A Vampire's Thirst_Adrian Page 2

  “Where can we talk?” he asked.

  Lavinia gestured for him to take a seat at the small, rickety table that occupied a corner of the room that served as both living room and kitchen. In a gentlemanly manner, the detective waited for her to sit before he took a seat on the opposite chair, which creaked under his frame.

  “I’m desolate, but I have bad news—” he started, raising the glamour.

  Lavinia shook her head, feeling sick to the stomach. “No,” she said.

  “It’s about Carolina Fini—”

  “No!” she screamed, bringing her hands to her mouth.

  “She was found dead earlier today,” he finished. “I’m sorry.”

  “It can’t be.” Lavinia stood and ran to her friend’s bedroom door, wanting to prove that the man was wrong.

  Only, Carolina’s room was empty, and her bed lay untouched.

  “Lavinia,” the vampire called in that hypnotic way that was typical of his race.

  In a haze, Lavinia found her way back to the table.

  She and Carolina would go hiking soon, and Lavinia would finally come out to her friend. She had taken too long, though, and now it was too late.

  “I’m sorry, but I need you to identify your roommate,” the man said.

  “I can’t go to the morgue,” she whispered, shaking her head as she hugged herself.

  “I understand.” The man reached under his elegant suit jacket and produced a cell phone. “Unfortunately, I’ll have to ask you to take a look at a picture.” He swiped the phone on and turned the screen toward her.

  Lavinia averted her eyes, terrified of what she would see.

  “Do you recognize her?” Detective Lane asked her a second time. His voice was gentle but firm as he kept the cell phone in front of her, and she didn’t have any option but to look at the image straight from a horror movie.

  “Lavinia?”

  She finally nodded, unable to speak.

  “Thank you,” the man said, turning off the screen.

  Carolina… sweet, soft-spoken, beautiful Carolina was dead.

  The detective pocketed his phone. “When did you see your roommate last?”

  Lavinia blinked, but the image of Carolina’s body covered in garbage wouldn’t disappear. If anything, her mind supplied her with the details she hadn’t noticed at first. The marks on her swan-like throat. The pallor of her skin. Her blue eyes opened, staring at nothing.

  “I know it’s difficult, and I apologize if I insist, but it’s very important that you tell us anything you can about your friend. Every little thing helps, even if you think the detail is not important.” The man was calm and poised, but Lavinia still couldn’t talk.

  She couldn’t breathe.

  “We want to catch the bastard who did this to that poor girl,” Detective Lane said. “I just need a few answers.”

  Lavinia nodded again. “Okay,” she whispered.

  “Good,” he said. “Do you remember if you saw Carolina last night?”

  Lavinia raked her brain for an answer. They had just started a new job at a pub in Trastevere, but while Carolina had the lunch and afternoon shift, Lavinia worked nights. Lately, they had only seen each other in passing, so they’d planned the hiking trip to remedy that.

  She let her eyes roam around their—only hers now, the mere idea sickened her—little apartment, looking for anything that would stir her memory. Her gaze went to the magazine on the coffee table under the window, and she saw Carolina commenting on an article she had read. Something stupid like how to please a man in ten moves. They had both laughed. Men should start learning how to please their women in ten moves, not the other way around. Lavinia couldn’t help a small smile that soon flattened.

  “Yesterday, we had breakfast together before she went to uni for her morning classes,” she said, every word they had spoken and every laugh they had shared now etched in her mind.

  “Did she study at La Sapienza?” Detective Lane named the closest university to Lavinia’s apartment building.

  “Yes. She’s—she was going to graduate in two months. Science of Mass Communication.”

  “Do you know if she had other plans for the day?”

  “She worked the day shift at Leone Rampante—”

  When Lavinia mentioned the name of the pub where both she and Carolina worked, the man’s expression darkened.

  “She worked at Leone Rampante?” he asked slowly. “The one in Trastevere?”

  Lavinia nodded. “Yes, that one. I work there as well, but I cover the nights.”

