Killing Kiss Page 7

  I am cruel. Evil. This is my nature. This is who I am. I swallow, guzzling each mouthful of her delicious and fulfilling blood. I take her body brutally, without consideration. She shudders beneath me. Her body heaves as she sobs with elation; surrendering finally to me and her spasms draw me on to my climax as I erupt inside her.

  Sated, I withdraw, lift her up into my arms and lay her across my knees, my face still pressed in her throat. I slurp the last of her blood as the dilating pupils turn her green eyes full black and slowly she dies in my arms. The pounding of her heart becomes sluggish and I lay her down once more, gently now. Wrapping her in the sheet, I rest my head on her cooling breast. As the beating gradually fades I sleep, the full and satisfied rest of an immortal man who has finally accepted his nature. Her body chills beneath me as the warmth of her blood sends the final coldness scurrying from my veins. I feel avenged. Satisfied. Free.

  Chapter 8

  ‘We’ve met before.’ Her pale tongue flicked over her lips.

  ‘We were never formally introduced ... ‘

  ‘No. I heard you singing with the “Devine” Francesca some years ago.’

  The tongue swirled over excessively long and sharp teeth. I felt like an antelope walking too close to the river side while a crocodile hid in the rushes waiting to snap my limbs between its jaws.

  ‘Francesca is my cousin.’

  ‘Yes. I remember. You were a mere boy then. Now you are a man.’ She took my arm. ‘Perhaps you will escort me to the Palazzo Ducale?’

  ‘Certainly, Countess Borgia.’ A sensual tingling crept up from the bend in my elbow, where her delicate, gloved hand rested. I felt unable, or unwilling to resist her.

  ‘Please call me by my first name ...’

  ‘Countess ...’ I argued.

  ‘No ... Lucrezia.’

  ‘I have a small boat at my service. This way ... Lucrezia.’

  The gondola slithered through the water as Lucrezia pulled her black velvet cloak around herself to ward off the evening coolness. The canal water was incredibly still that evening and the journey was unusual, unnatural, but I did not know why. I did not worry too much; instead I marvelled at her smooth, perfect cheeks and brow. In ten years she had not aged. She was as faultless as the first time I had seen her. I considered that I must have miscalculated her age in Florence, for she only appeared to be a woman in her mid-twenties - but well preserved.

  The gondola deposited us at San Marco. The Ducale private landing entrance below the Bridge of Sighs was not open to any but the royal house, even invited guests. A rush of air gathered around her as I helped Lucrezia climb out of the boat. She stepped down as though invisible hands held her above me.

  Apprehension tugged at my insides. She was so light it was almost as if she floated. We entered the palace at the Porta Della Carta. Pinned to the door was a decree on expensive parchment, and written in bold black letters was the Doge’s declaration that due to the birth of his son, this day was to be known as a national holiday. There was a masquerade ball being held in the Sala Del Maggior, and as a local artist I was privileged to be invited. Lucrezia took out a mask from a deep pocket within her cloak; it was white with gold trim and gold stripes running through its cat-like shape. She became a white and gold tiger as she placed it over her face. Gold silk ribbons trailed like strands of hair on either side. Her green eyes, sparkling out from the oval slits, looked like precious stones carved into feline pupils, and the ribbons blended into her shiny curls.

  A footman, wearing the Doge’s fine livery of pale lilac and silver silk, stopped us as we entered the door.

  ‘Signor, you must wear this. His Highness insists ...’

  His hand quivered as he held out a black and red harlequin mask.

  ‘Of course.’

  I took the mask, quickly covering my face, and he nodded to a young page boy who ran forward with a candelabra. The page led us in through the courtyard and up some thirty stairs of finest white marble.

  ‘You must leave your cloaks here,’ the boy said, bowing, as we entered a small salon with a high ceiling.

  Lucrezia removed her cloak to reveal a black and deep purple gown. She carefully draped her cloak over the waiting arms of a servant girl.

  ‘I’m sorry. I never realised you were widowed ...’ I said. My words sounded dull and distant to my own ears as I stared at the funeral coloured gown.

