Love Lies Bleeding

By Aspasia S. Bissas

What happens when a predator loves its prey?

Centuries-old Mara is dying a slow death when she meets Lee, a young man whose life has never belonged to him. Thrown together, they're forced to fight those who would destroy them and survive a slew of enemies they never expected, even as Mara falls into a downward spiral of delusion and obsession. Will she make a devil's deal to save both their souls? With pasts like theirs, can they ever have a future?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Aspasia S. Bissas
• Release date: Jun 4, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463175781

Aspasia S. Bissas

Inspired by pop culture, mythology, history, and magic--as well as a lifelong obsession with vampires--Aspasía is the author of the dark fantasy novels Love Lies Bleeding and Bleeding Heart, and the short stories "Blood Magic" and "Tooth & Claw," set in the same world. She lives in Toronto, Canada, and is currently working on her next project. You can follow her on her website: aspasiasbissas.com.

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LOVE LIES BLEEDING

By Aspasía S. Bissas

Copyright © 2017 by Aspasía S. Bissas

Smashwords Edition Copyright © 2018

All rights reserved under international and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

Bissas, Aspasía S.

Love Lies Bleeding/ Aspasía S. Bissas

ISBN: 978-0-4631757-8-1

Distributed by Smashwords

For SAM,

Ever and always.

CHAPTER ONE

Lee threw himself back, barely avoiding being skewered by the jagged knife thrust at his chest. The problem was he ended up throwing himself back into the waiting arms of the second attacker. Those arms wrapped around him and brought a fresh blade, this time against his throat. This was getting old.

Lee grabbed the hand holding the knife and pried the fingers backwards, at the same time twisting his adversary’s wrist. The man grunted, frustrated by the futile effort of trying to break free of Lee’s grip. The dagger clattered to the floor. The first attacker rushed forward to help his comrade. Lee forced him back with a well-timed kick to the solar plexus before taking down the one behind him with a hard elbow to the ribs.

Wasting no time on hesitation Lee bent, grabbed the dagger, and felt his bad leg give way. He dropped to his knees, the momentum pushing him forward so that he had to brace his hands against the floor to keep from doing a face plant into the hardwood. The first man was rushing at him again; he didn’t have time to get up. Lee braced with his good leg and drove the dagger into the man’s groin. The man cried out, staggering back. Lee pulled out the bloodied blade and launched himself at his attacker. This time his leg held, but not without a flare of pain that seared down to the bone. The guy came at him a third time, noticeably slower now, and Lee stabbed him in the throat, twisting the blade before pulling it out again. He dropped and stayed down.

Lee turned in time to see the second man aiming a kick behind his knees. He sidestepped but not fast enough to avoid getting clipped. It knocked him forward a couple of steps and when he turned again the man was in mid-stab. Lee shoved his dagger into the guy’s armpit, then moved away and watched as blood filled his mouth and his breath turned into choked gurgles. A minute later he was on the floor with his partner.

Lee knew it was more than self-defense; it was self-preservation. But knowing that didn’t keep his guts from twisting into knots and his stomach trying to escape out his throat. Dominic had been right to call him soft. He’d never get used to this, to the blood. To killing. How could anyone? No wonder Mara was losing her mind.

Mara. All at once he remembered she was still in the kitchen with two more of these assholes. He stopped long enough to grab the crossbow off the floor, careful not to strain his leg this time.

After nearly tripping over a corpse by the doorway, Lee paused and took in the scene. The dead man at his feet. The one with his throat mangled and a stab wound to the midsection. Farther along, a body with its neck bent at an entirely creepy angle. That should’ve been all of them. But there was Mara with a sixth man standing behind her, holding a blade to her throat. Pushing down panic, mind whirling in confusion, Lee reacted.

Stop!

He didn’t know why he thought that would do anything. And it didn’t. The blade flashed, catching the light for a blinding instant before retreating into the shadows. A line of red appeared across Mara’s throat before blood started pouring down, soaking her front. Her hand drifted up to the wound, as if to check it really had happened.

