Fan Fiction ❯ Dark Angels ❯ Dark Angels ( One-Shot )

Prologue

My name is Nikolaos, and I am a vampire. I believe I am about 500 years old, though I seem to have lost count over the centuries. I have been to four of the seven continents. I do not wish to know the cold of the Arctic's or the heat of Africa's deserts. I have had many companions over the years, young, beautiful girls that found the pull of my world irresistible. By now, they are just a blur of pretty faces in my mind; all but three of them. I will tell you the story of my three dark angels and, in them, all that remains of my humanity.

Raina

My first love was a girl of 17, when I was only 100 years old, still a young vampire. She was called Raina, and she was the most belligerent, defiant and proud female I had ever set eyes on. I found her in a tavern, surrounded by pawing drunks and fighting each one off without spilling the drinks she carried. Her hair was long, thick and golden, and her eyes were deeper and blacker than a dead man's dream. It seemed that while she worked among the many serving wenches of the city, in the filthy, crowded pubs that it was the only occupation she shared with them. She thwarted my advances without hesitation, making it quite clear she wanted nothing to do with me. Raina infuriated me and she intrigued me. I had to have her.

I followed her, creeping along the rooftops and jumping from building to building with ease, waiting to come upon a large townhouse with a doting father and, perhaps, an equally strong willed mother. Therefore, I was confused when I saw her stop in an alleyway and sink to the ground, leaning against a wall, among the mud and vermin of the city streets. More interested than before, I waited, watching her fall asleep.

It wasn't long before a man approached, stealthily. I tensed. When he reached for her, I leapt from my rooftop perch. He didn't see me strike him from above, just crumpled where he stood. The girl woke, however and jumped to her feet. She saw my face, fangs and all and I froze, waiting for her to run or scream, at least. She hit me. I stared at her, my mouth open. No man had struck me in over a century, much less a woman, and now this big eyed, 125-pound ball of fury had just slapped me. It was a lot for a guy to take in.

"That's why you've been following me? To drink my blood? Well, you can go to Hell!" Her tongue was sharp and her words were brave, but, under the anger, there was excitement and a little fear. "If I wanted your blood, girl, I would have taken it," I informed her, archly. "What do you want, then? I'll have you know I'm not like the other serving girls, so if that's where this is going, you can go to Hell again." "I desire only your companionship," I said, simply. "Why?" she demanded. "Because you intrigue me, Raina. You have a fire in your eyes that I've never seen before, in anyone or anything. I want to talk to you and see the world through your eyes. I want to-" "Okay," she said, cutting off my words, "I'll go with you."

Normally, during my travels, I would stay in rented rooms, but, for my Raina, I purchased the large, elegant townhouse that I had first envisioned her in. When the seamstresses arrived to create her wardrobe, she protested, saying I was spending too much money. I told her only that she wasn't big enough to even dent my fortune. She took me at my word.

The dresses created for her were of rich velvet and satin, mostly in dark blues, purples and greens, with low, daring necklines and backs and very little frills. They were form-fitting on the top, but cascaded neatly from her waist, without petticoats and hoops to make it puff out around her. Her shoes were slippers of silk, a pair to match each dress. Her only questionable request to the women was to create a few sets of clothing that consisted of tight trousers that hugged her form in a most intriguing way. Along with the trousers, she asked for shirts, that buttoned like my own, but smaller, to fit her. There were also boots of leather that reached her knees that went with these controversial outfits.

She enjoyed the horses that were kept in our stables, riding from dawn until dusk, on a daily basis. They were the only living creatures that she showed any affection toward, lavishing all of her attention on keeping them healthy and happy.

Toward me, however, she remained cool and distant, wary, I suppose, of my intentions. I set out to learn all there was to know about her, to try to find a way to make her happy.

Raina was born to an innkeeper and a farm girl. Her father died when she was only six, and her mother soon remarried. Her stepfather was a cruel man, beating Raina and her mother almost nightly. Her mother died, not four years later. Left with the choice of her stepfather or the streets, Raina ran away from home. She stole food in the beginning and slept under bridges. When she turned 15, she found work in a pub and was able to pay for her own food. She took to sleeping in the alleys, to avoid the dampness of the riverbank.