  ‘It’s been several years now, but I still choose to be in mourning. Besides I look good in black. Come, I hear my favourite music and I’m determined to dance. You’ll dance with me won’t you, Gabriele?’

  I once again allowed her to lead me as the haunting tones of my uncle’s music spilled from the chamber above us and we were led once again up a flight of marble stairs. Two footmen stepped forward opening the doors wide as we entered the bright candle-lit ballroom; the joker and the tigress. I didn’t know then that our disguises were so apt.

  Lucrezia gripped my arm as though afraid of what she would see within this great hall. We walked through the multitude of revellers, and the greatness, the beauty and immenseness of the chamber was unobserved because her touch made me feel so insular. I was a mass of raw sensuous nerves that began and ended with the touch of her fingers. Never, since the brief time I’d spent in Madame Fontenot’s brothel, did I feel such tense excitement.

  Taking her in my arms intensified the feelings. With my hand on her delicate waist, I felt the warmth of her bare flesh through the fine satin of her gown. She wasn’t wearing the usual corsetry that women of her station wore. I was powerfully aroused by the thought. She stepped closer into my embrace, bending her body into mine as though she knew exactly how I felt. Her face softened and she melted into me as though dancing was the most sexual thing she had experienced. I was completely seduced by her incredible beauty.

  We danced for hours before eventually I became aware of this huge hall, often used for the meetings of the council. Its ceiling was as high as the entire three story building of my own residence on the canal, and was cornered with gold. All around the room were magnificent pictures depicting the Madonna and her new born, The Christ delivering his sermon on a green mountain and, finally, the magnificent painting of the crucifixion. The whole history of our God surrounded us at every turn, and Lucrezia barely looked above my eyes.

  ‘I’ve been waiting for you to grow up, Gabriele,’ she told me suddenly. ‘Come.’

  Though her words were strange I let her lead me from the chamber and back down the marble stairs to the beautiful marble veranda that surrounded the courtyard. I found myself climbing a golden staircase of perhaps fifty steps. Above us was an ornate ceiling that held the most detailed paintings, once more depicted images from the Old Testament. The staircase was indeed a golden masterpiece, and in its own way a miniature art gallery; for every painting was framed with gold to ensure that they were specific and unique. Yet the bright-coloured paints had a single purpose that made the whole thing work in an opulent display.

  ‘I’ve never been up this staircase ...’

  ‘They call this the Scala dei Giganti. It is named after Sansovino’s statues of Neptune and Mars.’

  ‘I can see why. The ceiling is so high. It feels like it is in heaven with the gods. Where are we going?’

  ‘A private chamber, my darling boy, where no one will disturb us.’

  ‘How ... ?’

  Her fingers pressed my lips and I could no longer speak. She pushed open a soaring door, and tugged me into the room. By now the strength had leaked from my limbs and a terrible coldness seeped into my blood. I shivered as her pale hand gripped my cold fingers. Once inside, she freed my hand from her vice-like grip. Almost immediately my vigour returned and I became more aware.

  We were in a bedchamber fit for a king, and I knew that this was most definitely in one of the royal apartments, though I
suspected that it was currently out of use. I wondered how Lucrezia had gained access to such an impressive suite and how she had managed to arrange it when she had been in my company most of the evening.

  She removed one long black glove, snapping irritably at her slender fingers until the black velvet came away from both of her hands and she was able to toss them carelessly across a high-backed tapestry-covered chair near the door. Her hands were deathly white, as though they had been carved from the same marble as the elaborate statues that stood in all of the four corners of the room.

  ‘I’m cold,’ she said. She looked small, vulnerable, a swan-like creature, and there was no sign of the tiger mask that had vanished as smoothly as it had appeared. I was speechless and never having known women in so casual a sense, I did not really know how to react. It was obvious why we were alone; but so very strange. Women of her calibre did not bring strange men to their bed.

  ‘I’m cold,’ she repeated. ‘Gabriele ... warm me.’

