Fallen From Grace (a vampire romance)
This is my very first original story! This is not a fanfiction.
Summary: Six months ago, Dean Chandlers lost everything: his wife, his life, his will to live. After a strange mugging, where his wife (Grace) is bitten on the neck by their attacker, he learns of her new condition and sets to save her future victims by killing her. But when, after so long, they come face to face once more, Dean finds a hope in their reunion which may, or may not, be enough to save them from each other after all.
Please, please, if anyone reads this, leave a review! I want to know what you think!
Fallen from Grace
‘But passion lends them power, time means, to meet
Tempering extremities with extreme sweet.’
- Romeo and Juliet by William Shakespeare,
Act 2, Prologue
The spotlight streams down from overhead, illuminating her dark hair; her perfect hips swayed across the stage as she danced her rhythm to the music. This was how she lured them - the unsuspecting fools - who thought they could lose themselves in her beautiful body and forget about their nagging wives at home. This was how she lived now, seeking out her next victims under the faint glow of the neon lights.
The Playful Peacock was a small prospering night club in downtown Toronto. It sat on the corner of Yonge and Dundas Street - open from five to eleven on weeknights and for twenty-four hours straight on Saturdays and Sundays - with so many pink, yellow, and green fluorescent lights hanging from the windows it was bordering on tacky. It’s main patrons were men, between the age of twenty to fifty, who came in large part due to the nearly naked women swinging on their poles on the stage and who’d maybe give a private lap dance in the back if they were paid enough.
All in all, if you could ignore the fumbling idiots and the drunken groping, the popular bar was a good place to pass the countless sleepless nights. And being unable to sleep, she had grown quite used to the antics of her admirers throughout the last six months she had worked there as a stage dancer. But it served more than one purpose in the young woman’s life; it was an exceedingly good feeding ground. This is where she picked her next meal, taking the necessary precautions to only take the men who looked like they had nothing else going for them. She tended to steer clear of the large groups, preferring the silent lonely type; they were so much more interesting in her opinion.
Her eyes roamed the tables, never once faltering in her movements. Her well-tuned vampire eyes were so much more better to see with than mere human sight as they pierced the darkness effortlessly. Her eyes stopped at a likely candidate at one of the shadow enclosed tables against the wall. There, a lone man sipped from his pint of beer. He looked tall, no shorter than six feet, although it was difficult to judge while he was seated slumped in the worn bench seat. He had dark skin and even darker eyes which were almost black, his toned muscles drew her to him hungrily.
He’ll be good. He’ll be next.
The man was watching her appreciatively as well. She watched him closely, giving him a small smile, as she watched for the usual signs. Was he alone? Would his disappearance draw attention? There was no ring on his left hand either. No, no one would miss him, at least not that night, not that she could see anyways. When her song ended, she gave him an inviting wink and motioned with a tilt of her head for him to join her outside. He followed her out silently to the alley behind the club and when he closed the door behind him, the metal clanging shut loudly, she turned around to face him.
She removed her blue-tinted eye contacts while he watched silently, not moving. She wouldn’t be able to dazzle him into immobility unless he saw the natural colour of her irises. When they were removed and stored away safely until they were needed again, she returned her gaze to the man. Bright vibrant red met coal black and never looked away.
He became entranced by her beauty instantly upon seeing her eyes. He had a glazed over look in his pupils as he took her in from head to toe. They started at her raven coloured hair - long, straight and sleek, shifted down her chest and her bare midriff, and down her smooth pale legs, stopping only when his eyes were level with her toes, the nails painted a deep blood red. He was attempting to check her out subtlety, but it was obvious to her. Probably his first time with an exotic dancer in a back alley, she thought. Cute.
“What’s your name?” she asked gently.
“J-James,” he stammered.
“And what’s your story Honey?”
His voice sounded dreamy, as if his thoughts were far away. “I - I don’t k-know what you-u mean…”
“That’s alright. I know your type. Nobody wants you, or loves you, or maybe they did once, but they’re gone now. You don’t know who you are anymore, do you?” He nodded vaguely.
“I was watching you tonight Dear, while I danced. I’ll bet that no one would care if you never returned. But I can help.”
“Will it h-hurt? Wait. . . What are you going to d-do to me!?”
“I can make it all go away. You just have to trust me.” He started to back away, he was on the verge of fleeing. She stared more intensely into his eyes, willing him to believe her, to trust her. Reassuring him that it would be all right.
“Don’t you worry James.” she stepped closer. There was now barely an inch between their bodies. “I don’t bite -- hard.” The vampire gave a tinkling little laugh, sounding like a wind chime blowing in the breeze.
She leaned towards her paralyzed victim. He closed his eyes slowly, tentatively. . . His lips puckered slightly, thinking that she would kiss him. She laughed again at his silly assumption before she grabbed his shoulders firmly in both of her ice cold hands, pressed her sharp fangs to the vein in his throat, and then proceeded to drain his life’s blood out of him.
