Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Thirteen
First Blood

When I turned my cell phone back on Monday night, I had four messages. I check my voicemail, only to learn they were all from Renee. The tones ranged from concern to white-hot anger. Guess she must have found out that I resigned today. No surprise really, since Marquis had counted on both of us to maintain the continuity of the office. Now, that responsibility fell solely to Renee. I felt horrible doing that, but I really didn’t have any other choice. I could no longer perform the necessary functions of the job, namely attending courtroom trials. I’m not sure exactly how I was going to manage that with my own private practice. I guess that’s what associates are for.

As I listen to my messages, I start to feel a bit…fuzzy. I was having trouble focusing on the messages. I really wanted to be somewhere else. Greywolf must have noticed my distress. “It has been three days since you last fed, Childe, and a poor meal at that. You must be getting rather hungry, and I must be getting remiss in your care.” He heads to the front of the small apartment towards the kitchen. I don’t hear the refrigerator door open though.

I stroll into the rather bare living room and see that Greywolf has his coat on and is pulling on a pair of black leather gloves. “Um, where are we going?” Last time, he’d simply let me drink from one of those blood bags.

Greywolf picks up my coat from where it lay on the sofa. He tosses it at me. I barely catch it before it falls onto the heavily stained and matted carpet. “Ask not where am I going, but where are we going?” He replies. “We are going out for a bite.”

A bite? I think I had some idea of what that really meant. I had to bite someone and drink their blood. I wasn’t entirely sure I could do that. “Don’t you have another one of those blood bags?” I ask.

Greywolf smiles and shakes his head. “I’m afraid not, my dear. A unit of whole blood is very hard to obtain. You either steal it from a blood bank, or buy it from an enterprising Kindred. It is also not a very optimal source of vitae. No, sooner or later, you must learn to hunt, and now is as good a time as any.”

“I’m not sure I can do this.” I put my coat on. I really wasn’t sure about anything. Nothing seemed entirely real.

“You can and you will, Raven.” Greywolf’s face darkens to an expression fast approaching rage. “Because you cannot survive without it. I know that you are a survivor and will do whatever it takes.”

Of course, if I was such a survivor, then why was I dead? I didn’t dare to ask him though.

“Come along. The sooner we leave, the sooner it will be over.” Once again, I find myself oddly compelled to obey. I follow him out the door and in moments, we were once again prowling the darkened streets of Seattle in Greywolf’s van. As we drive, Greywolf begins the next round of lessons.

“There are six types of victims.” Greywolf explains to me. “The first are animals. Their blood is a poor substitute for human vitae, but it will do in a pinch. The second type is a kine that is regularly fed upon by a Kindred as part of their herd. Ventrue, with their rarified tastes, will often have a herd, as do the Toreador, who gather admirers around them.”

I nod. That made sense, since the Toreador were the artistic types. “The next group are the kine that let us drink their blood in exchange for sex, favors or money. You will generally find them on the streets or in the various Goth clubs. Next are the unwilling passive victims. They are the ones that are either sleeping and/or drunk. Take care though, because what affects the blood can also have an effect upon you. Next there are the unwilling active victims. There are the kine that fight back, much as you did. Some of our kind enjoy the taste of adrenaline; some find it bitter.”

“You said there are six. What is the last?”

“The most dangerous of all. Kindred. I do not recommend ever drinking from another of our kind. The vitae is the sweetest of all, but there are great risks. You could find yourself bound to the Kindred if you drink from them enough. Or if you drink too deeply, you could wind up being blood hunted. As I was once an Archon, you should carefully uphold the Traditions of the Camarilla, lest it reflect badly upon me.”

“What is an Archon, exactly?” I had heard the term mentioned before, but I did not know exactly what it meant.

“Much like the kine, the Camarilla Kindred have a form of police force that upholds our laws. They are called Justiciars, and one is chosen from each of the seven Clans. Of course, they cannot be everywhere, so they choose deputies, called Archons. Though they never choose an Archon from their own Clan, they are permitted to choose three. It is rather worrisome if an Archon comes to a city on ‘business’, but the arrival of a Justiciar generally means that a Prince or their city will be going down in flames…literally.”

