After Sundown

The vampyre stirred while the sun hung low in the sky. Lying amid an array of black silk sheets and feather pillows, she contemplated the events of particular interest to her that had transpired halfway across the world.

Alexi had been destroyed.

Grigori had bequeathed the Dark Gift to another.

Her blood flowed in the veins of a newly made vampyre.

Grigori. She had not seen him in centuries. She let her mind expand then fold in on itself, and she knew, within that part of her being that had created him, that he was well.

Rising, she went to the window and drew back the heavy velvet draperies that shut out the sun during midday, when she was the most vulnerable. She ran her hand over the soft velvet. She was a sensual creature, and she smiled, enjoying the feel of the velvet beneath her palm, the texture that was smooth yet rough, the material still warm from the heat of the late-afternoon sun.

Her timing was second nature now, precise. The sun had descended just beyond the distant hills moments before she parted the curtains. The sky was ablaze with streaks of bloodred crimson and scarlet and lavender as the sun descended behind the distant hills.

Sweetest night, mistress mine, a toast to thee with mortal wine. She smiled as she recalled a poem Grigori had written for her centuries ago, when he had been enamored of her. It had been his first attempt at poetry. Caught up in his new life, he had been hungry for every new experience. Hungry for blood. Hungry for her. How romantic he had been then, she mused as she remembered the rest of the poem.

Moonlight, fangs, glitter, shine, harvesting the human vine. Eternal game, Hunter, Prey, mortals always slower, they. Instinct sends them running, madly; always ending the same, badly. Chase them, tease, feed their fear; whisper in their dying ear. Too soon 'tis done; they are gone, horizon lightens, hated Dawn. As morn approaches, I am prey; soon I must secret away. Coffin waiting, satin lined, soon I shall be deaf and blind. Deepest sleep through bitter light, come swiftly beloved, Mother Night.

Grigori... She had never met a male, human or vampire, who challenged her as he had, excited her as he had - as he still did, though she had not seen him in decades. He had been a lover without equal, tender and gentle, yet masterful, sure of himself, secure in his masculinity. She had been older, stronger, but he had made her feel young, vulnerable.

"Grigori." She whispered his name, and felt the old sweet stirring in her veins.

In centuries past, she had visited all the countries in Europe, but she had never been to the United States. Perhaps it was time. It had been years since she left Italy. No matter where she went, she always returned here, to the place where she had met Grigori.

A faint smile curved her lips as she contemplated seeing him again. He had always held a special place in her affections. She recalled the first night she had seen him, grieving over the graves of his children. His grief had burned like a bonfire in the night, drawing her with its warmth. Even in the mire of his desolation, his life force had been powerful, throbbing. He had looked right through her, blind to her beauty then, his whole being infused with pain and hate.

" What are you doing here?" she had asked, and he had told her what had happened -  how Alexi had taken his wife and killed his children.

"And do you wish to join your children in death?" she had asked.

"No!" he had declared vehemently. "I want to avenge them! But how can I? How can I?"

"How indeed," she had replied softly. "Shall I show you how?"

"Only show me," he had replied with a bravado she had known was false. "And I will do whatever you ask."

She had smiled then, and he had recoiled from the sight of her fangs. "You're one of them!"

"Will you not join me, my handsome one? It is the only way you will ever be strong enough to find the vengeance you seek."

"You're asking me to become the same kind of monster he is!" Grigori had exclaimed.

"We are not all monsters," she had replied. "Look at me. Do I appear a monster to you?"

"No," he had replied. "Who are you?"

"Khira." She had offered him her hand. "Will you join me?"

He had cocked his head to one side, giving her easy access to the large vein in his neck, and she had taken what he offered. It was always so much sweeter when they were willing, when they didn't fight.

She had bestowed the Dark Gift on only a few, and her blood and her power were strong. She had taught her fledgling how to find his prey, how to survive. He had taught her a depth of passion she had thought long vanished with her mortality. She began to entertain thoughts of an eternal relationship, and taught him all the things she wanted him to know: how to read and write, and the complex etiquette of the upper classes.

She had introduced him to all the finer things: art, opera, literature, architecture. He learned it all with zest, and seemed to have forgotten his vow of vengeance. But she knew better. He could not hide his inmost thoughts from her, but she did not press. There was world enough, and time enough. He was strong yet gentle, full of passion and tenderness, if a bit arrogant. And he was handsome, so very handsome. He had embraced the Dark Gift fully, and the Gift's powers had enhanced his natural good looks; she was sure that all women wanted him. She knew his prey submitted willingly as he eagerly explored his new life. In one sense, she had watched him, as proud as any mortal mother watching a child of her womb mature into his manhood. In another sense, as his powers grew stronger, she began to feel uncertain -  she, who had never doubted her own allure. Would he leave her? Would he find some mortal woman more desirable than she?

But it had not been another woman's beauty that took him from her. She closed her eyes tightly, remembering. It had been her own insatiable hunger. In his enthusiasm for his new life, he had pushed all thought of Alexi into the back of his mind until the night he saw her bending over a child and remembered his own children, his own reason for becoming Vampyre. He had taken the child from her, his eyes blazing with contempt, and she had never seen him again...

She sighed as she turned away from the window, wondering if he had yet forgiven her. She had destroyed others who had left her side before she tired of them, but not Grigori. She had loved him at first sight. She recalled the sweet taste of his blood the night she had bestowed the Dark Gift upon him, and all they had shared before her foolish error.

Surely time enough had passed by now. Time enough to heal his anger. Grigori had his revenge at last; Alexi was destroyed. Perhaps he would be in a forgiving mood, and if not, then she would have to persuade him to see things her way. She was not without her own power, her own irresistible charm.

Her mind made up, she threw off her melancholy mood as easily as she changed her gown. She had never been one to brood or lament the past. Grigori would see her whether he wished it or not.

Humming softly, she fastened her cloak, excited and intrigued by the journey ahead. She contemplated the distance, careful to time her departure so she would arrive in the New World after sundown. Young vampires who wished to travel long distances had to make careful plans so that they might travel safely in their coffins on long trips. But she was no longer a young vampire. Mortals grew weaker as old age set in, losing youth and strength and beauty. It was not so among vampires. Increased age brought increased powers and the ability to travel great distances with supernatural speed.

She closed her eyes, and in moments, she was where she wanted to be.