Ten minutes later, she licked her red lips, opened the sewer grate beside the overflowing dumpster, and stuffed the lifeless human body down the manhole. Then she went back inside and continued to dance, waiting patiently for her next quarry.
* * *
Dean Chandlers watched through his sunglasses as the one he was searching for walked in through the back door and onto the stage again. Almost without realizing it, he was fingering his gun - which he’d kept from when he was still a police officer - on its hip holster. He drained his shot of whiskey and got ready to watch the show.
She didn’t see him while she was concentrating on her dance, but he recognized her. Yes, he remembered his wife; the clumsy, uncoordinated girl who he had married straight out of high school. He had loved her, and he still would be loving her, had she not been taken away from him. And now, he was out to rid the world of her, the love of his life, all because she was human no more. She was a monster and a murderer; she could not curse the city with her damned existence any longer.
He watched as she twirled lithely, a sharp contrast from before she was bit, her beautiful raven hair flowing around her shoulders. Her long white legs moved to the music naturally, her hips swaying sexily. She was much paler than Dean remembered her, it came with what she was. But something wasn’t quite right. It’s the eyes. The eyes should be red, he thought.
The song ended and he looked up from his empty glass to see her wink in his direction and exit the stage. Apparently she had seen him. Against his better judgement, he followed. He wove through the scattered tables and booths, retaining a safe distance between them, and went out the back door, following her into the night.
She turned to face him just as he stepped into the cool night air. He took in his surroundings, avoiding eye contact for as long as he could: the overflowing dumpster, the pile of debris and cigarette butts littering the cobblestones, and the red splashes on the ground leading to the sewer grate: blood, he realized in horror.
“Dean.”
“You know I can’t let you leave here alive Grace,” Dean whispered. He had to force the bile suddenly threatening to surface back down his throat.
Grace laughed musically, throwing her head back exaggeratedly. “Now there’s a name I haven’t heard for a while.”
Dean unclipped his gun from its belt and raised it with shaking hands.
“I would have thought Dean,” she said, rolling her eyes, “that you would have researched, before seeking me out, certain vampire legends. If you had, you would’ve known that a simple bullet won’t even come close to killing me.”
“Maybe I don’t mean to kill you?”
“Oh, but you do; your eyes hold no secrets from me Darling.” The vampire took a step closer, her lips forming a perfect smile, bordering her pearl white teeth.
The human removed the safety of the gun and took aim, and then, faster than he could blink, it was gone. Grace was standing in her previous position, looking calm and pleasantly amused, as she spun Dean’s gun around her first finger by the gun’s finger hole.
“Just as a precaution, of course. I’m sure you understand.” Her eyes looked sad suddenly, like she wanted to cry, but couldn’t, because of what she had become. “I’ve missed you Dean,” she added in an undertone. “You don’t know how horrible it’s been without you. I can’t stand - I can’t stand not being able to touch you. . . To kiss you. . . Make love to you again.”
“D - don’t Grace,” said Dean. His own eyes watered over, doing what Grace could not. “You shouldn’t bring up the past, it won’t make a difference.”
They stared straight at each other, her blue tinted contact lens-covered eyes getting lost in his hazel ones. And as they tried to absorb every last detail of the other before they would surely be forced apart once again, the memory of that dreadful night, when they had both lost everything and gained nothing but pain, consumed both of them. It was impossible to stop seeing the events of that night in their minds.Flashback to six months ago:
The full moon shone as a shining beacon in the clear night air. It was nearing midnight on the night of May sixteenth. The streetlamps cast the stars in shadow and not a creature was stirring except for two humans who were strolling down the street.
The howling wind carried their voices across the street; it seemed they were arguing over something.
“Well, if you’d just listened to me, we would have been there now, and not walking in this cold!”
“Grace, you’re hopeless at directions, we would end up in St. Catherine’s if I followed your directions.” The man sighed, frustrated. His wife clicked her tongue in anger. “Besides, it’s not my fault the car battery died.”
“And it’s not my fault either Dean! I knew where we were going, I had the map--”
“Did you hear that?” the man called Dean cut her off.
She obviously didn‘t care if he heard anything besides her and their argument, for she crossed her arms and stopped where she was on the sidewalk, giving him a dark glare. He turned to face her, his balled fists buried in his coat pockets. “Did I hear what?”
“There was a noise coming from over there,” he pointed towards an alley a few feet away.
“Probably just a cat.”
“It wasn’t a cat Grace! I think there’s someone there.” Dean was now facing the alley, walking closer and closer to the shady entrance. Something moved in the darkness, but it was impossible to tell what it was.
“Dean. . .” Grace’s voice called; she sounded frightened.
Dean took a couple more steps, now he stood in the shadows too, just inside the entrance of the alley. He looked around for a few seconds, deciding he had just been hallucinating before and now he’d have hell to pay with his wife, and turned to walk back to the almost deserted street. Before he exited the blackness of the brick alley, he glanced at the full moon, high in the sky: the bottom half of it was obscured by a dark cloud, the top peeping watchfully over it.
