Blood Red Rose

It was the scent of her that drew me, a scent even now I struggle to put into words. I could smell her life's blood, of course, a fragrance any of my kind must find enticing, but beneath that lay something more compelling still. Something...pure. Like the smell of fresh snow fall on a crisp winter night. It was a perfume which seemed tailor made to lure me, and I found myself helpless to resist it.

I drudged through half a forest to find her, and at my first sight of her, hunger nearly overwhelmed me. I found her in a clearing, standing amid the unkempt remains of an overgrown flower garden. Her back was to me, her silhouette a silver frame against the moonlight. Her eyes were transfixed upon the night sky above. I approached soundlessly, more out of habit than any fear I would be noticed, and watched her as she watched the stars. Soon, in the way of all fragile creatures, she seemed to sense the eyes of a predator upon her.

She stiffened slightly, but did not turn. “It is a beautiful night, is it not?” Her voice was different than I expected; lower, but undeniably feminine. I found it nearly as heady as her scent.

My gaze lingered on the nape of her neck, slowly tracing the soft contours as I imagined the feel of her blood welling between my fangs. It took a conscious effort to keep the hunger out of my voice as I replied.

“It is indeed.”

She turned to face me, then, and all thoughts of hunger, of the blood lust that nearly consumed me, vanished in an instant. To say she was beautiful would be an understatement. I noticed a hint of a smile on soft, red lips. I noticed a flawless face framed by long dark hair. But most of all, I noticed her eyes. I have met thousands, tens of thousands of people in my existence, but never had I seen such eyes. They were so...bright. So full of life. To see myself reflected in her eyes, I could almost remember what it was to be alive. My hungry stare drank deeply in that first moment, and for once I found my thirst bloodlessly satiated.

Despite my deep reaction to her, my poise never slipped. One does not live for centuries without acquiring a certain amount of ingrained, reflexive charm. I was dressed, as ever, in the guise of a gentlemen, and it was as a gentlemen that I greeted her. I walked towards her and without looking down, plucked a solitary rose from the remnants of the garden in which we stood. The thorns ripped the skin of my hand but I paid them no heed; it was not as if I had any blood to spare them.

“A rose for a rose,” I said to her, offering her the flower. Cliché, I know, but her smile widened as she took the rose from my hand and brought it to her nose, breathing deep. I allowed myself the same liberty, once more imbibing in the scent of her. This close, it was nearly overpowering, and for a moment the hunger for her flared again. Quickly I quelled it, assuring myself that the time would come soon enough.

There was no awkwardness between us, none of the hesitation that is usual between two strangers. Just simple, flowing conversation, laced with a hint of banter. As the night passed, for a time I managed to forget that it was the smell of her blood which had drawn me, and that my desire to make a meal of her was merely held in abeyance. For a time, I was simply a man entranced in the company of a beautiful woman. Far too soon, however, my internal time piece told me that dawn was not far off.

As if some spell had lifted, she seemed to realize the hour herself, and in a flurry she was on her way out of the garden. I thought she would escape without a word of parting, then, but just a moment before she vanished out of sight, she turned to me. “Perhaps I will be here tomorrow night. I suppose I could tolerate knowing I might meet you here once more.” Those endless eyes regarded me expectantly.

I smiled at her. “Perhaps you shall. And by what name should I bid you good evening if I am so graced?”

She looked down at the flower I had gifted her and returned my smile. “Rose,” she said, and left the clearing.

As I followed her example and left that place, I found myself smiling, and it was a smile that would not be banished. Before long, the smile became a grin. A wolfish, predatory grin I am sure, but a grin all the same. It was almost amusing, that this coy creature could so affect me. I had lived a dozen lifetimes, while she, at most, could call a score of years her own. Even as I sought a refuge from the day's sunlight, my thoughts were on the morrow's evening, and I knew I would return on the mere chance that she might join me.

And so she did, the next evening and the evening after. She would arrive with the setting of the sun, and I would do my best to catch her unawares. She had an uncanny knack for sensing my approach. Our time was spent in conversation, and though I learned a great deal about her, the mystique surrounding her never faded. I learned that she lived nearby, and that she was betrothed to a man she had never met. Her passions were music and poetry, and her taste in both was nearly a perfect match to my own. Of myself I revealed only enough to riposte a direct question; never lying, never volunteering anything. A thin line, but one I have walked many times. Despite my evasiveness, or perhaps in part because of it, she seemed to find me as alluring as I found her.

