Bad Blood

As his eyes gently flickered open, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings Adam was instantly confused. This was not his home, this was not Tangier and it most definitely wasn't dark yet outside. Dreary light still seeped in through the cracks in the maroon drapes that hung at the large box sash windows. Feeling disorientated and curious, he rose wearily from the large sofa that had ensconced him, and slowly crept from the room and into the draughty oak panelled hallway. Scanning the environment in the dim light, his keen eyes suddenly fell on a framed photograph of a wedding couple which hung on the flock wallpapered wall. Edging nearer, he immediately recognised the bride as Ava.
And the memories of the last couple of days all came flooding back, like a river that had burst its banks. It hadn't been a dream at all. He had left Tangier, his home and his wife behind.

Amongst the myriad of emotions he was feeling, was a sense of acceptance that almost bordered on relief. If he was brutally honest with himself, he could admit that the dynamics between Eve and himself had dramatically changed after they'd fed on, and changed the young couple that had inadvertently crossed their path on the night of Marlowe's death. Emotions had been running high that weekend, for several different reasons, and their strength at an all time low. Desperation alone had driven them to attack Youssef and Aya. And during the weeks that followed, Adam had struggled with his conscience along with feelings of displacement.
His mood had already been low for many months prior to his move to Tangier, feeling increasingly lonely and despondent. Lamenting the corruption and degradation of the human race and the environment, he'd been harbouring suicidal thoughts for some time before Eve had recognised how subdued and withdrawn he'd become. Having lived half a world apart for several decades, she'd only noticed his reclusive, sombre state during one of her obligatory, annual phone calls. There had been no 'spooky action at a distance' involved. For some reason that didn't seem to occur between his wife and he. And whilst he had been genuinely pleased to be reunited with her again, as reluctant as he would've been to admit it, even her presence did not serve to fill the empty void inside of his soul.
But then of course, Ava had arrived. Throwing him into turmoil once again, bringing chaos where there was calm and leaving destruction in her wake. God she was infuriating. She'd arrived uninvited, encroaching on his personal space by invading his sanctuary and showing no respect for his privacy. She had gorged herself on his precious supply of O negative. She'd taunted him remorselessly, persuaded him against his own better judgement to go out amongst the zombies, and wrecked his belongings. His many treasured possessions such as his irreplaceable, rare vinyl record collection and out-dated recording equipment, along with his most favoured 1905 Gibson guitar. Above all else, she'd killed Ian. She'd all but drank him dry, draining him of his very life source. And whilst he detested the human race, Ian wasn't a bad kid at all. He had been trustworthy, and the closest thing he'd had to a friend whilst living in Detroit. Ava's reckless, thoughtlessness had once again left him in a difficult and potentially disastrous situation. He had to flee, leaving behind everything he owned.

Later, Eve had, with all her infinite optimism, attempted to convince him that a fresh start was exactly what he was in need of. And they'd settled into a new life with their new companions, Youssef and Aya. But the novelty had soon worn off for Adam. Their traditional villa in the Meridan at Tangier, with it's balcony that afforded a magical view of the old Town at night, was no consolation to him. As opposed to Eve, who had soon adapted, revelling in her new role of mentor, she seemed to thrive from the new lease of life. Youssef hung on her every word in a way which put Adam in mind of his younger self. Aya, however was somewhat jealous by nature and had soon tired of the attention her lover lavished upon his new teacher and maker. She left quite unexpectedly, leaving nothing more than a scribbled note, claiming she would rather find her own way in the world. Adam had not been overly surprised by her sudden departure, and had he not been wrestling with his own demons and feelings of guilt, he might well have been inclined to feel unwanted also.
He knew his slender frame, aquamarine eyes and pale complexion could not compete with young Youssef's olive tanned, muscular body, and dark almond eyes. Eve had on more than one occasion proclaimed the young Moroccan beautiful. And even though their marriage had endured centuries, and periods of long separation, he had always known deep down that the inevitable would one day happen. Her head would be turned, and she would be tempted. He had been certain of this due to the fact that it had already happened to him.