  I was unable to refuse so desperate a plea and I found myself holding her, wrapping her protectively in my arms. She buried her head in my chest, her hands stretching up to my face, bare flesh touched bare flesh and her lips took me to places I had never dreamed existed. It was more than submerging. She sucked me down and under, faster than any quicksand. I was unable to fight and when she led me to the bed - when I died without a struggle - I died loving her.

  Chapter 9

  I awake at six. The room is cold and dark. Lilly’s body lies where I left her. Her pale hair peeps out from beneath the sheet like shiny silk threads. I lift the locket, carelessly discarded by the side of the bed. Time to take my trophy? Not yet. I feel too dirty. It will be strange indeed adding these golden locks to my collection. I am heartsick.

  The hot water rolls off my skin and I wash away all traces of her scent from my hair and body. By the end of the shower I begin to feel light-hearted, and I step from the cubicle wrapping a towel around my hips. My emotions are a paradox. I consider this as I walk into the bedroom rubbing my arms with another towel. Why do I feel so divided? Lilly is just one more empty carton after a take-away - isn’t she?

  The room is a mess; the floor is strewn with discarded clothes. I lift the togas and lay them carefully over the end of the bed before reaching into my wardrobe for a pair of jeans and a tee-shirt.

  ‘Looks like you’ll lose your deposit,’ I tell her still form.

  Tugging on the jeans, I consider how I am going to get the body out past the building security guard in broad daylight.

  Perhaps I will just have to wait till the evening. The thought of her dead body remaining in my bed the whole day does not please me. I pull my head through the opening of the tee-shirt and as my eyes open I find myself face to face with Lilly. She is sat up in the bed, looking at me like the living dead. Black mascara smudges darken the shadows under her eyes. Her long hair tumbles over one shoulder as she clutches the sheet to her chest like a shroud.

  She is wild, a revenant I’m sure, some freak corpse that has crawled from its tomb to haunt me.

  ‘What the fuck ... am I ... doing here?’

  I am speechless. Did I bite her?

  ‘What’re you looking at me like that for?’

  Clearly she does not know what has occurred between us.

  ‘Our drinks were spiked,’ I explain too quickly, trying to hide my surprise.

  ‘I’ll fucking kill Nate!’ She throws aside the sheets revealing her all too beautiful breasts to my gaze.

  ‘Really, I know you’re angry but do you have to use such foul language?’

  ‘Fuck off,’ she replies, indignant. ‘Of all the dumb, stupid ... how on earth could I pick ... your bed to be in?’

  She jumps from the bed in all her stunning, naked glory and I am suddenly acutely interested in her body again. Her dishevelled appearance has great appeal. I have never felt as fresh as I do this morning. Casual sex has been of little interest to me previously, but now I am intrigued at the prospect of some more mutual gratification.

  ‘Well, since you are here ...’ I slip off my tee-shirt and walk towards here mimicking the male model walk I’ve seen on a recent aftershave commercial.

  Lilly pauses, halfway into her toga dress, I know my defined chest has some impact as her eyes trail over me. She gulps.

  ‘You’re not my type!’ she growls, yanking the dress halfway up onto her shoulders. ‘You’re too ... pretty! I’m into real men, Jay, not smarmy rich kids who use daddy’s money to buy every girl they want. And why do you wear your hair like Jesus?’

  I laugh. The Christian icon reference is not lost on me. I have cultivated this look for centuries. How much more innocent could I look?

  ‘My “Jesus” looks were exactly what you wanted last night.’

  ‘Kiss my arse. Go join ... a boy band ... or something. That’d be right up your street.’

  She slams the bedroom door and as I hear the front door click closed behind her, followed by the soundless swallow of the elevator doors I am left bewildered by the way things have turned out.

  The silence of the apartment yawns like a gaping wound. I am full, yet my heart feels - empty. How odd. I draw on my tee-shirt followed by a thick black sweater. The urge to return to the busy life on campus consumes me and yet there is nothing there for me to return to. Carolyn will know of my infidelity just as surely as I would know of hers, by the University grapevine.