As each night ended I would attempt to convince myself that I was only playing with my food, as it were, and adding to the inevitable pleasure of the kill. The excuse rang more and more hollow as time passed, however, and by the end of a month I was forced to face the truth. I did not wish to steal her life.

I have run the gauntlet of affection many times over; from the innocence of a first crush, to the fierce, inhuman passion between two denizens of the night. I have fancied myself in love dozens of times. Always before, if the object of my affection were human, I simply turned her without a second thought. It is the nature of my kind. Never before had I found myself hesitating in the face of instinct.

Soon, I could no longer find escape even with the sun in the sky. My daytime dreams became plagued with thoughts of her. Rage began to boil within me that I should be so wracked with want. What was I, some love sick puppy? Some pathetic, sniveling mortal subject to a heart's whim? No! I was a creature of centuries, a peerless predator out of nightmare, a remorseless killer of innocents. To allow myself to be so controlled by a frail human was suddenly a weakness that disgusted me. And so I let my instinct override emotion. I knew what I wanted, and what I wanted I would have.

There is no excusing my intentions, no turn of phrase that will cast my motives in a shadow any less dark. I can only plead that I was, in truth, a monster, and subject to a monster's desires. I simply had to have her. It did not matter that she belonged to another, or that I would take from her all that she held dear to make her mine. I would turn her, and then I would spend eternity making it up to her if need be. And I would not wait one more hour. That night, in that forest, I was death.

My decision made, I did not stop to give myself time to reconsider. I sped toward her scent as only one of my kind can. The forest was a blur as I made my way to the clearing where I knew she awaited. Once more, as she had been on that first fateful night, she stood with her back to me, her eyes on the star filled sky. Part of me was glad that her back was turned, that she would not see the monster that I was until it was too late. Another part of me did not care.

A moment before I was upon her, she turned at the sound of my approach. In that one instant, time slowed. I could see the terror in her eyes, and I felt relief as I saw she did not even have time to recognize me. Her mouth was wide in surprise. The curve of her throat seemed to beckon to me.

In her hands she held the same long-stemmed rose I had given her at our first meeting, now wilted with a month's worth of age. I do not know if it was some reflex of self defense or some quirk of fate, but as I flew towards her she brought the rose up as if to stab me. Blood welled from where the thorns pierced the delicate skin of her hands, but still I nearly laughed at the futile gesture. A wooden stake would not have stopped me, nor a cross of silver. Myths all. And yet as I threw myself at her, I felt that slender stem pierce deep into my chest. I felt the thorns rend and tear through bone and lifeless flesh, to lodge within a blackened mass where once had been a heart. I found myself paralyzed. All strength left me and I collapsed to the ground.

I stared down in shock. For all my power, for all my ferocity, I was transfixed and made helpless by something as simple as a girl with a rose. I could not pry my eyes from where the flower stood upright in my chest, and as I watched with awe, the stem straightened while the petals bloomed anew and regained their brilliant red hue. I marveled, even as a thrill of fear shot through me. Was it feeding on my life force, even as I fed on other creatures? I made a feeble attempt to lift a hand, to rip the flower from out my chest, but I lacked the strength for even that.

Then the unthinkable happened. With a sickening, impossible lurch, I felt the stirring of something long dead where the rose met my heart. A single, excruciating beat. Pain raced beneath my skin with all the rage of a wildfire. Another beat. Then I felt a feeling half a millennium as a monster could not banish; the unmistakable feel of blood flowing through my veins.

Emotion surged through me; elation, fear, awe. I was alive once more. I knew it with a certainty that left me chilled. As the pain finally lifted, I found the strength to turn my head and regard her, this woman I had meant to devour.

Of course she knew me, then. She could not help but see me as the monster I truly was. Yet, she had not fled screaming as any other woman would have. She remained by my side as I lay helpless on the grass, her head pressed against my chest as she sobbed, with no care for the tears that streamed down her face. To my shock, I felt wetness on my own cheek to match. She wept; for fear that she had killed me. I wept; for joy that she should give me life.

I have no explanation for the miracle of the rose. I do not know what combination of the nights events were to thank for my transformation. Always, in every like tale I have ever heard the monster triumphs. The innocent is devoured. Never before had I heard of a vampire being turned by a human.

And yet I was. Blood now flows through my veins like any other man. Air rushes through my lungs with every breath. The gift of life is returned to me, unworthy though I am. My Rose has given me a second chance. And I know, with each new beat of my heart, it beats for her and her alone.