All of a sudden, before he had a chance to step back out to the sidewalk, something hard, made of cold metal, pressed against his skull. Dean froze, he could see his wife, and she too had a weapon held against her, this one a sharp hunting knife. A figure in black held Grace against his torso, the knife at her neck, and a hand covering her mouth. Dean turned his head just enough to see the second attacker, the one with the gun to his head.
Both of the men were rather tall and wearing all black. Their skin was more pale than a dead corpse and the black exterior contrasted this sharply. Their red irises were like nothing Dean had ever seen before: a fierce flame flickering in the night.
“Dean -” Grace croaked.
“Don’t say a word Girly - not a word - and no one gets hurt,” the man holding her whispered. She started crying silently; her red-rimmed eyes never left her husband.
“What do you want!” demanded Dean.
“Just give us your wallet Mister,” said the man with the gun. “Just your wallet, and then we won’t kill your girl.”
Grace’s eyes widened, while Dean remained cool. That was just one of the things they taught you at the police academy: never let the criminal see your fear. Stay cool. It was only mildly amusing just how ironic this situation was. Not even a year ago, Dean Chandlers had been a cop, and now he was being mugged by the type of people he would’ve helped to put behind bars. Fate had a funny way of dealing out its’ cards, didn’t it?
“Don’t do it!” yelled Grace. Her captor pressed the knife harder against her throat in a warning gesture, drawing blood; she didn’t even seem to notice.
“Let me handle this,” he said to her. To the man with the gun, he said in the most collected tone he could manage: “you’re messing with the wrong guy man; I used to be a cop and I’ve still got friends there. They’ll put you away in a jiffy.”
“I won’t repeat myself again. Hand over the cash and she’ll walk away free. Refuse, and she will be worse than dead.”
“I won’t -”
“Do it Mike,” he turned to his companion. The other look pleased, as if this was the part he’d been waiting for.
The knife pressed deeper and deeper, staining the man’s hand in blood. Dean was concentrating on his wife’s cut throat - he would have screamed had there not been a loaded weapon against his temple - and before he knew what had happened, his wife was on the ground writhing in pain, the villains responsible were nowhere to be seen. He rushed to her side and started to wrap her sliced throat with the sleeve he had tore off from his jacket, and that’s when he noticed it; it made his blood run cold: embedded in her flesh, still oozing blood, were two holes where a couple of sharp teeth had bitten through.
Over the next six months Dean had discovered that his wife of ten years was now a full-fledged, blood-sucking vampire. He swore vengeance, tracking down the ones who had done it, but since all he had was that it was dark, they both wore black, and ones’ name was Mike, he got nowhere. And so he switched his target to Grace, vowing he would end her existence - not because he didn’t love her, but for the public’s safety, so she wouldn’t be a murderer - and now here he was, in a shabby alley in the back of a night club, and he couldn’t go through with it. Love, he realized, would be his destruction and his ultimate downfall.
“Don’t you love me Dean?” she asked slowly, uncomprehending, as if she couldn’t make sense of the idea.
“Of course I do,” he said. “That’s the problem; it’s why I can’t end this.” He ran his fingers through her silky hair; she tensed, before suddenly leaning into the intimate gesture. He stopped just as soon as he’d started; he didn’t want to hurt either of them more than he had to.
“Than stay with me!” she protested. She waited for him to respond, and when he didn’t, she continued, “Let me change you! We’ll both be like this, and then we can be together again, this time forever! Let me make you like me!”
“Grace. . . That’s the craziest thing you’ve ever said! Make me a vampire; what, so there can just be more blood drinking monsters in the world?” he let out a forced laugh.
“It’s not that bad once you get used to it! Please Dean, I love you and I want to be with you. Making you one of me is the only way around just plain out killing me.”
“I. . . But -” the words died in his throat as he realized that despite everything, he did still want her, that this was the only way they could really be together, and, just like that, his mind was made up. It was foolish and reckless. It was horribly selfish he knew, but he couldn’t kill her. So he opened his mouth, paused shortly, and said:
“Do it.”
Grace smiled, a truly happy smile for the first time in so long, and walked to him until they were so close, she could feel his warm breath on her cold face. She took out the contacts, for their were no need for them now, not when she wouldn’t be hiding in the city where she needed to disguise her appearance. They would be nomads together, outcasts of society. Her red eyes glowed in the moonlight; the sky was lightening, they didn’t have long now till they would have to find shelter. Dean just waited, scared but eager for what his new life would hold.
As one, they took each other’s hands, intertwining their fingers. Grace leaned in, her lips grazing the soft flesh of his neck as she kissed it lovingly, and then she bit. The warm tasty blood invaded her mouth while he screamed. Her poisonous venom was doing its job: circulating through his veins and then freezing his heart; and soon, no later than the beginning of the new day, he would be just like her, and they would start over afresh. Together for eternity. . .
THE END