  “When did she start working there?”

  “Less than a month ago. I was already working at the pub, and the manager asked me if I knew anyone who could work the day shift because one of the girls had quitted without warning and they were understaffed. Carolina needed the money—” She couldn’t finish the sentence, tears burning a trail down her face.

  “It isn’t your fault. Carolina isn’t dead because you told her about the job.” The detective stood from the kitchen chair. “Please, call me if you remember anything else.”

  “You’ll catch this pervert, right?” Lavinia asked, wiping her cheek with the back of her hand.

  “I promise.” Detective Lane slightly nodded at her and walked to the door. “One last thing,” he said, pausing at the threshold.

  Lavinia looked up.

  “Did Carolina know that you are a werewolf?” he asked.

  Half-breed, she mentally corrected the man. “No,” she whispered. “I never told her.”

  “Thank you.” The vampire closed the door behind him.

  Alone once again, Lavinia let herself go, unable to keep her pain inside much longer.

  3

  Adrian drove through Rome at breakneck speed. His Ferrari purred under his seat as he pushed her across alleys and squares, cutting reds and avoiding collision with cars and scooters at the very last moment. Unleashing his red beauty was Adrian’s guilty pleasure. To him, it was the highest of highs because he could exercise his control over the chaos of Roman traffic while testing his reflexes. Sometimes, he found likeminded drivers, and impromptu races happened.

  Mark’s call arrived when Adrian passed a yellow Lamborghini. He took the call as passersby shot pictures of the two sports cars racing down the narrow street as if it were a Formula One racetrack.

  “Hi, Mark,” Adrian said, changing gear.

  “Sorry to disturb you, but there’s something you should know. I just discovered that the girl dumped behind Leone Rampante also worked at the pub. She was one of the waiters. I’m headed to the pub to talk to the manager.”

  “I’ll be there shortly,” he said and hung up.

  The news unsettled Adrian. He waved at the Lamborghini driver and veered right.

  Usually, driving calmed him, but as he neared the Trastevere neighborhood, his nerves felt as taut as a violin string and he was ready for a fight, not a conversation about murdered girls.

  As soon as he reached the pub, one of the valets walked to the curb to take his keys, while another held the door for him. His personnel stood inside, waiting for him in a row.

  Sitting on a high leather stool by the bar, Mark greeted him, raising a tumbler. “I have already talked to the staff.”

  “You can go home,” Adrian said to the room at large.

  People marched out the pub, expelling several audible sighs. Adrian waited at the door, never comfortable in crowded places. He wasn’t the most sociable person to start with, and with his superior senses, an abundance of smells and sounds could drive him crazy in no time.

  He left the double door open for a few seconds to change the air after everyone had left. With the large room finally deserted and the outside air cooling the stifling warmth, Adrian advanced toward the bar when a powerful scent hit his nostrils. He recoiled as if slapped squarely in the face.

  “Adrian?” Mark jumped down the stool and walked toward him. “Are you okay?”

  As Mark approached him, a thirst the li
kes of which Adrian had never experienced possessed him.

  “Adrian?” Mark said again, worry etched in his voice. “What’s happening to you, mate?”

  In the tight hold of the unbearable thirst, Adrian couldn’t answer. He couldn’t even think straight. He only knew that he needed to feed. His vision blurring, he ran to the kitchen and the industrial fridges where he knew he would find the bags of blood stocked for the pub’s undead patrons. He tore bag after bag, gulping down cold blood without stopping to warm it up. The substance was vile and foul, but he couldn’t stop himself from gorging on it until he depleted the entire pantry.

  Only when the last bag lay empty on the white and black floor did Adrian look at his friend.

  Mark stared at him in shocked silence. “What did just happen?” he finally asked, moving around the edge of the room and giving Adrian wide berth.

  Even after drinking the amount of blood that would have kept him fed for several months, Adrian felt drained and still empty. “I don’t know,” he finally said, raking his hand through his hair.