I'd expected a story such as this, but it still gave me no clue as to how to make her smile.

"What do you hope to gain by all this?" she asked me, once, gesturing to her rich surroundings. "Happiness. Both yours and mine, I suppose," I'd answered. She gazed at me, thoughtfully, for a moment, and then looked away.

To listen to her speak of her world; one would imagine her to be a bitter old woman, cynical to a fault. There was little room for excitement or wonder in her hardened demeanor.

After about six months, her ice began to melt. As we grew closer, her smile came more often and more warmly. She spent less time with the horses and more time with me and I found myself falling, with nothing to grab hold of to stop myself.

The two of us became the talk of the upper class. Two beautiful young strangers, appearing out of nowhere, with no past that anyone seemed to know about. My Raina found this quite amusing.

"Just look at them! They sit around and smile pretty to our faces, but, when we leave, they spend the rest of the night talking to people they hate about how much they hate us! They're pathetic!" I smiled at her. "It's been that way forever, my dear, and I believe it will always remain so," I told her. She merely rolled her eyes at me.

I have no idea when my feelings for her became known, but, somehow, she knew.

I woke in my bedchamber to the sound of the door opening. A small shadow slipped inside and closed the door behind her. She stepped closer to the bed, into the moonlight.

"Raina?" She wore a white silk nightgown that appeared to be quite sheer. I swallowed, hard. She crept to the edge of the bed and put one knee on the mattress. "Raina, please. If this begins, I'll not be able to turn you away," I pleaded. She gave a quirky little smile. "If I thought I'd be turned away, I'd not have come."

That morning and every morning thereafter, I awoke with her softness in my arms. She was sweeter by far than any candy I'd ever tasted during my mortal life. Her eyes were deep enough that I could drown in them without even knowing I was going down. Her kiss stole my very soul and I gladly gave it up for her happiness.

I became lost in her love. Her laughter came easily now and it pulled me into her life, into the joy she took in the very act of living.

I knew it would happen, sooner or later, but I ignored it. The day finally came, 10 years after it began, that my Raina asked for the unthinkable.

I tried to explain to her that to bring her across would extinguish the fire inside her, the light and laughter that I loved so much, but, in her defiant manner, she refused to listen.

I wanted nothing but to make her happy, so I did as she asked. It was the biggest mistake I'd ever made.

I took her to a nearby house, a place where, I knew, a large family resided. We snuck in a window on the third floor. It was the bedchamber of one of the elder sons of the family. "You know what to do?" I asked. Raina nodded and I backed away, melting into the shadows.

She crept to the edge of the bed and leaned over the boy. I tensed, waiting for her to strike. She didn't bite the boy. She tore open his throat. I waited, not moving, staring in shock at what I'd created.

She killed the whole family that night, not stopping until the last of them lay lifeless in their beds. Her bloodlust was insatiable, her thirst, never quenched. She killed with reckless abandon, caring nothing for their pain, feeding off their fear, as well as their blood.

I had created the proverbial monster. She knew how I felt and, one night, she left me. I woke alone for the first time in over 10 years. I'm not sure where she went, but, to this day, I hear the tales of her killings. She is called Lady Death and the details of her massacres are whispered, like ghost stories, even among the undead.

Ebony

She was small, with dark hair and flashing silver eyes. I met her on the east coast of America, when it was still the New World. The daughter of a French trapper and a young Seneca woman, she was used to defending herself from the scorn of the "pure" whites and the physical advances of the roughs that populated the inns, bars and streets of the seaside village.

I discovered her by chance, on a moonless night. Walking along a deserted stretch of sand, I saw something in the water and heard a small splash. Expecting to find a dolphin, maybe caught in a discarded net, I made my way to the end of the pier.

She was shiny, wet and beautiful and I stared, eyes wide. She glided through the dark water like a mermaid, hardly making a sound. Then, she saw me.

