A Small Collection of Vampires

By David Addleman

Herein are ten wicked little stories of or about vampires, followed by a short eulogy.

1. SO LONG TO LOVE

2. CODE OF THE VAMPIRE

3. INTROSPECTION

4. A DIFFERENT HUNGER

5. FOR LOVE OF INNOCENTS

6. LEGACY OF LOVE

7. DARK HUNTER

8. A MATTER OF MUTUAL RESPECT

9. NEIGHBORS

10. REQUIEM FOR A VAMPIRE

11. THE LAST VAMPIRE

• Language: English
• Publisher: David Addleman
• Release date: Apr 6, 2011
• ISBN: 9781458008633

David Addleman

David R. Addleman has sold over 120 short stories and 8 novels. He was a charter member of the Fairwood Writers Group in Kent, Washington, and taught fiction writing at Renton College. He competes in masters swimming and holds a black belt in Uechi Ryu karate. He writes from Menifee, CA., where he lives with his wife, Deborah. Their son, Paul, works at UCLA in Westwood, CA.

Book preview

A SMALL COLLECTION OF VAMPIRES

stories about the undead

by

David R. Addleman

SMASHWORDS EDITION

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PUBLISHED BY:

David R. Addleman on Smashwords

Cover Photo by Evgeni Dinev

A Collection of Vampires

Copyright © 2011 by David R. Addleman

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

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A SMALL COLLECTION OF VAMPIRES

SO LONG TO LOVE

Graham was nearly invisible from where he stood inside the windy, shadowed Cathedral bell tower. He watched Melissa Grant exit the carriage on the street below. From this height and distance only heat-seeking eyesight as keen as his could distinguish her unique beauty. He'd watched her for weeks, managing to find a little time for her each night.

Tonight, he thought tiredly, she will meet me for the first time. He forced himself to anticipate their next few weeks together. It will be as blissful as always, he thought. Melissa was nearly twenty, now—he'd waited long enough for her.

Graham floated down to street level, easily following Melissa, since the single-horse pulling her carriage kept to a slow walk. The striking of hooves on cobblestone echoed loudly off buildings. Only nearer the center of town did the noise of other vehicles begin to mask hers. When the carriage turned down Broad Street, Graham relaxed. She was heading home.

He arrived ahead of her, and stood patiently in tall shrubbery across from her parents' mansion. Mr. and Mrs. Grant were on their Grand European tour, according to the Charlestonian. Miss Grant was living alone in the mansion with only a handful of servants.

She arrived, and was handed down from the carriage by the driver. Good night, Miss Grant.

Good night, James. And, thank you.

Graham liked her courtesy to a menial.

The carriage drove off. Melissa stood a moment watching it leave. Graham wondered what so young a mind contemplated?

He called out softly. Miss Grant.

Her startled eyes swung his direction. Yes?

He approached, hoping she'd wouldn't be frightened His clothing complemented what she'd worn to the symphony: tuxedo, top hat, white scarf, and black cape.

I called earlier, he said, and was distressed to learn that your parents were abroad. I have been entrusted with an envelope which was to be hand-delivered to your father.

She relaxed perceptively. Can you mail it to him in Paris?

Oh, no. It contains rather a large sum of money.

Oh. She seemed at a loss.

Perhaps you handle his business while he's away....

She shook her head. Not usually. She hesitated. I suppose I could deposit a sum to his bank account.

If you would, he said, I would be greatly relieved.

Back on solid ground, she smiled graciously. Won't you come inside?

My pleasure, he answered.

The rules stipulated that a vampire must be invited inside before being free to use his powers. Silly, but there it was. He had tested the rule once and found that an invisible force prevented him from nearing his intended sleeping victim. Since then he'd heeded the rule, using various ruses to gain entrance. The money-in-the-envelope ploy was often successful. The envelope did contain the money.

Brandy? Mr...?

Graham. No, thank you. He handed her the large envelope.

She raised an eyebrow at its weight.

Fifty thousand, American, he said.

She blushed. I wasn't—

You might want to count it. I'll need a receipt.

Of course. She changed immediately into the woman of the house, opened the envelope, and stacked the bills on her coffee table. It was easy to count, since it comprised individually banded packets each labeled with an amount. Let's see. I count ten packets of five-thousand dollars.

Correct. Graham walked over her. Directing the full intensity of his powers at Melissa, he pushed aside her auburn hair to bare the nape of her neck. She froze, in burgeoning thrall. He leaned down and kissed her neck.

Mr. Graham, she said with a quaver in her voice. I can't allow....

He kissed the same spot again, but held the kiss longer. She shivered beneath her thin dress. Heat rose in her neck.

Mr. Graham. Her complaint had become feeble as she surrendered completely to his influence.

By lifting her chin, he exposed and kissed her lips. Melissa's sigh was of total capitulation. Her eyes closed as he lifted her body up and cradled her against his chest.

Where is your bedroom? he asked huskily, surprised at the strength of his own response to her. It angered and frightened him that his need had grown so huge.

Upstairs, down the main hall. Second door on the right. Her voice was so soft his barely heard, even with his supernatural hearing.

He carried her up to bed.

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So many years. He had grown sentimental of late. Newer conquests paled in comparison to remembered ones. Perhaps Melissa would reverse that trend.

Lately he'd even started looking up his early lovers, something he wouldn't have considered a few decades earlier. Some of them still lived—as grandmothers or great-grandmothers. Recently, he'd shown the ultimate weakness in speaking with the first of his conquests. His own recklessness frightened him. What had happened to his concern for his own safety?

He had revisited Alexandra Longhren, his first lover after having been transformed. Since their weeks together all those years ago, she'd married and raised five children. Her children, in turn, had raised families of their own. He kept track of them, too.

The night he spoke to her, Alexandra had been puttering in her garden during the last fading moments of twilight. Hers was a formal garden, of the type popular on the grounds of old English estates. The manicured lawn, graveled walk, brick border, neat hedges, and the profusion of blossoms were a miniature replication of larger estates. Graham stepped up beside her and inhaled deeply of the personal scent of violets she'd always favored. She turned—a thin, erect woman in her eighties whose wrinkled face retained yet a hint of youthful beauty.

How did you get in here, young man? Her question commingled querulousness and curiosity.

Don't you recognize me, Alexandra?

No. I've never seen you— She stopped. Her face paled as her eyes scoured his face. Who are you? Paler yet, she looked frightened at what he might say.

Ah, I'm flattered. You do remember. He smiled and leaned to peck her cheek. It's been 60 years, Alexandra.

You're dead, she said.

He spread his arms. I am as you see. My appearance may serve to answer your questions as to why we couldn't share a life together.

Her eyes widened at his implications. You haven't aged at all, Peter, she said, somehow willing to accept the impossible.

That's not my name anymore.

It is yours, though, isn't it.

My birth name, he agreed. "You're the only one who remembers. Peter Flemming 'died' in a shipwreck soon after I left you. I've assumed a new identity every four or five