  As I pull on my trainers, grimacing at the informality of this overly-soft footwear, a knock at the front door drags me from my despondency. I listen, but I cannot establish who is there. The quiet is deafening. Another knock; louder, less patient. I open the door. Lilly stands in her toga, angry and embarrassed.

  ‘I’ve left my purse.’

  I step back, allowing her to enter. She strolls into the lounge and stands confused in the centre of the room. She has pushed her hair back and her throat is exposed. No scars. I must be losing my mind.

  ‘I remember now ...’

  ‘What do you remember?’

  ‘I left it on your sofa.’ She searches around the chaise and quickly finds the small bag, stuffed behind a cushion. ‘If you tell anyone, that we ... I swear I’ll kick you so hard in the balls you’ll need surgery to extract them from your gullet.’

  ‘What a lovely turn of phrase you have, Lilly.’

  She glares at me; anger robs her of the capacity to speak.

  ‘I don’t have one night stands, okay? If anyone asks, I took you home, nothing more,’ I promise, sighing.

  ‘Thank you,’ she stutters.

  ‘It’s not for you. I have my own reasons.’

  ‘Carolyn ...’

  ‘You ... know?’

  ‘Everyone but Steve knows ... Well, your secret’s safe with me as well.’

  ‘Thank you. Would you like a sweater and some joggers instead of that toga? Travelling through Manchester centre dressed like Aphrodite would be asking for trouble.’

  ‘That’s a good idea.’ She smiles.

  How charming her smile is. We are friends - well, maybe not - but at least we are partners in crime because of our mutual secret. Lilly does not want to be known as easy, and I can still pursue Carolyn with some careful editing of the facts. I turn away as she drops the toga and hauls on a pair of black joggers and a sweater from my wardrobe.

  ‘We’d better get our story straight.’

  ‘Yes.’

  As I turn I am struck by how my clothes look on her; over large but she fills the sweatshirt in an entirely different way than I do. The carefully adopted minimalism of my bedroom is overflowing with her presence yet nothing is disturbed. It is almost as if she has become a part of the room. I look around trying to determine why and I find she is looking at me oddly. I smooth my expression quickly, afraid that I will give something
away.

  ‘I’ll drive you back and we can discuss it.’

  As I turn away, I see her breathe into the sleeve of my sweater. Her eyes flutter, a small curve touches the corner of her lips and I imagine I hear her say, how good you smell.

  Chapter 10

  I drown my sorrows in the student union bar. Alice has told everyone I left with Lilly, and Carolyn is -

  ‘I’m not talking to you, Jay ...’

  I sip a large shot of vodka with a splash of tonic; it’s my sixth but as usual I can’t get drunk. I feel like murdering Nate and I know he is avoiding me because I can’t find him in any of his usual haunts. Steve is nowhere to be seen either. Is he drinking in some quiet corner because Carolyn has shown him the road? Or maybe they are making up.

  The smoky atmosphere tastes of lung. I breathe it in but feel little pleasure from this extra taste of mortality. Then I smell her. I look up through the hair that has fallen over my face but it is not Lilly I find before me. Carolyn looks remarkable in black jeans and a powder blue tracksuit top. Her long straight hair and slender frame are a support beam in the crumbling house of my world.

  ‘Lilly told me ...’

  That explains it. Lilly’s scent is all over her. Human bonding is an interesting medium.

  ‘I know what Nate did. I think Steve put him up to it. I’d told him about us ...’

  ‘That must be it. He obviously didn’t take it well?’

  ‘No.’ She is awkward for a moment. ‘Can I join you?’

  ‘Of course.’

  I move around the crescent shaped bench that curves around the table forming a booth. She slides in beside me. Her hand reaches out and she touches my face. Her kiss is smoked salmon and cream cheese; all the fattening foods I love. How odd; I’m not hungry. Even so I embrace her, pulling her respectfully into my arms. I return her kiss, pleased that the desperation has fled at least for now. Time is once again on my side. Her cheek smells of Lilly’s lips and there are vague traces of her aroma in Carolyn’s hair. I press her in my arms breathing in deeply.