Shifters Gone Alpha (20 page)

“I’d like to help. Will you show me?”

Roger was willing to share what he’d learned and Antoine studied the investments, eager to learn.

Antoine kept his mind occupied, but physical needs were more difficult to control. His sexual appetite had grown, the hunger almost as powerful as the thirst for blood. He took an array of lovers over the decades but never found happiness or contentment in a woman’s arms—vampire or human’s. They helped sate his appetite, nothing more, nothing less.

The Montmartre vampires moved east, eventually to Eastern Europe. Antoine met other people who’d been forced to become vampires. They’d learned to live on their own, not as part of a clan, which sparked a glimmer of hope in Antoine. Maybe he could take that step one day as well. Better to lead alone than to follow others.

Several more months passed before he actually walked away. Perhaps his fear of being alone was stronger than he’d believed. He’d never been on his own; he’d always been part of a group. First with his gargoyle clan, then with the sculptors in Rodin’s circle, and then with the vampires of Montmartre.

When he finally broke from the vampires and went his own way, no one tried to stop him, not even Natalie. He set sail for the New World, traveling through Quebec. The cosmopolitan nature of Montreal reminded him of his beloved Paris, and he settled there. Although he encountered other vampires in Quebec, he avoided joining them. He took several lovers, both human and vampire, to quench his insatiable physical lust, but never let anyone close. He needed solitude to come to terms with his existence.

One thing he did learn from the Quebec vampires was of an underground supply of human blood. This was a tremendous breakthrough! No longer did he have to attack humans for sustenance. His gargoyle nature, which still reigned strong, could be assuaged of some of the guilt from his vampiric needs.

Antoine found a cottage on the outskirts of Montreal. He invested in property, the way he’d watched Roger do. Years past as he searched for his new identity, trying to recall what he was like before he’d been turned.

What had driven him? What had been his passion, his
raison d’etre
?

For months, he meandered through the streets of the bustling city, admiring the art in shops. He visited museums to see how art had changed over the century. His former instructor Rodin was now considered a master of sculpture and his works coveted by museums. After all those years of controversy, he was glad to see his master’s true genius was now appreciated. At one exhibit, Antoine came across one of the sculptures he’d assisted with,
The Gates of Hell
, sold as miniature replicas in the gift store.

For several minutes, he stared at the piece. The sculpture with dozens of figures was now mass-produced and sold as souvenirs. How the times had changed.

After adjusting to the shock, he picked up the replica and considered it from a more personal standpoint. Warmth spread through him as he studied the curvature of the figures and the effect of light and shadows. Much more than a cheap replica, this was symbolic, a link back to his old self. Yes, this is what had always called him. Art.

It had been close to a century since he’d last sculpted; art had evolved. Would he even be able to sculpt anymore? Would he be too outdated in this modern world?

In one of the bedrooms of his house, Antoine created a studio and stocked it with drawing supplies. He sketched out ideas, trying to recall the human form. Drawing returned to him naturally, as if he’d never put down the pencil, but sculpting a human figure might be more difficult. He practiced at first with molding, his initial clumsy attempts reflecting his lack of practice. With time, his work with the chisel became smoother.

He became obsessed with the idea of sculpting a hand, one of the most difficult body parts to create. If he could master that once again, maybe he could find a way. For months, he focused on this one piece, starting over numerous times. He barely left the cottage. Finally, he was satisfied with his work.

Most evenings Antoine rose after sun had set and strolled the Montreal streets, thinking for hours on end, before returning to his cottage to sculpt. While he worked on new pieces, a spark of humanity ignited within him. It was the same part that compelled gargoyle shifters to protect humans, such a fragile species.

During one of his nightly walks, Antoine heard a man shouting for help. He followed the direction of the sound and heard other voices demanding money, jewelry, anything of value.  The unmistakable scent of freshly spilled blood reached his sensitive nostrils. He continued to an alley, finding five human males attacking a young man in his early twenties. They were beating him with fists and slashing at him with knives.

Five on one.

Not even giving the human a chance to fight. Cowards. Just like the vampires who’d overpowered him.

Chapter Three

Darkness Shatters

No, he wouldn’t sit back and let that happen to someone else.

Antoine flew at them, bearing fangs and slashing at their throats. The taste of warm human blood on his tongue after all these years was near orgasmic. The man who’d been attacked gasped, staring at him with terror in his eyes. Antoine couldn’t worry about him now, not when he still faced the men who approached him with knives raised.

No matter how many times they slashed at Antoine, he was much quicker and stronger than they were. He disarmed them without much effort and destroyed the attackers one after another, tearing out their throats and ravishing the blood from their exposed arteries. It had been decades since he’d killed. He saved one of the attackers for last, latching onto his neck and sucking in orgasmic ecstasy as he drained the life from him.

They were all dead. He’d killed them, and he didn’t feel any remorse. They were evil enough to rob and attack one defenseless man, and the world was better off without them before they did it again.

The human lay unconscious on the ground. He’d lost so much blood he probably wouldn’t make it. Antoine could replenish the lost blood with his own, but it would be at a great cost, in which he’d turn the man into a vampire.