"Get away! Leave this pier at once, sir!" she demanded. I turned my back to her. "Please, Lady, be calm!" I called back. "I mean you no harm, I swear it!" "The word of a stranger means nothing to me," she said, swimming away, toward the shore. I followed, carefully keeping my eyes averted. "I'll ask you only once more, sir, to leave me be!" she said, forcefully. I realized she wasn't afraid of me, just very angry with me. She reached the shore and pulled her clothing on.

"May I approach, Lady?" I requested, trying to sound harmless. "You'll keep your distance and say your piece, sir," she said, without room for negotiation. "What do they call you?" "I am Ebony. Who are you?" she asked. "I am called Nikolaos." "Tell me, Nikolaos, do you make a habit of spying on girls swimming alone?" "Are there many others who enjoy swimming at midnight, in nothing but a smile? I really must take more evening strolls," I teased. She reddened and smiled, just a little.

Ebony warmed to me more quickly than Raina, becoming my best friend and confidant, but she never allowed me to be too close to her. Her parents were both dead and gone and Ebony lived alone in their cottage, near the ocean. I asked her, over and over, to allow me to buy her a larger, more comfortable house in town, with servants to tend to her. She refused me, each time saying that her cottage was her own and she'd not leave it.

I'm not sure quite when it happened, but, one evening, a few years after I'd met my Ebony, on my nightly ride to her cottage, I realized I had fallen, once again.

She was walking back from her swim when I arrived. Without words, I followed her inside. She sat in front of the fire and began untangling her hair.

"Something troubles you, Nikolaos. Speak to me," she said, reading my emotions in her uncanny way. "Ebony, I believe I'm in love with you," I blurted out. She nodded. "I know that, Nik. I've known for a long time now. I won't deny that I feel the same." "What happens now?" I asked, almost afraid of the answer. "We both know it could never be, Nik. I know you'll never forget Raina and what happened. I cannot live in her shadow. I wish to marry and have a family, and we both know that isn't a possibility between us." She sounded so wise and in control. I said nothing, just watched her, speaking so nonchalantly, as if unaffected by her own words. Her eyes gave her away, however. They were turbulent pools of emotion, storm clouds, with tears threatening to break through.

I stood up and took her hand, pulling her to her feet. She allowed me to lift her and looked up at me. Slowly, I leaned down and brushed my lips, ever so softly, against her mouth. She closed her eyes. Without a word, before she opened them, I turned and walked away, never allowing myself to look back.

I never spoke to my Ebony again, but I never left her, either. I watched over her, keeping her from harm and poverty, leaving coins on her mantle when times got tough. I kept an eye out during her nightly swims, to be sure no other man ever found her again.

She spoke to me during those swims. She never saw me, but, somehow, she knew I was there. She would call out to me and tell me how her day had gone and what news there was to be heard in town. I never answered her, but I hung on her every word.

She married almost six years later. He was a good man; a fisherman and he cared for my Ebony very much. They had three children; a boy and two beautiful girls that looked so much like their mother it almost made me cry.

I continued to leave my coins when they were needed, though I don't believe that Ebony's husband ever knew about the coins, or about me. I kept my watch for 78 years, until the day my Ebony finally passed on. She was 97 years old, ancient, for the times she lived in and I saw to it, in roundabout ways, that she died comfortably. I attended her funeral, a silent dark figure that stood slightly apart from the family. It was the first time since my Raina left me that tears fell from my eyes and they seared down my cheeks like acid.

I never returned to the east coast of America after that day. The memory of my Ebony lives on and, every once in while, I see her, in the eyes of some young girl, swimming in the dark, and calling to me.

Nikalya

She was a true child of the 20th century. Baggy, torn up jeans, steel toed black work boots, a tiny black tank top and a blue bandana around her hair. It was long and cascaded in thick gold curls down her back. She had thick dark lashes around silver eyes, so like my Ebony's that it took my breath away. Her demeanor was Raina's though, through and through.

She had Ebony's eyes, her sense of reason and her uncanny way of seeing into people. She had Raina's golden locks, sassy walk, sharp tongue and Devil-may-care recklessness. She was so like both of them, but so unlike either of them.