“You were an Archon, but no longer. So what happened?”

“Every 13 years, the Council gathers in Venice to choose new Justiciars. At that time, they are allowed to choose their Archons. When my Justiciar was released from his duty, so was I.”

I nod. The streets were becoming dark again, and I could see a lot of cars driving around. This was Seattle’s red light district, where drug dealers openly sold their wares, prostitutes walked the streets in search of customers, and where the cops rarely went after dark.

Greywolf cruises down the street. He was looking for something…or someone. We drove by several prostitutes hanging out on the corners. Finally, we slow down as we approach the corner of 3rd and Main. I watch as we finally come to a stop in front of a streetwalker. As she approaches the van, the lines of her face become prominent under the harsh streetlights. I was betting the woman was probably no more than twenty, but she looked at least my age. The streets had a way of rapidly aging someone, and she was apparently not immune.

Like most whores, male or female, it did not matter, as long as the customer had the cash. She leans on the passenger side, looking past me, and to Greywolf. She seemed unafraid, even though there were two of us and only one of her. Perhaps her pimp was lurking somewhere in the shadows. But then again, she might just be a freelancer, as she didn’t have the stick thin look of a drug addict that was a common form of control used by pimps. “Hey. What can I do for you?”

Greywolf does not allow me to speak, silencing me with a single look. He leans across me to speak to her. “We need a third.” He says, pulling me close. “You game?”

“If you got the money, hon, I got the time.” It sort of seemed like she knew Greywolf, as she was using a rather familiar tone.

Greywolf flashes the wad of cash. “Get the door.” I lean over and slide the panel door open. She climbs into the van, her tall platform shoes not hindering her at all. I guess it just took practice, but I was never too interested in walking around in such torture devices.

Greywolf had done this before, I could tell. He pulled away from the curb and headed straight down the strip toward a hotel so cheap, they charged by the hour, and reached it without hesitation or direction.

We pull into the parking lot of the Satellite Motel. The dirty neon sign announces a vacancy. Probably several, actually. Greywolf pulls into the parking lot in front of the rooms, away from the registration office. He turns to me. “Go get us a room, my dear.”

I nod and slip out of the passenger seat, leaving Greywolf with the unsuspecting kine. Or perhaps she did know what she was in for. She seemed to know Greywolf, so maybe she had dealt with him before.

The registration office was small and dingy. The clerk’s window was fronted by glass, likely bulletproof. A sign nearby announced that they did not take checks. The clerk was dark-skinned, more than likely Indian, and not the Native American kind. The clerk’s tone was neither warm nor friendly, rather more tired than anything else, and it was only six in the evening. “You need a room?” He asks.

I nod. “Yes, for a little while.”

The clerk looks me up and down. I suppose I didn’t really look like his usual type of clientele. Or heck, maybe I did. “Minimum three hour. Fifteen dollars please.”

I take a twenty-dollar bill out of my purse and push it through the small slot in the glass.

The man takes the cash, and pushes a registration card and a pen toward me. “You fill out.”
I look at the card. It was like any hotel registration card. I list my name as Jane Schmidt, giving an address a few numbers off from the address of the Kingdome. The clerk barely glances at the card. I guess he was used to seeing fake names and addresses. He then puts a five-dollar bill on the desk, and puts a key on top of it, pushing both through the slot. “Room Five.”

I offer a small word of thanks, and take the key and find the room. It wasn’t all that far from the office. But then it was a rather small motel. I go to the van and knock on the driver’s side window. Greywolf slides open the panel door. He gets out first, and then helps the woman out.

I lead them to the room and unlock the door. The room was tiny. The double bed dominated the room, and the nearby nightstand was bare of anything. No phone, no coffee maker, no microwave. Not even a television. I guess the motel’s owner figured that their clients didn’t need that sort of entertainment.

As Greywolf closes the door, it shuts with a sort of finality. This truly was the point of no return. The point at which I knew that everything had truly changed. I stand on the edge of the room, watching Greywolf and the woman. I did not want to do this. I really didn’t.

