Shadow-Lover

Shadow-Lover
by Kara

“Shadow-Lover, never seen by day/Only deep in dreams do you appear.”
--Mercedes Lackey, “Magic’s Price”

He had many names—Vampire, Elf, Demon, Angel, Child of the Night. But he wasn’t evil. Nor was he good. He lived for the passion and the moment, the heat of the blood, the climax where the body is spent in sweaty passion. He made no apologies about what he was, and didn’t think that he had to.

Whatever force had spawned him ages ago gave him the name Taniquel. It probably meant something to someone, but Tani was never that curious. It didn’t profit him to wonder what his origins were, or what his name meant. That sweet-tasting Bard said that a rose by any other name would smell as sweet. He loved bards and poets—madmen all. It was the quicksilver activity that drove their blood to boil. He loved their sweet, effervescent dreams, high on whatever poison they chose. Their passion fed him and sated him as nothing else would. And no one has more passion than they did.

He couldn’t help being beautiful enough to seduce the psychotic madmen of the world. Tani’s looks inspired countless legends of thin, pale fey, though the more modern translations liked to give him ears that stuck out like antennae. His straight black hair hung as a finer silk than any young Japanese maiden. The fire in his pupil-less eyes seemed to have been born in Hell itself, though he knew there was no hell. Just as there was no god. There was only passion and lust—and Taniquel.

He prowled through the days and nights like a dancer, ever-stalking. He hunted in broad daylight, though legend and lore said he should not be able to. He didn’t drink the blood, as most Eastern Europeans believed. He merely fed off the passion of the act of love. His actions were a service, really, because he gave his cherished victims the loving that they had always dreamed of.

He loved a college student one night, a young woman with a shrine to the effeminate anime man covering her walls. He seduced her in a smoky bar with poetry and wine, walked her back to her apartment and wooed her over a discussion of philosophy and pagan beliefs. She knew more about Eastern Thought and world religions than anyone he had met. They fell into bed on their second bottle of her contraband absinthe, and the sex was as heady as the discussion. The sex was like performing in front of an audience of relatives. Each wall scroll and poster held a face that mimicked his own in gross exaggeration. Nothing could match the perfection of Tani. Nothing at all.

The young girl was barely old enough to know sex, much less the art of making orgasmic love. She had an interesting carnal knowledge though, as well as a stack hip-deep of women’s manga sitting on the back of her toilet. She had educated herself with words. Tani educated her with hands and lips. She preferred his way.

When they finished and lay entangled together with the sticky sheets, she ran her fingers through his hair and looked up at him with drowsy green eyes. “Do you suck my blood now, or should we wait?” She turned her head slightly so that her golden throat and pulsing jugular vein laid within reach of his mouth.

“Suck your blood?” What a filthy thought. As if he wanted that salty, copper-tasting fluid in his mouth. “I’m not some barbaric vampire.” Her fingers combed to the very ends of his black hair, and then proceeded to stroke down his smooth skin. “You love like a vampire.”

He couldn’t help smiling. “You’ve had that many vampires, then?”

Her hand lay on his chest for a moment, rising and falling with the rumble of his laughter. “No, but you love like they say vampires love.” He could feel a deep, contented moan shudder through her body. “Such a wonderful love.” Her fingers began to stroke again. “You have such talented fingers.” Taniquel’s long, slender fingers tightened momentarily on hers. Her hand was so small, like a child’s. “Years of practice.”

Her skin was softer than any silk that had ever run itself over his fingers. He allowed himself to run his hand from hip to breast one more time, marveling at the soft fuzzy hairs that clung to her honeyed skin. She shone like the sun in the dim light of her apartment. Her coppery hair and gold skin complimented his cool blackness. Her passion fed his hunger. Perhaps he would keep her for a while.

“Then what are you, if you aren’t a vampire?” Her voice was soft and light, almost a child’s treble. “You aren’t a man.” His fingers traced the smile on her face. “You’re more than a man.”

Even he wasn’t sure what he was. He felt no tie to either Heaven or Hell, and certainly didn’t have the urge to dance under the moonlight. He felt her hand move to rub against his backside.

“You don’t have a tail.” Her hand explored a little more. “And I didn’t see horns in that hair of yours. So you aren’t a demon either.” Her low chuckle contrasted with the sweetness of her flute-like voice. “Though I always did want a demon-lover.”