Nikalya walked the rough streets of San Jose` with her head high and her eyes straight ahead. She looked down to no one and none seemed to bother her. She knew I was there, somehow, though I know she never saw me.

She climbed the fire escape of an apartment building, all the way to the top and slipped through a broken window. She turned and looked out at the darkness. "You might as well come in. I know you're there," she called, and then disappeared inside.

I followed her, having found my sneaky tactics to be quite useless. She was sitting on an old couch, in the shadows. I saw other old pieces of furniture, candles and a small box of food in the corner. "You live here?" She nodded, slowly. "It's dry and sometimes it's warm. Who are you and why are you following me?"

After only a moment of debate, I decided there would be no pretense with this one. Sitting on the windowsill, I told her.

I spoke of my birth into darkness, of Raina and Ebony and everything else. She never interrupted me, just listened and watched.

When I was through, she nodded. "Okay, so now I know who you are. Now, why are you following me?" I cocked my head to one side. "You're a very smart girl. You know why I'm here." She smiled, quirkily. "One more shot, huh? Third time's the charm? Oh, Hell, why not? Gotta be better than this," she said, looking around the place. I nodded. "I assure you, it's much better than this."

The house, or, more accurately, the estate, was in the country, near the ocean. It had a stable, with lots of horses and a private beach for swimming. The property stretched as far as the eye could see, in all directions. The house itself was four stories high, with 15 bedrooms, 12 fireplaces and 18 bathrooms, all furnished and functional.

Nikalya was trying to look unimpressed and failing. Even I had to admit that I might have overdone it, just a bit. However, the look on Nikalya's face made it all worthwhile. "Oh, man, what is this place!?" "Home," I told her. Her eyebrows rose. "You gotta be kidding me," she mumbled.

For the first week or so, Nikalya explored her new home and I watched her, reveling in her open, child-like wonder. She allowed herself more joy in one smile than either Raina or Ebony had in a lifetime. I waited to see how she reacted to the horses and the beach, to see which it would be. She enjoyed riding and swimming, but she once again proved she was neither Ebony nor Raina. Neither the ocean nor the horses held her attention as well as the multitude of sloping roofs on the house. She would crawl out an attic window in the dead of the night and lay on the rough shingles, staring up at the sky. "Trying to get a moon tan," she would tell me, with an impish grin.

I gave her a credit card (I'd become a very modern vampire) and turned her loose in the Mall, telling her to spend whatever she wanted. I waited for two hours to see what kind of things she would buy with her newly acquired fortune. When she returned, I was amused to find she'd only bought more of the same: jeans, hooded sweatshirts, t-shirts, tank tops and boots. The only dress she bought was a leather mini-skirt, matching leather jacket and black sandals. Among all this was a sealed package, the contents of which I was apparently not allowed to see.

My Nikalya wasn't shy. Without the slightest hesitation, she entered my room at midnight. "Nikolaos?" "Nikalya, what are you doing here?" I asked, starting to get nervous. This whole situation was all too familiar. "I'm doing what we've both been dreaming of for weeks now," she said, stepping into a shaft of silver moonlight. She paused and I saw what had been tied in that bag; or, rather, I saw right through it. Black and sheer, the nightie barely brushed her thighs, and her pale, smooth skin was perfectly visible. I stared at her and she smiled, coming closer to the bed. One small hand reached out and touched my face and the careful control within me was shattered.

She came to me with love and open trust and healed the part of me that Raina had destroyed. I no longer feared the intense feelings she caused. Instead, I welcomed them with open arms. I embraced the emotion as the last thread of humanity I would ever know.

Someday, Nikalya will ask me to bring her across. I see it in her eyes, every time she looks at me. I haven't decided yet if I'll do as she asks. It destroyed Raina, but Nikalya is so much stronger. In any case, that is the story of my Dark Angels: Raina, my Lady Death, Ebony, my Untouchable One, and Nikalya, my love, my life and the keeper of my soul.