Okay, so now I’m in Italy, yay! (Or, I hope I am, anyhow.) This is another pre-set WiP Wednesday post, but today I’m changing gears. The other thing I’m working on right now is Liam, my upcoming vampy novel. One last runthrough before I hand it over to Jodi and the folks at Belfire, and I won’t see it again until someone else has had at it with a red pen. How exciting!
So I figured why not post some vampire-ness. This is a scene I wrote for the first time… longer ago than I’d like to admit. Of course it’s gone through some major changes, but it’s still a fun one for me because it manages, in just one page, to say everything about both main characters. For me, the biggest manifestation of a vampire’s personality isn’t their weird vampy superpowers (though those certainly contribute, though Liam doesn’t have his yet here), but in how they kill.
And so, with Liam’s very first solo kill, he begins to find out just what kind of monster he is.
Time stopped, and I closed my eyes. There was no thought, no control. I spun and grabbed him by the throat before he could flinch. Oh fuck yes, the thudding pulse, the rush under my fingertips as I slammed him against the tree one-handed.
His knife clattered to the ground, and he scratched at my jacket, trying to get a grip.
I leaned close, breathed deeply–Christ, the fucking smell of it made my brain go numb. The jugular thumped visibly as I held him by his neck. He kicked at me, and his windpipe popped and gave a little. Slow, too slow, painful, but all I felt was the desire to tear him apart and get at what was inside. Scared eyes, dark, terrified. Looking at me like I was the devil.
I buried my face in his neck and sunk my teeth in. Closed my lips around the wound, tore deep. Flattened him to the tree with the first rush of blood. Waves of alive, swallow after swallow of him, so good, hot, fast, that same whiskey burning in my middle, into every corner of me.
When it was over I pulled away, staggering with the heady drunken feeling. The newness of being alive radiated out from my center, tingling through my limbs.
He slid to the ground, landed with a boneless thud.
I remembered where I was. I turned, and there Gianni stood, the dirty woman’s knife at his feet, and her in his arms. She had her head on his shoulder; her eyes were closed, and she was smiling.
He petted her hair, but his eyes were on me. “Perfectly done, Liam.”
I looked back at the dead body, then to him again, not understanding, but not really caring. Being blood-high is a feeling you only get in dreams–standing at the top of a tall building, certain that if you jump, you’ll fly.
Except for real.
Understanding Gianni wasn’t my first priority, just then.
“Better wipe your mouth, bello.”
I licked at my lips, tasted blood. I suppose I was vaguely horrified, in the most academic sense.
“Ready in a moment.” Then he looked down at the woman, and she looked up at him like he was her knight in fucking shining armor. Like he was her long lost love, her father, her brother. Anyone she’d ever wanted to see again. He tilted his head, looking like he might kiss her. Her eyes closed, and he went for her neck. Gorgeous bastard didn’t lose a drop of blood.
I looked down at my hands, one of which was smeared with red. I squatted and wiped it on my victim’s coat.
It came off easily.
None of this “take a sip and throw em back” thing. Though I dig that, it’s all or nothing for these vampires. Balls to the wall, man.
So yeah. Fun. Monsterlove.