  “I thought I’d lost you for a moment,” Mark said, his eyes cutting toward the pile of emptied bags strewn across the floor. Blood splatters stained the tiles.

  Adrian couldn’t help but salivate at the sight of the red sprays. Had he been alone, he would have crouched and licked the floor, such was the thirst still holding him captive. Full of shame, he stormed out of the kitchen through the back door that opened into the lateral alley.

  Mark followed him outside. “You’re scaring me.”

  Adrian inhaled a long gulp of air, cleaning his lungs from the pub’s scents, and almost immediately, he felt the madness lessen. He leaned against the wall and looked up at the night sky that was about to brighten with the pink light of dawn.

  “I must take refuge,” Mark said with a pained voice. The sickening smell of charred flesh accompanied the sound of sizzling skin. His movements were already sluggish as he moved back inside the restaurant.

  Adrian felt awful. Mark had remained awake long past his curfew because he’d been worried for Adrian, and now he was in mortal danger.

  “Beneath the kitchen, there’s a saferoom.” Adrian closed the door behind him and grabbed Mark’s elbow.

  The younger vampire was already lethargic, and by the time they reached the trapdoor by the fridges, his legs went numb, dragging behind him. Adrian threw his friend over his shoulder and descended the stairs leading several meters under the street, where the Roman catacombs started.

  Every piece of property Adrian owned in the city was built directly over the ancient cemetery that extended for kilometers underground. His saferooms were well-known among the undead because of Adrian’s policy to offer a haven to anyone in need, no questions asked. Being one of the oldest vampires alive meant that he had seen too many vamplings die for no other reason than they didn’t have anywhere to go at sunup.

  He entered the first of the empty rooms excavated into the tuff rock and limestone and deposited Mark on the bed that would cocoon his unresponsive body for the rest of the day. To Adrian’s great relief, Mark’s burns were already healing, so he sealed the room knowing that his friend would be fine when he woke.

  Instead of going back to his house, he took care of the mess he had left behind in the pantry, then went back below. Adrian lingered in the catacombs, needing to straighten his thoughts. He hadn’t had time yet to analyze what had just happened to him. He wandered through the deserted corridors. Dimly-lit and humid, the place was riddled with empty niches that had once housed mortal remains. His steps disturbed the preternatural silence as he paced, looking for answers to explain his sudden thirst.

  Not even when he became undead did he ever experience such overwhelming thirst, and vamplings died all the time because they couldn’t curb the burning sensation which commanded their every action when they first woke as vampires.

  Adrian trembled at the mere thought of having to fight anything like that ever again. What could trigger such havoc in a vampire as old as he was, and a day-walker at that?

  No ready answer came to him.

  4

  Lavinia stared at the cup of milk and coffee in front of her. She had microwaved her breakfast beverage three times already, failing to drink even a drop of it before it cooled again. The smell of milk, usually pleasant, now turned her stomach.

  An anchorwoman was giving the latest news on TV, and Lavinia turned it off when she saw the picture of Carolina filling the screen. She started crying again, leaning against the table with the hard surface vibrating under her cheek.

  Moments later, her cell phone rang. Her hand reached out automatically to turn down the call, but with the corner of her eye, she caught the name of the caller. If she had felt sick before, now she could barely breathe.

  It was Mrs. Fini, Carolina’s mother, and Lavinia couldn’t ignore her. Half an hour later, she finally hung up. The experience had drained her, but she needed to make another call, to her family. Her father was an early riser and if he hadn’t already turned on the TV, he would do so soon. She had just reached for her phone when it started buzzing and ringing with the chorus from the Carmen, her father’s favorite opera.

  “Lavinia,” her father frantically said as soon as she answered. “We just watched the news—”

  The conversation that followed was only slightly less painful than the one she’d had with Carolina’s mother. Her entire family wanted to talk to her. Not only her parents, but her little sister as well, her grandmother, and even the aunt who had heard about Carolina first and told her father. By the time they finally hung up, Lavinia could barely think. She threw the cell phone onto the couch and dragged herself to her bed.