No. He couldn’t do to another what had been done to him. Forced to change; made to become a creature of the night.

Antoine patched the worst of the wounds with his saliva, licking around the edges so they could begin to repair. It was a long shot, and the human would likely die, but death was a better option.

He cared for the man at his cottage. When the man awoke, Antoine was surprised he could actually open his eyes. Maybe death would wait another day.

When the man saw Antoine there, he cowered in fear.

“I’m Antoine,” he said. “Don’t worry, I’m not here to harm you. The others who attacked you—they are no more.”

“Wh-what do you mean?”

“You don’t have to worry about them. They won’t be able to hurt anyone ever again.”

The human stared at him, overwhelmed. “You killed them? All of them?”

Antoine nodded somberly.

“I saw you kill one before I lost consciousness. You flew through the air and attacked him. You tore out his throat. With fangs. Fangs!”

“I did what I had to do to stop them. They would have continued to torture you and probably kill you in the end.”

The man closed his eyes and shuddered.

“What’s your name?”

He reopened his eyes and stuttered, “C-cameron.”

“Cameron, you are going to be all right.” Antoine put his hand on Cameron’s shoulder, but removed it when Cameron flinched.

“They attacked me.” Cameron’s eyes widened with terror. “I don’t know who they were. They dragged me into the alley and robbed me. Then they slashed me like it was for sport.”

Antoine squared his jaw, anger from the unprovoked attack rising again. “I know. I didn’t think you’d make it with all the blood loss.”

Cameron looked around the room. “Why am I not in a hospital?” He backed up on the bed, staring at Antoine with wide eyes. “You had blood dripping from your mouth. What are you, some kind of vampire?”

Antoine pressed his lips together while he weighed what he should divulge. Cameron had seen him kill and knew he was not human. For some reason, this didn’t worry Antoine. He thought he could trust Cameron with his secret and the truth was, he wanted to confide in him. Perhaps he identified with the man since they’d both been attacked unprovoked. Antoine stopped analyzing and listened to his gut. “Yes. I’m immortal.”

“Immortal?” Cameron laughed nervously. “Are you insane?”

“No. You asked me a question and I answered truthfully.”

Cameron opened his mouth and then closed it without saying a word.

“I didn’t choose this existence,” Antoine continued. “It was forced on me. I thought I’d have to change you to keep you from dying, but I decided not to make that decision for you.”

“What—how—” Cameron gave up on the question and watched Antoine while an array of emotions from disbelief to awe passed over his face. When he tried with words again, he said “I don’t believe it, but I know what I saw. You had fangs and you killed them. And you saved my life. Why?”

Antoine clenched his fists as he remembered what had happened to him the century before. He counted to five in an effort to rein in his emotions and relaxed his hands. “I was attacked like you were one night many years ago. When I saw that happening to you, I couldn’t let it continue. They were scum and on a senseless rampage and they had to be stopped.”

Cameron opened his mouth twice before words came out. “I don’t know what to say. Thank you.”

Antoine handed him a bottle of water and a bag of trail mix. “You need to drink and eat.”

Cameron gulped most of the water before he ate, staring off into the distance as he did. He examined his skin. “There are no marks.” He turned to Antoine. “They beat me, cut me. How can there be no evidence of that? Is this all a bad dream?”

That would be an easy explanation—just a nightmare. “Do you know who they were?”

“No. I’d ever seen them before. I think they followed me after I used an ATM. They dragged me down the alley and—you know what happened next.” Cameron looked at his arms again. “How am I healed?”

“I have an enzyme in my saliva that allows you to heal rapidly. I wasn’t sure it would be enough as I’ve never had to apply it to so many wounds. You appear to be recovering fine.”

Cameron continued to scan his flesh for signs of the attack. “This whole thing seems unreal. Unbelievable. But I know what I saw.” He glanced at Antoine. “And I know you saved my life. Thank you.”

Over the next few days, Cameron remained at Antoine’s until he felt rejuvenated enough to leave. During that time, they talked about many topics. Despite all their differences with age and even species, Antoine found him easily to talk to. Eventually they covered one of Antoine’s preferred subjects—art.

“I used to dabble in photography in college,” Cameron said. “But once I started working in the tech industry, it zapped all my creativity.”

“Never too late to get back into it.” Antoine added with a short laugh, “You’d get back into it much sooner than I did. Took me decades.”

Cameron peered at him with a contemplative look. “What was it like living back then?”

Antoine evaded the question at first by changing the subject, but the next day confided in Cameron about his early years in Paris. The life-threatening incident with the attack sped up the process of building trust, which might have taken years otherwise. Cameron listened with fascination, asking numerous questions when Antoine paused. It wasn’t simply another century or another country, but descriptions of a world Cameron had never known existed.

“Wow.” Cameron rubbed his temples. “Discovering that vampires were real was one thing, but now you’re telling me that gargoyles live and breathe, too. Not just statues? What else don’t I know about?”

Antoine chuckled. “How much time do you have?” When he witnessed the surprised expression on Cameron’s face, he added, “I think you’ve had enough of an introduction for now. Besides I can’t have you knowing all my secrets.”

