By L. Crystal Michallet-Romero
Copyright © July 2, 2004 L. Crystal Michallet-Romero
All Rights Reserved c/s
Since reworking this little tale, I have signed a contract with Limitless Dare 2 Dream Publishing (http://www.limitlessd2d.net/)
and look forward to turning the entire tale over to them as soon it is completely edited.
Rated: NC-17, not intended, or suitable for children.
Violence: Yep, there is some vampire revenge in this chapter.
Sexual Content: There is a heterosexual, bisexual as well as lesbian scenes hinted at in this chapter.
Sexual Violence: None in this chapter.
Vampire Violence: Yep, vampire’s can be just as angry at each other as we mortals.
Subtext: Of course.
All feedback welcomed at: CrystalMichallet@yahoo.com
Would you like to be a part of my advance preview readers list and have the opportunity to read the stories before they are
on the web? If so, drop me an email.
V. Tamara
Tamara believed that vampires were inherently good. She did not think, as some have written, that immortals were soulless
creatures that wandered through the darkness stalking their prey. Nor did she feel they were a part of the devil’s henchmen
mainly because she did not believe in a devil, or heaven or hell. Instead she held to the conviction that within every
nightwalker was the heart of a compassionate soul. True, they did require blood for survival, but human blood was not the
only source of sustenance. Vampires were quite capable of surviving for many years on the blood of other animals, as she
had done. Once an immortal acknowledged the goodness within then it would flourish.
This is how Tamara felt about Aurore. There was never a doubt in her mind that somewhere within the young immortal was a
good heart. Tamara used to watch the child when she was mortal. She could not have explained her attraction to the girl
except to say that there was a certain sparkle within the child. It was a charisma that was noticed by all. Aurore was like a
shinning light, and every person who came to know the girl wanted to be around her. Not immune to her light, the African
woman was always near the child, and this was the reason she had chosen to leave the hospitality of her friend’s abode.
The stately woman knew that her own attraction to the then twelve-year-old girl was growing every day but could not explain
it. Tamara had spent many days meditating on the lure of the girl, all to no avail. Never before had she found herself so
physically attracted to another, either mortal or immortal, and this feeling concerned her. Rather than act out her immoral
desires with a mere child and jeopardize the long friendship she had with Madame Tuscany, Tamara chose to return to her
travels of the world.
For five years Tamara traveled the world. She spent her nights in studies and meditation. Occasionally she found other
vampire clans to spend time with. A few of the vampires she had cared for enough to make love with, but none had ever
captured her heart like the mortal child Aurore. During one of her journeys she felt a deep foreboding fear and instantly knew
that something was wrong with the mortal. Leaving everything behind, she began to make her way back to San Madrone and
the little girl she once knew. Halfway toward her destination she received a message of Aurore’s illness and hoped that she
would not be too late. Thankfully she had arrived in time to sit next to the girl’s bed. The medicine did little to ease Aurore’s
suffering and her pale, sweaty features were constantly screwed up in pain.
“T-Tamara,” the girl’s weak voice called to her.
“Yes Aurore, I’m here,” the black woman spoke softly as she held the girl’s hand.
“Y-You left me,” the accusation cut deeply into the vampire’s heart. “W-Why did you leave?”
“Aurore.…” Tamara found it hard to explain the depth of her love. While a part of her mind told her it was wrong to love a
child, another part refused to fight the urges. With a sad smile the tall African sighed deeply as she turned away from the girl’s
dying form.
“Y-You love me, don’t you?” the weakness sounded in every word that Aurore spoke. The gentle grip of her hand told
Tamara that her strength was dwindling. Speechless, the African could only smile as she wiped the tears from her eyes.
“More than I think even you know,” the black woman spoke softly to the girl, her fingertips lightly brushing away the teen’s
pain. She reached within her powers and took as much of the mortal’s pain that she could as her own. The combination of
her touch and words brought a smile to the girl who was suffering terribly.
“I love you too, Tamara. I’ve missed you,” the dull whisper was almost hard to hear.
If anyone had asked her, Tamara was certain that she would have initiated Aurore on that very night. Despite the strict rules
that she lived by, and the followed guidelines regarding who could or could not be initiated into the dark side, the African
woman would have set it all aside for the sake of this single human. Yes, she was fully aware that no human in her order was
ever taken at such a young age. Sixteen was certainly old enough to be a bearer of children, but not to live in the world of the
immortals. To be an immortal one had to be both physically and mentally ready to face the challenges ahead. Initiating
someone who was too old, as Madame Tuscany had been, was far too cruel. Yet taking a mortal who was too young and
had yet to form their full mental capabilities was only asking for trouble. But if anyone had queried her on that fateful day,
there was no doubt in her mind that she would have brought Aurore over rather than see her die a slow and painful death.