Greywolf pushes the woman’s dyed blonde hair back from her neck. He kisses her neck while looking at me. “We will have to go easy on her. It is her first time.” The woman nods in seeming understanding. He then speaks to me. “You can leave your clothes on, Raven.” I watch as he slides the woman’s coat off, allowing it to fall to the short brown pile of the room’s carpet.

With the coat gone, I could better see her outfit underneath. Torn fishnets worn under flesh colored tights, a micro mini skirt that barely covered her crotch, and a couple of stained tank tops layered one over the other. No sign of bra straps. Probably wasn’t wearing any underwear either. Greywolf peels off the tops one at a time, and soon confirms that she wasn’t wearing a bra, and soon enough, my other suspicion is likewise confirmed. I can also tell that she was definitely not a natural blonde.

I move closer, attracted by the pulsing of her throat. My predatory instincts were taking over, taking control. She sits on one edge of the bed while she helps Greywolf undress, her legs open and hugging his body. I watch his leather jacket being removed, revealing his well muscled arms that bore many small scars. While she unbuttoned his jeans, Greywolf removed the tank top, revealing many more scars on his chest, including one by his heart that must have been fatal, or at least very nearly so.

The whore pushes his pants onto the floor, and I avert my gaze. Instead, I explore the tracery of scars with my eyes. There was a great deal I did not know about my mentor, it seemed. Greywolf, noticing me, beckons me closer. I comply. He reaches behind the woman and gathers up a handful of her hair. With his other hand, he pats the bed directly behind her. My real hunting lesson was about to start.

I sit behind the woman. She is totally naked now, and I can see each and every imperfection on her back. Greywolf is also naked, and is using the whore as a barrier between us. He begins to kiss her, pulling her forward. I begin to touch her, running my fingers over her back, tracing a line to connect the freckles. She responds by reaching behind her and touching my hair. It felt really good, though not quite the same as when my mother stroked my hair. I pull my body closer to hers, and I can feel her flinch as her warm body touches mine.

My predator instinct has now entirely taken hold. I feel my fangs extending of their own accord. Taking a single, unnecessary breath, I bite into the soft part of her shoulder. I start to drink, taking the blood slowly, eliciting a gasp of pleasure. Greywolf pauses from his own ministrations. “Do not take too much.” He warns me. “Pay attention to the beating of her heart. When it begins to slow, stop.”

I am aware of little else besides the taste of her blood and the warmth of it. I was still working on instinct. I finally manage to gain enough control of myself, my ego breaking through the surface of my instinct. As her heart begins to slow, I withdraw my fangs and wipe the blood from my mouth.

“Lick the wound so it closes.” Greywolf orders. I run my tongue over her shoulder, tasting the last sweet drops of her blood. As I watch, the wound closes, leaving only bare skin.

Greywolf pulls away from the woman, and she collapses upon the bed. He takes her wrist, feeling for a pulse perhaps. Seemingly satisfied, he lays her arm across one breast, in a show of false modesty. I start to get off the bed. Before I can, Greywolf grabs me and pulls me close. Even through my clothes, I can feel his naked body pressed against mine. I try to pull away, but he forces my head upwards and kisses me, his tongue probing my mouth. Fear washes through my body. I didn’t want to be here. I didn’t want to do this. “Not too bad.” He proclaims.

I break off the kiss and try to slap him. Greywolf catches my hand before I can connect. “Bastard.” I hiss.

Greywolf chuckles. “Did you find that…unpleasant?” I nod in reply. Caught in his grip, there was little else I could do. “Too bad. There are many unpleasant things that you will have to do in order to survive in our world. It is time you started getting used to it.”

I pull away from his grasp, and he lets me go, offering no resistance. “Such spirit. It will serve you well as a Kindred…if you are not too reckless.” Greywolf starts to get dressed. He takes some cash from his pocket and puts it on the nightstand. “She’ll wake up in an hour. I suggest we not be here when she does.” His words did make sense, so I leave with him, taking a last look at the woman now lying very still on the bed. Only the rise and fall of her chest offered any clue to her still being among the living. Unlike me. I was dead, forever lost to ‘normal’ life. I knew that now, but I wasn’t totally ready to accept it.