Not during the heady nights of the 'swinging sixties' or the scandalous 'free love' era of the seventies. Throughout this time when he had quite happily transitioned from being a romantic poet and classical composure to a fully fledged rockstar, who jammed with the likes of Bob Dylan, Keith Richards and even taught Jimi Hendrix himself how to play guitar. He'd even penned "All Along The Watch Tower" and gifted it to the rising star, on the condition that the lyrics were not accredited to him.
But regardless of the tours, concerts, music festivals and hanging out with the likes of the Rolling Stones and David Bowie, never once had Adam been tempted to stray. And it wasn't for want of the opportunity presenting itself. An endless procession of groupies and adoring fans almost quite literally threw themselves at his feet on a daily basis. But none of them captivated his attention. His loyalty lay with Eve, no matter where in the world either of them ended up. In all the centuries, only once had his eyes wandered....and that had happened many years ago, back in the mists of time. In London during the summer of 1869.

A young, radiant looking woman with honeyed hair, the colour and texture of which he likened to a lion's mane, had caught his attention. Petite and with warm, hazel eyes that shone brightly, reflecting the light from the Louis XVl chandeliers, he'd found himself inadvertently moving towards her before he realised what was happening. Exuding a zest for life that mirrored his own, he hadn't intended to partner her in a dance. All of London's high class society had been in attendance and were aware of him being married to the sophisticated Eve, due to the elite company she kept. So his behaviour that evening had been most severely frowned upon. But he could not help himself. This dainty beauty, so dissimilar to his precious Eve in every way, enchanted him. He felt a deep, almost instantaneous connection and was so enamoured by her he would've eloped with her there and then had he dared suggest it.
But then came the unexpected and sobering blow. She was Eve's sister. The troubled young girl that caused his wife so much concern. She had a restless spirit, and a rebellious streak, she refused to conform by entertaining worthy suitors, and often did scandalous things such as wearing men's britches to go riding in, rather than sitting sidesaddle like a properly behaved lady.

Ashamed for having been so sorely tempted to commit adultery, Adam reigned in his inappropriate thoughts and reasoned with himself that his attraction was nothing more than a passing fancy. But that did not appear to be the case, and he tried in vain to keep his sister in law at a distance. Which proved most difficult when occasionally she would turn up, unannounced whilst 'passing through' whatever city they happened to be inhabiting at the time. The nagging urges were still present, and most of the time he struggled to even look at her for fear of losing his senses to her completely. To make matters worse, as the years flew by and she grew increasingly wayward and flirtatious, he found himself trapped in a never ending cycle of trying to convince himself that he wasn't attracted to her, whilst simultaneously living in constant dread of her finding a serious love interest.
He knew this made him a hypocrite, but he could not help how he felt. Until eventually he'd finally cracked that night in Paris, overcome with wanton lust and the need to know if she secretly reciprocated his undisclosed desires, he'd all but devoured her small mouth. And when she'd pressed herself to him, welcoming his forbidden kisses, it had taken every last fraction of his self restraint to not ravish her right there and then.

Whilst undoubtedly regretting his rash actions, and being infuriated by her immaturity that night, to his eternal shame he'd revelled in the intimacy of their brief, sordid dalliance. Unable to forget the sweet taste of her soft, bloodied lips, he began to detest himself as well as her, each time Eve spoke of her little sister's latest exploits throughout the decades.
Then in 1984, there came the shocking revelation from his old friend Christopher Marlowe, who accidentally disclosed that Ava was not Eve's sister by birth. During a rare visit, whilst Eve was absent, the ever wise elderly fellow had sat opposite him, eyeing him steadily,
"How is that vivacious sister in law of yours?"
He enquired casually, no doubt perceiving the way in which Adam shifted awkwardly under the weight of his heavy gaze.

"I really wouldn't know.."
He responded nonchalantly,
"...and I really couldn't care less. She's a pain in the arse, Kit."

Nodding slowly, the old man sank backwards into the high button backed chair,
"She is most definitely trouble, but one must make some allowances, given her past history."

"What do you mean, past history?"

"Her being just a child when she was turned. It ought to be a crime to feed on one of such a tender age. Had it not been for Eve taking her in, then the thorn in your side would not be around today."

Leaning forward, his interest piqued, Adam could not refrain from urging his friend to go on,
"But she's Eve's sister. I thought she was born into the race like her."

"No, some miscreant found her orphaned and alone in the suburban slums. It was 1585, the sweating sickness and Black Death raged throughout London, so a young girl clearly made easy pickings for a predator immune to such diseases..."
He explained, surveying Adam's reaction with interest,
"...Eve found her on the brink of death and saved her life by giving her another one."

