully maintained a neutral expression as she stammered a response.
“You’re young... my aunt lived alone... I jumped to conclusions. I don’t know what came over me. Sorry.”
“I am older than you think, Melissa,” he said softly. He smiled, but it was laced with irony.
Born in Italy, the son of a poor farmer, he had been discontented and resentful. Tilling the stony soil, working from dawn to dusk for barely enough to live on had not suited his adventurous soul. He had wanted more from life. He had wanted to see the world. One day, after a fight with his brother, he had sought solace in a tavern, where he met a beautiful stranger. She flattered him, enthralled him with a pair of tantalizing dark blue eyes and then, with the kiss of death, damned him for eternity. He was twenty-five.
He drifted the world for centuries, able to see all those faraway places of which he had dreamed, but discovering, as the years went by, that he was more fettered than he had ever been as a mortal. Forced to exist on the fringes of humanity, feared and hunted; exiled from his family, he was compelled to endure, for decade after decade, a solitary lifestyle which was empty, lonely and meaningless. He was on the edge of madness when, following an abortive attempt to end his suffering in the rays of the new sun, Melissa’s Aunt Melody discovered him in her father’s churchyard.
For seventy-three years Melody had protected his existence, culminating in the purchase of this remote house after she inherited her father’s estate. Then when she had become ill, she had discussed with Giorgio the advisability of telling her niece the true nature of that existence, and after much deliberation, had decided it was best he judge for himself when the moment was right to do so. He had no doubts that now was not that time.
He brushed his thumb across Melissa’s lower lip. “We should be friends for your aunt’s sake, do you not agree?”
She nodded. He had deliberately mesmerized her with his touch, but only enough to keep her calm. He leaned in towards her. At once he saw in her eyes that she was wondering if he was going to kiss her; she was clearly not sure whether she wanted him to.
“You are safe with me, bella, just as your aunt was,” he said quietly, straightening again. “We were friends, nothing more. I am not what you fear.” Little do you know, it is far worse, he thought with a wry twist of his lips.
No part of this text may be reproduced in any form without the expressed permission of the author.
© Heather King
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