Her killer let go and took a step toward Lee before hesitating and taking off for the back door. Why the hell shouldn’t he run? He’d done what five of his buddies had failed to, what they’d been sent to do—the rest of his day was free. Lee, on the other hand, wasn’t quite finished yet. The bolt punctured the guy between his shoulder blades and came out through his chest before he reached the door. Lee dropped the crossbow and went to Mara. He knelt next to her where she’d sunk to her knees.

He offered her his arm; the scars that used to cover it were faded now, barely visible. Jesus, Mara—here—drink.

She looked at him and he wasn’t sure she actually saw him. Her pale eyes looked clouded and the light in them was fading fast.

He swallowed hard, trying to control his fear. Drink. Please.

She said something in a language he didn’t recognize. Latin? Gaelic? Elvish? Who fucking knew?

I don’t understand.

She stopped speaking, took a rattling breath, tried again. It won’t help.

He took a second to be grateful she still remembered English. What will? Tell me.

Here. She reached for him and he moved closer until her weak breath brushed his skin. It was cold, like the rest of her. He was losing her and he didn’t know what to do to stop it.

He didn’t expect to feel fangs sink into his neck.

The pain was intense. His eyes opened wide from the shock, his entire body went rigid. A second later the pain was replaced with a hazy sort of euphoria that dimmed all the fear and hurt. That would be the blood loss. He vaguely registered what was happening as his body relaxed again and his thoughts started to swim. This was the first time she’d ever done this and it would be the last too. Vampires saved the neck for when they wanted to finish their prey. It was the one thing you could count on from them. He closed his eyes and waited.

CHAPTER TWO

Mara stifled another yawn. How long had Nigel been blathering on for? It had to be at least half an hour. Listening to him made her wish she wasn’t immortal. What was he going on about now? She forced herself to pay attention and soon wished she hadn’t bothered. He was still trying to convince her to officially join the Enlightenment. She tuned him out again; it wasn’t anything she hadn’t already heard countless times.

Not for the first time—or the last—Mara asked herself what she was doing with Nigel. True, it had been a while since she’d enjoyed a man’s company, or anyone else’s, for that matter. Although under the current circumstances she wasn’t sure she could count this as enjoying. And while she’d missed human—so to speak—contact, she had to question if she really missed it this much. It wasn’t as though they were having a frolic, either; their time together consisted almost entirely of Nigel talking at her while she found new, increasingly creative ways to conceal her boredom.

But the bigger mystery wasn’t why she was bothering with him, but why he was interested in her. What did the powerful leader of legions want with a loner like her? It certainly wasn’t their mutual love of fine antiques. What was he getting out of their odd association? Surely he couldn’t be that keen on recruiting a new member for his group. Then again….

She wasn’t entirely ungrateful, however, for his sudden attentions. Alignment with Nigel and, by extension, the Enlightenment meant a level of protection that someone like her couldn’t otherwise hope for. Everyone knew the Ridirí left the Enlightenment alone, and staying out of the Knights’ way was invaluable for any vampire. But yet more important to her was protection from Dominic. Ever since he’d found her again Dominic’s attempts at getting her back had been steadily escalating from persistent to aggressive. She suppressed a shudder. Any amount of tedium was worth it to have someone between her and Dominic.

And still Mara refused to acknowledge the most important reason for spending so much time enduring Nigel. The one reason she couldn’t voice, couldn’t even let herself think. She was dying.

Not her body, of course; though that might have been preferable. Physically she hadn’t changed since she’d been turned. The others from her village had long since aged and perished and crumbled to dust, as had countless generations after them, but she remained untouched by time. Except for her eyes. To anyone who looked close enough, Mara’s eyes told the story she wouldn’t admit: her soul was dying. Or maybe it was finally escaping after being imprisoned for so long. In any case it amounted to the same thing, and she’d seen it happen before, too many times. She’d prayed it wouldn’t happen to her; that she’d be one of the lucky ones. She should’ve known better. Mara wasn’t lucky. Never had been.

She’d noticed the first signs a few months back and had been living in dread ever since. It always started the same, with a gradual dimming of emotions, and kept going until everything and everyone you’d ever felt for or cared about suddenly mattered no more than a fresh layer of frost to a snowman. It was waking up day after day after day with no highs, no lows, no sadness, no happiness, no anger, love, hate, passion. It was being trapped in an eternally indifferent world.