"She..she..changed her?"

"Well yes. She took pity on the girl. And since then she has referred to her as her blood sister. After all, they shared blood in order for the transformation to occur."

"Well that at least explains why they're so unalike in every way."
Adam remarked flippantly, as he tried to digest this new information which had stunned him. But what Marlowe said next, stunned him further...

"Nature versus nurture dear boy. Eve may have catered to her every whim, but orphanhood and being subjected to a vampiric attack is going to leave psychological scars....and perhaps it is the elements which make her different that you find so bewitching."

Adam froze, wondering how he was supposed to respond. Had it been possible, his face would've flushed red because he certainly felt hot and decidedly flustered. After an awkward pause, he reluctantly met his friend's eyes,
"What are you implying, Kit?"

"I won't insult your intelligence, so do not attempt to try and fool me, you romantic young scoundrel."

Adam forced a cough in order to clear his throat, which suddenly felt very tight and dry. He knew there was no point in trying to deceive him, his powers of perception were as great as his mind.
"I don't...well, I just...I find her...interesting, and.."

Marlowe leaned forwards, placing his wrinkled hand on his gently. Watching him stammering for words was clearly too painful for him to witness. Or perhaps he was as reluctant to hear any admittance, as Adam was of vocalising it.
"Dear boy, it does not matter. As long as you don't act upon it and you don't go breaking your wife's heart. So just proceed with caution."

Paranoid that Eve might've suspected something and voiced her fears to Kit, Adam ensured that he showed nothing but contempt for Ava whenever she came up in future conversation. And along with his scathing remarks, despite his maddening want, he opted to wallow in denial, realising he was better served by feelings of resentment. Ava was by now spiralling out of control, courting danger by living amongst the zombies, partying hard and not giving a damn about the consequences. The thought of her possibly having engaged in carnal activities with some undeserving man still made him irrationally angry, but why should he care? She wasn't capable of caring about anyone but herself. Immature and selfish, she just seemed to take pleasure in tormenting him.
Recalling the way in which she'd danced provocatively with Ian in the club, whilst deliberately looking his way, still made his supernatural blood boil. Unable to bear witness to her sensual display towards the man any longer, he'd struggled to contain his jealousy and demanded they leave. And he was quietly furious at Ian for following.
After throwing her out of his house in a fit of temper, disgusted and enraged that she'd killed Ian and destroyed his stuff, he silently stewed over the possibility of her having slept with her victim first. She had, after all, been wearing only her negligée, and his clothes were in disarray when Eve had walked in and found her sprawled over the dead man's body.
Was it selfish, he wondered, to have been more concerned about Ava seducing Ian than harming him? This question had been playing on his mind all the while he'd been living in Tangier. Several times, he had mistakenly referred to Aya as Ava, and hurriedly corrected himself. Hoping that Eve would believe his excuse of the names of the two women only differing by one letter.
By then of course, if Eve had been perturbed by his faux pas, she certainly hadn't shown it.

Now, as he slowly made his way up the stairs, the chipped varnished floorboards creaking beneath his boots, Adam focused solely on locating Ava in order to ask for more O negative. He'd only had a small amount, and the hunger had returned. But unlike his host, he was too mindful of other people's privacy to go rummaging around their house, searching for their secret stash of blood.

"Ava?"
He called out, as he reached the landing. Noticing a door that was slightly ajar, he knocked once before slowly pushing it open.
"Ava, are you awake?"

The room was shrouded in darkness due the Roman blackout blinds at the window, but as his eyes adjusted there was no mistaking the scantily clad form of Ava, lay on her front in the large mahogany four poster bed. The covers were strewn haphazardly, exposing one of her legs right up to the thigh, and her bare back indicated she was topless and sleeping in her underwear.
His mouth involuntarily fell open, and although he tried to stifle it, a sharp intake of breath caught in his throat.
To his horror, she stirred, shifting in the bed and he averted his eyes in order to preserve her modesty. He felt a subtle stirring within his loins, and mentally cursed himself for his weakness. He turned to leave, deciding to beat a hasty retreat back down the stairs when suddenly her childlike voice, rang out animatedly,

"Peek-a-boo, I see you..."