~Immortal Cupid~
Immortal 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.
***
yes, i know it just can't be left there, but that's all we have for now..