  Staring at the ceiling, she wished it were a nightmare, but she didn’t wake to Carolina brewing espresso before leaving for the day. Exhaustion consumed her as her eyes took in all the shadows and cracks on the white ceiling, and yet, she wouldn’t sleep because every time she lowered her eyelids, she saw her friend lying in that dumpster.

  Much later, she took a shower and forced herself to drink some coffee. Food was out of the question. She moved from the kitchen table to the couch and checked her phone. There were several lost calls from the pub. Giulio, her manager, had left a message saying that she could take the week off if she needed.

  Lavinia looked around at the apartment, seeing Carolina everywhere. Her mother had told her that they would stop by later in the afternoon to pick up clothes for the funeral. Between sobs, the poor woman had asked if Lavinia could let them in because they didn’t have the key.

  A knock on the door startled Lavinia and brought her back to the night before when the same sound had heralded the most horrific of news.

  “Lavinia?” Mrs. Finis called out.

  Lavinia opened the door and found Carolina’s parents and her older brother waiting in the hallway. No words were exchanged. What else was there to say? She had thought there were no tears left to cry but she was wrong. Mrs. Fini hugged her and they stood like that, sobbing for a long time before they entered the apartment.

  “I’ll give you some privacy,” Lavinia said when the stricken family glided toward Carolina’s bedroom.

  A few minutes later, Mrs. Fini called to her, asking, “Would you like something?” she said, pointing at the heap of clothes on Carolina’s bed.

  Lavinia stared at the jeans, shirts, turtlenecks, and scarves. So many scarves and turtlenecks. Carolina had worn those even in the hottest days in August. It was a source of constant jokes between them. Now, Carolina would never wear the polka dot turtleneck Lavinia had given her for her birthday ever again.

  “To remember Carolina,” Mrs. Fini added when Lavinia didn’t move from the doorway. “I thought you might want one of those shirts—” her voice broke.

  “I’d like the orange and pink scarf,” Lavinia said.

  “Of course,” Mr. Fini answered for his wife, who was staring at the clothes on the bed, tears streaming down her ashen face.r />
  “Thank you.” Lavinia retreated into the hallway to leave them alone with their sorrow.

  The apartment was too small to contain their combined grief, for Carolina was still roaming the rooms with her easy laugh and kindness. Not knowing what to do with herself, Lavinia ambled outside the apartment and kept walking until she found herself on the street. Her mind a blank slate and her heart heavy, she wandered across Rome without a goal.

  The afternoon light faded into the darker tones of the night. The lights from the restaurants and shops illuminated the streets. The smell of deep fried pastry filled the air. Children wearing Carnevale costumes threw confetti at smiling passersby. How could life continue when something as horrific as Carolina’s death had happened not even a day ago?

  Tears filled her eyes, blurring the happy reality that couldn’t match her sentiments.

  Soon, the night brought a different kind of crowd on the streets—men and women hurrying to meet their dates, families taking care of last-minutes errands before their dinners. Lavinia kept walking among the throng, crying and unseen until her legs gave away under her.

  “Miss?” someone called from far away.

  Lavinia’s head was too heavy, but she tried to open her eyes.

  “Someone call 911.”

  From within the recesses of her mind came the warning that she couldn’t go to a mortal hospital.

  “Is she breathing?”

  Gentle hands touched her. She struggled to react.

  “Miss? Can you hear me?” a more authoritative voice asked.

  Lavinia moved her hand. “Yes,” she whispered.

  “Good. Can you tell me your name?” the same man asked.

  Lavinia tentatively opened her eyes and saw a man wearing a paramedic uniform looking at her. “Lavinia,” she started, frantically thinking of what to say next to get out of that scrape.

  “Okay, Lavinia, we’re going to take you to the Policlinico Gemelli.”

  At hearing the name of the hospital, Lavinia shook her head. “It’s okay. I didn’t eat anything today and fainted.”