The option of bringing over Aurore was never given to Tamara. Although she knew that there was some turmoil occurring
with the mortals, she did not pay attention. Instead, she stayed by the girl’s side day and night holding her hand, administering
the medicine that would take away the pain and cleaning the girl whenever she soiled herself. Occasionally when Aurore was
out of her drugged stupor, she asked Tamara to hold her close and tell her stories, and the African woman freely complied.
Most of the time she would lay on her back with the mortal wrapped in her arms. Sometimes Tamara would stretch out
beside the girl, the smaller, frail body holding her close. At times like this Tamara would listen closely to the human heartbeat,
afraid that at any moment it would stop. But it never did. Instead, it continued to beat even as the cancer ate the most
precious person that Tamara had ever known.
As she remembered that time from long ago, Tamara brushed away an errant tear and heard a snickering laugh next to her.
When she glanced up in the darkened hallway she caught the smirk on Shannon’s face. Before a single word could come
from his lips she was on him, her grip firm around his neck as she called upon all of her immortal powers. “Mark my words,
man-child, I put up with you for only one reason,” Tamara hissed close to his face, as her lips snarled to reveal her sharp
vampire teeth.
“Careful,” Shannon gasped as he tried in vain to pry her fingers loose, “A vampire can not kill a vampire.” Even as a captive,
his wry sense of humor rose to the fore. Tamara thought about his words for only a moment before her grip tightened as she
slammed him harder against the wall.
“Man-child, what would you, a young pup, know of such things? I lived the days when vampires killed vampires. I saw the
earth covered with the ashes of our kind. Oh yes, boy, I’ve seen what it is like to kill our kind,” Tamara’s words grew low
and menacing. “Do not think for one minute that I am above reliving those days.”
Shannon’s eyes grew big as her threat registered. When she squeezed her grip tighter, Tamara watched in fascination as his
skin began to turn a ruddy shade of blue. With each passing moment a silent glee entered her soul. She heard the clock
ticking in the distance, the voices behind the closed door were a muffled rumble, and then the shout of Madame Tuscany rose
in the air. Tamara instantly dropped Shannon and turned toward the closed door. The sound of his gasping barely registered
as she turned to Fernando.
“Lock him up in a secure place,” Tamara ordered and then took two long strides toward the closed door. The minute she
opened it, she looked around the now quiet room. When she saw the aged matriarch sitting on the floor, her shoulders
heaving, she ran to the woman.
“Grandmother, Madame Tuscany are you well?” Tamara asked as she reached out and touched the woman’s cold forehead.
She quickly glanced around the empty room in search of Aurore.
“My hija,” the old woman moaned as Tamara helped her to her feet. “My poor hija,” the clan matriarch mumbled, a dazed
and confused expression on her face.
“Madame, where is…?” Tamara grew silent when she saw the look of pain in the aged woman’s brown eyes.
“She…is gone,” the grande dame spoke softly as her eyes were in a fogged haze.
Tamara helped Madame Tuscany to the sofa, then looked around the study and found a soft blanket. She took it and
covered the clan matriarch. When a noise was heard behind her she turned and saw the look of concern on the mortal
servant’s features.
“Magdalena, please, bring something for grandmother to drink,” Tamara ordered softly, and then returned her attention back
to the old woman.
“Tamara, I was wrong, so wrong,” the strangled cry escaped the older woman’s lips.
“I don’t understand,” the African spoke softly as she moved to cradle the small, frail body in her arms.
“You warned me long ago that Aurore was too young. Do you remember?” the old woman looked at her imploringly. “I
do,” Madame Tuscany nodded. “I remembered you said that Aurore was too young to bring over, that her mind was not yet
mature.”
Tamara grimaced at this reminder as she closed her eyes to that conversation from long ago. With a shake of her head, she
sighed deeply as she wrapped a protective arm around the old woman’s bony shoulders.
At the stark reminder of her own words, the African shook her head. “I-I was wrong, grandmother. I was just afraid. You
were right to do what you did. If you had not, I would have done it myself,” Tamara spoke solemnly as she looked at the
open patio door.
Madame Tuscany did not even have to mention what transpired between her and her granddaughter. From the slight sounds
that she heard in the hallway and disheveled look of the grande dame, Tamara knew that a fight had ensued. Although unhurt
the older woman was shaken up, and Aurore was nowhere to be found.
“No, Tamara, you were not wrong. I was the one who erred in bringing over my hija,” the elder shook her head as tears fell
down her cheeks. “She was not ready. Her mind was not prepared for such a life, and I foolishly brought her over anyway.”