How many mortals had recognized him for what he was in the past years? His sweet bard had, naming him the brightest angel who had fallen—not a bad guess, but certainly not a correct one. What a rare child she was, to know so much of the immortal ways.

“Have you met many of my kind then?” Even Tani wasn’t sure exactly how many existed on Earth. His brothers and he never coupled—their hunger was only for human passion. Neither of the three brothers he met had stirred any sort of passion in him.

Her wandering hand moved up his spine to stroke his shoulderblades. “No, but I’ve read. There must be some truth to the legends.”

And there certainly was some truth. Taniquel knew that there were some who enjoyed sucking the lifeblood out of others. He also knew that there were some who enjoyed mental rape. He was neither of those. He just enjoyed the loving of the flesh. He left the meshing of the spirit for priests and mystics.

The girl’s breasts pressed up against his chest as she yawned and snuggled closer. She had a higher endurance level than most of the ones he had taken. She even lasted longer than that Donne fellow, who begged and pleaded for hours to be battered and ravished by his three-personed god. Perhaps Tani would come back by here tomorrow. She was a good partner. She wasn’t a master, as that hag-faced Cleopatra had been. But, oh, the ideas the Egyptian goddess had come up with. Not even mortal men had loved her for her beauty.

But to meet a mortal child with such a hunger—it was a pity that there was no way of changing her into something like himself. The years got lonely from time to time, when he allowed himself to think of forever, and how much time it meant. If he were a vampire, he could sire her into the dark world. But that also meant that he would have to drink her blood, and blood still made him squirm after all these years…

Her young body soon collapsed into a sleep that he envied. As a child of Night he didn’t need to sleep, though he did seek it out of occasional boredom. What he really missed was the ability to dream. Some of his madmen had spoken of such wonderful dreams—Leonardo and his flying machines, Hieronymus and his visions of foolish pleasures and hellish punishments. He envied those madmen from time to time. But that occasion was rare, and something he usually curtailed quite easily.

What would it be like to be mortal for an instant? Such a short, bright life. He touched the soft, round cheek of the child in his arms. She looked so young in her sleep, with the stresses of the day smoothed out by the amnesia of night. How old was she? Nineteen? That should hardly be legal, that someone should look so young and helpless. If he could protect her—

She stirred in her sleep, relaxing the tangle of her limbs about him. Her head fell back off his chest to the pillow, her mouth opened. He chuckled softly when she began to snore.

He didn’t know what he would protect her from. It wasn’t like he was an angel—if they even existed. Demons couldn’t raise the dead or keep the mortals from wasting away. No power could stop Time except the entropic force that was running down the Universe, and there was no use battling that. That great death was still a long way into the future. Tani hoped he wouldn’t be around that long.

He leaned on one elbow, careful not to disturb her in her slumber. He reached out and gently touched the reddish gold curls that spilled over the pillow. With that halo of hair, she looked like someone’s vision of an angel. Had it been Rossetti? Or maybe Titian? Titian liked redheaded women. Rossetti’s women had been full-fleshed and luscious, unlike this thin scrap of girl beside him. This young child could have almost been mistaken for a boy. Her curves were gentle, but still seductive.

He looked down at her. One hand had worked its way up to her mouth. Her thumb lay just inches from her mouth, just in case she needed that comfort. She was a child. Too young, really, to be seduced. But the young were so enthusiastic. The old had more experience, but they were so reluctant to try something new. He admired the young for their belief in the impossible. This latest generation seemed especially good at seeing beyond barriers, though his young girl was the first to have recognized him in generations.

The girl murmured something in her sleep, rolled over, and flung one arm across his stomach, nearly elbowing him in the gut. She must have been in REM sleep. So many mortals got restless in their sleep. He knew that when he slept, it was the sleep of the undead. Of course, considering what he was, that wasn’t surprising. Actually, he had never really considered whether or not he qualified as being alive. He didn’t bleed, didn’t eat. He liked a single glass of wine or absinthe every now and then, but the fluids seemed to evaporate. He thrived off light and life, passions and lusts. He hungered for peoples’ dreams. And he hadn’t aged a day for as long as he could remember, though sometimes he felt the years weighing down upon him.

He really needed to stop lying awake at 3 in the morning. That’s why madmen became insane. They thought entirely too much in the early hours of the morning. Such heavy darkness would drive anyone insane. As if he could grow tired of the endless feast of love--not that it was love. Lust and love were two entirely different things. His sister Calypso had tried to keep her sailor out of love. Last he heard, she had thrown herself into the sea.

