After Dark

2. Too Many Movies

Carmen's consciousness seemed to drag itself into awareness. She opened her eyes carefully, not sure where she was. The room was too dark to see anything. She was supine on sheets that felt like satin in a bed that must be at least queen sized, and she was naked. If she was dead, the afterlife was certainly... strange. But... she struggled with her memories, and gasped. Her hands went to her left side, just under her rib cage. Where Dmitri had shot her, the bastard. She'd been bleeding to death, and now--no bandage, only a divot in the flesh and a peculiar ache. 

The door to the room opened and light spilled in from the hallway silhouetting ominously a very tall figure, who moved into the room. She sat up, clutching the sheet to her neck, tensed to either fight or run for her life, if need be. She heard a soft click and the room was filled with a soft incandescent glow from a small lamp. The tall man--her saviour from last night, she guessed, if he had truly saved her, if she wasn't hallucinating or dead, or a captive, or-- 

 "You must be thirsty, my dear."His voice, so gentle, eased her from panic to mere wariness. His face was still obscured by shadows and a fall of hair that looked black in the dim light. He was dressed in a white shirt with a black double breasted vest and dress pants. So imposing was he, it took her a full minute to realize he was offering her a crystal wine glass. 

 She licked her lips and discovered he was right -- she was thirsty. She eyed the glass he was still patiently holding, then took it. The liquid within was dark red, viscous, warm, and smelled divine. She brought the glass to her mouth and hesitated. The scent teased her nose, almost familiar. "What is it?" 

 He smiled. "Fresh." 

 It was too enticing to not drink it down, too delicious to sip delicately as the choice of serving vessel suggested. She drained the glass, eyes closed in reverie. It was blood, she knew that intellectually. Although it made no sense at all that vampires were real... maybe she was in a coma, dreaming all this? She opened her eyes to stare into the empty glass, stained with thickening residue. She wondered who had died to supply that drink. And yet she couldn't stop herself from asking, "Might I have some more?" 

 "Not yet, little thief," he said, taking the glass from her. "Your stomach is still delicate." 

 She automatically patted her side again. 

 "I meant from the transformation," he added. 

 She stared openly at him, trying to asses the reality of what seemed to be unreal. He looked like a vampire from a movie. Sort of. Instead of sleekly groomed hair, he had a long shaggy mane that he automatically and ineffectively brushed back every so often. No cape. But... she looked at the empty glass he set on a perfectly ordinary bedside table. That had most definitely been blood. She touched her neck where she vaguely remembered him biting her. 

 "You aren't dreaming," he said, smiling. "But you won't find any bite marks, either, if that's what you're looking for. You'll find you heal quite quickly now." 

 Ugh, she couldn't think about that quite yet. It wasn't real! She looked away, trying to figure out what to ask that wouldn't sound stupid, something the answer to wouldn't sound crazy. The room was painted a deep blue, and behind the bedside table was a massive window, hung with a thick matching blue velvet curtain. The bedspread, a half on the bed, half on the floor, was a red oriental print and the satin sheet she clutched to her throat was black. "Wh-where are my clothes?" 

 "Being laundered. Replaced if necessary." 

 His voice was dry, but held no lascivious note. Still she had to know. "Did you...um..." 

 "Undress you? Of course--you were unconscious." 

 "But you didn't...?" The idea that he might have raped her, even though she felt no soreness between her legs, had a bizarre appeal. Rape was something she could understand. It fit her expectations of the world. Being turned into a vampire... most certainly did not.