The first to go had been her empathy. That was neither a shock nor a great loss; vampires had little use for it anyhow. But the degeneration quickly spread beyond that. One day she found she could no longer be bothered about what even the people she liked had to say, about what they felt or thought, about anything at all to do with anyone else. She’d tried to counteract it by randomly engaging in friendly banter and responding, however pathetically, to Nigel’s equally pathetic advances. She wanted to care, to feel concern, connection, love. Thus far her efforts had proved fruitless. Maybe expecting Nigel to elicit an emotion as profound as love was asking too much, but he was hardly her only failure. As time went on she found herself becoming disinterested in nearly everything. The few exceptions so far seemed to be her plants, and the hunt.

If Dominic knew that the one thing Mara truly craved anymore was giving in to her base animal instincts he would never let up in his pursuit of her. In his mind it would be proof that she belonged with—and to—him. And that was why he would never, ever find out. And neither would anyone else if she could help it.

What was wrong with her that hunting was the only surefire way left for her to feel, to know she was still alive? Even now the mere thought of it was enough to make her heart quicken, her breath catch, and the butterflies start beating a tattoo against her insides. The anticipatory thrill of choosing prey from a crowd, stalking the marked victim to the point where they start to realize they’re in serious trouble; then the adrenaline rush of the chase, the sound of blood pumping wildly through veins, the intoxicating scent of fear, the complete wild abandon overtaking her senses, and finally the ultimate reward of the pop of fangs through tight skin into soft flesh—

Amarantha, are you well?

What? Flustered, Mara had forgotten Nigel was there. She’d ended up caught in thoughts that felt more like fantasies. Or plans.

You are flushed, child. Do you require anything? He hesitated. Shall I send for my bloodletter? Perhaps you need to feed.

No. Thank you, Nigel. The thought of blood was tempting but a willing volunteer wouldn’t exactly fulfill her needs just then. I’ll be fine. I…I haven’t been sleeping well lately.

It was the only excuse she could think of. She couldn’t exactly admit that instead of listening to him she’d been daydreaming about stalking human prey. The lapse of courtesy would annoy him enough, never mind the impropriety of her distractions. Unlike Dominic, the Enlightenment did not approve of anything as unseemly as hunting. They insisted on using bloodletters—human livestock. Much more civilized.

How can you be expected to rest, fending for yourself in this…dwelling? A lone woman without so much as a menial servant, isolated from those who regard you so highly—who understand you. If you were to join the Enlightenment we could offer encouragement, companionship....

Why did she get the impression he was using the royal we? She pretended to be overcome by sudden lightheadedness. Maybe if she didn’t say anything he would drop the subject.

It grieves me to see you in such distress, Amarantha. Is there truly nothing I can do?

Maybe I need to lie down, after all.

I fear I have wearied you with my endless prattle.

Not at all. But I worry I’ve taken up too much of your time this evening.

On the contrary, your company is unfailingly delightful. Nevertheless, I will bid you a good night.

Only if you must.

Please leave, please leave, please leave….

He paused.

Shite.

I do hope you shall be able to regain your fortitude before Saturday’s reception.

I’m sure I will. She gave him a polite smile, hoping he’d pick up on the underlying strain and take the hint.

He didn’t.

You will still attend, won’t you? The evening would be a pointless endeavor without you by my side.

A party at Nigel’s wasn’t her first choice for a night out. Or her second or third choices, either. It would have been brilliant to be able to milk her supposed debility and use it to beg off from what promised to be a painful time, but she knew he’d never forgive her if she did. She wasn’t willing to risk burning this bridge.

I’m sure you’d manage. She smiled again.

"But you will be there, Amarantha." It wasn’t a question.

I wouldn’t miss it for the world.

I can scarcely express my pleasure at hearing such a reassurance.

I’m…glad.

I did mention it will be formal attire?

You did.

Forgive my boldness—I know it is not a man’s place to opine on matters of the feminine realm, and I have no wish to cause insult or otherwise malign your formidable charms—

Please stop.

What was that?

What are you trying to say, Nigel?

A touch more color, perhaps, around the eyes.

You want me to wear makeup?

It would be suitable to the occasion.

And you wouldn’t want me to embarrass you in front of all your Enlightenment chums.

Amarantha, I don’t…I would never….