He refrained from touching her cheek again. He mustn’t. Her cheek was soft, like a peach. Tiny golden hairs grew there too. She was hairy for a woman, but somehow the delicate fuzz enhanced her beauty. It made her gold all over, like Danae had looked, surrounded by her great cloud of golden hair when she stood in sunlight. It was a pity that Tani wasn’t able to sire a child. This young girl would make such beautiful babies.

When he wasn’t watching for a night’s loving, he was watching humans out of sheer curiosity. They fascinated him with their strange, gregarious ways. They were like rabbits in some ways, always seeking each other out for the rut, yet never protecting their precious young. Some mother had raised this child-woman the right way. He had never met a woman like her. Not even that beautiful boy-bard could compare to this child, and the bard had gone on to write poetry that still enthralled.

What gift could he give her? She seemed to have already gotten what she wanted. This occult-preoccupied child received the loving of a lifetime. Just the hint of a smile in her sleep told him how much it meant to her. He would like to give it to her again. And again. And again. But it wasn’t possible. It was best not to get too attached. If he got attached, he would be forced to stay. And then he would be forced to watch her die.

It was better to be only the shadow lover, one who visited once in a lifetime so that he could love as many as possible. He was drawn to the ones that he would never be able to stay with. It was best to give to the passionate ones that would burn out early—ones that couldn’t give in the long run any more than he could. But sometimes, he would like to give in, just for a little while.

But if he settled down for a spell, then he would be forced to do something productive. There would be no more running from bed to bed. No more leaving in the middle of the night, just so that he wouldn’t have to face the bed’s other occupant in the light of day. No more lonely wandering. No more—

He sat up, carefully edging off the mattress without waking her. He walked to the window, trying not to count how many times he had risen at this same moment between dark and dawn. At some point, he would have to stay and see it through to the morning. But this child was so young and could change her mind a thousand times, and he would be forced to watch each change of mind and heart. It was better to leave before she could break his spirit. She could never break his heart. He never let his heart get involved.

He looked back at her, now completely sprawled over the futon. So many had called his name in the night. Sometimes he heard it whispered from the depths of sleep. He never thought of those echoing voices. He never remembered beyond the previous night, unless it was so far back that the pain could no longer be felt.

And she knew him for what he was. She questioned him, but she didn’t press, content to taste him in his immortality, even though he had something that her kind had craved for centuries. How could he tell her that he envied her single, great burst of glory? How all he longed for was one dream, just to see what it would be like. Brother and sister vampires often spoke of longing to see the sun just once, or one more time. He tried and tried to describe the glory of a sunrise, but somehow, it was never enough. It was the same with the dreams. He watched countless dreams played out on thousands of sleeping faces. But it was one thing to watch, and another to live.

He watched life pass by and tried not to remark upon it, because then he would remember how long it had been since. Was there a purpose to putting him down on Earth? He had been with these fragile mortals for so long that sometimes he even began to think like them.

He pulled back the mini-blinds and saw the faintest touch of fire to the east. False dawn. It was time that he left. He turned and fumbled on the floor for his scattered jeans and muslin shirt.

“Leaving?” Her voice was husky with sleep.

He knelt by the futon, clothes in one hand. “I’m afraid so.” He knew she couldn’t see his reluctant smile, but it was probably best that way. One last stroke of her tangled hair, one last kiss to her full lips.

“Will you be back?” She sat up now, eyes still heavy with sleep.

Would he be back?

“I’ll try.” It was a nice, noncommittal answer. It was certainly something he had to think about.

She lifted her face for one last kiss, as a child would. “Come back.” Demanded with a child’s simplicity. “Please.”

She was so young though. But she saw him for who he was and rejoiced in it. There was too much to think about—such strong feelings in his heart that were hard to deny. Maybe that was the secret—to be as free with his love as he was with his lust. Humans loved so freely, as easily as they lost. But perhaps that chance taken was the secret to the dream. If he was some sort of angel or demon, he might as well have a reason to fall.

“Sleep now.” He gently pushed her back down and covered her with the blankets. He kissed her forehead as her eyelids slipped shut again. “Sleep, precious.”

He stood looking at her until the first rays of sunlight reaching out over the horizon. Before leaving her silent apartment, he turned back, a slight smile on his face. He might try this loving—at least for a little while.

The End