Cameron put his hand on his chest and then dropped it to his lap. “I would never reveal to anyone what you’ve told me. You saved my life, Antoine. I’ll never forget that.” With a wry smile, he added, “And who would believe me? They’d lock me in some loony bin.”

Antoine leaned back in his chair. “True, true.”

When Cameron left Antoine’s cottage and returned to the Boston area, Antoine explored the area. The New England coastline appealed to the artist in him and he looked into the burgeoning real estate market there. He envisioned sculpting with a view of the ocean before him, the sound of the waves a soothing backdrop to the hours he’d spend working on one piece.

In a real estate magazine, he found the ideal location. A castle was up for sale on DeRoche Island, off the Massachusetts coast. It wasn’t the typical type of centuries-old one like those in Europe, but built in a medieval-style in recent years. The island was only about a mile long and had no paved roads or streetlights, which meant no cars to ruin the serene setting. The structure was much larger than what one person needed, but the setting was too enticing to resist. The gray stone of the castle appeared to emerge from the rocky cliffs overlooking the sea. The rugged isolation of the island and untamed wild beauty of its forests appealed to the artist within; it was the perfect place for him to start anew.

He had amassed wealth from his investments over the decades and used much of it to finance the purchase of the castle. After closing on it, he moved to the secluded island. In the lower level, he set up his sleeping quarters, closing the windows with gray panels that matched the surrounding gray stone and covering them with wrought-iron for added protection. He divided the massive room into two areas—one for a library and the other for sleeping, separating them with a door that appeared as a wall panel to throw off any intruders. Precautions were necessary to keep him concealed while he slept. Once he added bookcases, he could replace the faux panel with one, make it a hidden entryway to his bedroom.

The solitude he’d shunned for so long was now welcome as it provided endless hours to work on his first love, sculpting. The remote setting near the sea with the sounds of the waves beating the shore served as a comfort to his tormented soul.

Several months passed before he came out of isolation. He’d created many sculptures during that time, but it was time to reconnect with the world. Gargoyles craved companionship the same as humans, a part of him that still remained after being turned. The only contact he had was with those who delivered blood and other necessities to the castle. Even the residents on the other side of the island seemed a world away. Only a few came out after dark in this sleepy village setting.

While walking along the rocky shore back to the castle, an idea took shape. What if he could open his castle to other artists, encourage them to work on their art? When he was a young gargoyle in Paris, the sculptors shared ideas, helping each other shape their work and encouraging it to reach its full potential.

No, that was insane. He was a vampire now. That part of his life was over.

He glanced out to the ocean. Eternity was a long time. He needed something more to fill the time.

Continuing to the castle, he wrestled with the idea of an art colony. He’d have dozens of things to consider. So many reasons to put an end to this mad idea. First off, who would come? Not vampires, definitely not vampires. Gargoyles were spread far and wide in the world and would likely shun him since he was vampire, no longer a protector of man but a killer of many.

Humans. He’d have to invite humans. Ah, another issue. By being limited to nocturnal hours, how would Antoine even be able to run this sort of operation? It was a foolish idea that he should give up, but he couldn’t. The excitement brewing within invigorated him in a way he hadn’t felt in years.

He’d need a human to run it. That was essential if this plan had any chance of success. But who? Where would he find a human who wouldn’t shirk from the idea of working for a vampire?

Only one clear choice. Cameron.

Of course. The human whom he’d saved, who knew Antoine’s secret. Would Cameron be interested in such a solitary life on DeRoche Island, especially if he was used to a livelier one in the city?

Worth a shot. Besides, he didn’t have any other options.

Through an Internet search, Antoine found where Cameron lived north of Boston. He traveled down the next evening.

“Antoine,” Cameron greeted him at his apartment. While his voice conveyed his surprise, it didn’t show fear, which was a good sign. “I never thought I’d see you again.”

After exchanging pleasantries, Antoine got to the point. “I have a proposition for you,” His excitement at the idea burned through him, and he could barely control his enthusiasm. “A business one of sorts.”

Cameron tilted his head. “I’m listening.”

“You see, I own a castle on an island.”

Cameron appeared skeptical. “Did you say a castle?”

“Yes.”

His brows lifted over his widening eyes. “You
own
a castle?”

“In Boston Harbor. And I live there alone, working on my projects.”

Cameron blinked slowly, as if trying to picture it.

“Look it up online. It’s on DeRoche Island. You can read its short history and exuberant ideas of the young entrepreneur who built it.”

“Why doesn’t he own it now?”

“He gained a fortune in the tech boom in the late 90s when he had it built. Then he lost his money when the market crashed and put it up for sale.”

Cameron sat down on an aged brown leather recliner and opened his laptop. “Let me take a quick look.” He motioned to a matching leather couch across from him. “Please sit.” After Antoine sat and Cameron found the information, he said, “Holy shit, you’re telling the truth.” He closed the laptop. “So what did you want to talk to me about?”

“I’d like to open it up to other artists. Let them focus on their art while they live there.”