I’ll see what I can do.

Ah. Thank you.

Happy to oblige.

If I may impose on you once more, in regards to your tresses, fetching though they undoubtedly are—

She feigned a sudden headache.

Perhaps I should simply trust in your innate capacity in this sphere.

Perhaps that would be best.

I take my leave, dear child.

I’ll see you on Saturday.

Nigel bent and kissed her hand before, at long last, returning to the car waiting in front of the house. Mara watched through a gap in the curtains until the car was well out of sight. As soon as she was sure Nigel wouldn’t be coming back with more directives she pulled on her boots; she needed to clear her head.

She paused in the back garden, smelled the air heavy-scented with lavender and hyssop and the other herbs she grew, and debated staying and tackling some of the endless work the plants entailed. Much as she loved the garden, however, it wasn’t what was calling to her tonight. She kept going, slipping through the hidden gate in the overgrown cedar hedge and out into the litter-strewn, graffiti-covered alley that ran behind her house.

One direction led to more alleys, the other led to the main road. She turned toward the road. The neighborhood was an old, working-class one, the houses having been built to accommodate the workers from the nearby factories, long-since defunct. The homes, with their crooked porches and peeling shingles, were now interspersed with warehouses and auto body shops. The main strip was a mish-mash of shabby bars, junk shops, and empty storefronts. A few upscale coffee houses and artsy boutiques had opened with the hope of serving the needs of the upstart movie and music producers who’d opened studios in the low-rent area, but both shops and studios tended to quietly disappear within a few months.

She paused as three streetcars went rumbling and screeching by, one after the other, before crossing the street and heading for her favorite bar. It wasn’t a good idea to hunt where one lived but this wasn’t hunting. Well, not exactly. She entered the tavern, letting the heavy wooden door bang shut behind her. She took in the scents of beer, sweat, stale cigarettes, and quiet desperation, before settling onto a seat at the bar. She ordered a lager she had no intention of drinking and started scoping out the room.

She never went for the regulars so she scanned for new faces. And since they were no good to her sober she also checked for the presence of a few empties on the tables in front of them. Once she found her quarry she would encourage him to a secluded spot before finally having her own drink of choice. Only enough to refresh her, nothing fatal. Even the Enlightenment couldn’t find fault with that. And the men in their state of intoxication would remember little more than spending some pleasant time with a pretty girl. As long as she remembered to heal the fang marks with a drop of her own blood, there would be nothing to remind them that anything had been amiss. For Mara it was nowhere near the euphoria of the hunt but it would suffice. It had to.

Wha—what’s a girl like you doin’ in a place like this?

Original, this one. Mara turned to face the man who’d spoken. She didn’t recognize him and he was clearly soused. Perfect.

Just biding my time, she murmured and smiled.

I’d offer t’ buy you a drink but it looks like yer still workin’ on the first one.

Mara glanced at the untouched pint. To be honest—what’s your name?

Dan. But my friends call me Danny.

To be honest, Danny, it’s not really alcohol I’m interested in.

"So what are you int’rested in, sweet thing?" His leer left little doubt as to where he hoped her interest lay. Not too drunk, then, to pick up on her hints. They rarely were.

Would you like to go somewhere a little quieter?

He nodded and she let him lead her through to the back, smiling to herself when she heard one of the other patrons mutter lucky sonofabitch as they passed him on their way out.

The alley behind the bar was deserted but for a few rats, which scattered as soon as they sensed the predator among them. So far, so good. As soon as they got clear of the bar Mara took over the role of aggressor. She pushed Danny against the nearest wall and started unbuttoning his shirt. She ignored his wandering hands as she ran her mouth along his neck and down his gradually exposed chest. The smell of blood bubbling beneath the surface clouded her senses, and it was all she could do not to let it send her into a frenzy.

Grabbing him by the wrist, she kissed his palm before letting her tongue slide down to the sweet spot above his pulse. A little nick in the thin skin there and he would be none the wiser. Her eyes glazed over with want.

Yer a feisty little thing, ain’tcha?

You have no idea, mate.

She froze. No. No no no no no.

All right, Mara, love?

The devil had come calling.

Steadying herself she turned to face Dominic, taking no comfort in the realization that there was one