Color Me Red (A Vampire Romance)

Prologue

In a room lit with a candle, Gabbi entered after three faint knocks and silence. The familiar scent of roses from the wax danced to her nose, as she took in the view—a figure sat by the edge of the poster bed, his shoulders up were draped in the shadow.

"Hello," she greeted the client. "I'm Kristina, you asked for me."

"Yes." The deep yet youthful voice surprised her. Usually, it would be hoarse or panting and hurried fake introductions. They never had young patrons, as far as she knew. Just now. Despite curiosity, Gabbi could not request for better light, nor complain about it. "Client's preferences," as Mama Fred, the manager, said in one of their rare meetings when occasions arise, then one of the girls blurted "fetishes."

That's why Casa Belle had a lot of well-off patrons by the quality of service. In the city of London, they were the best. Clients, from the upper echelons and even international ones, set appointments even months before. Those who can come in anytime pay much higher than the usual, and their usual price varies—all pricey than any ordinary brothel.

"What's your real name?" he asked, unmoving.

"Kristina."

"Lies," he said. "In your line of work, you give lies—your name, age, where you came from and the comfort you give. So, what is your real name?"

She had this conversation before, the kind that wanted to ask further, deeper. The truth. "Gabbi... Gabrielle."

And this is not the first time she had revealed the truth. It doesn't matter anyway. There were probably hundreds of girls with the same name: school girls, happy girls, grandmothers, dead girls. And yet, it was all she can give, a common name. Her past is bleak, too dark, for people to dwell. "My name is Gabrielle," she repeated.

"Gabrielle...." his voice trailed off. "Are you not lying?"

"Gabrielle Red."

Silence, then he greeted, "Hello, Gabrielle." He sounded like a stranger. He is. But the way he called her name was too strained.

She gripped the knot of her velvet robe. There is something about his voice that made her uncomfortable. Too velvety? Too gentle?

"What's your name?" she asked, not hopeful for an answer.

There was silence then, "You guess," he said in a tone that he expected her to get it right.

Gabbi tilted her head. How would she know? All the men she met in the brothel were nicknamed Johns, Williams and Roberts. But to indulge him, Gabbi muttered 'Michael?', which she knew was wrong.

Then he was already in front of her. She thought it was just an image on her mind or a lapse of her brain. But the bed was empty, and there he was, towering over like doom about to fall.

How come he came so fast, like a trick of the eyes? There wasn't even a faint breeze nor anything that forebode closer distance. He now stood in front of her, and lifted her chin for a closer look.

Gabbi held her breath. Surely, any whore from the Casa would willingly entertain a man like him. Good looking is an understatement. Black hair, young and refined despite the black hooded shirt and jeans that were torn in the left knee. He was a rarity in the roster of crinkled old men and thick faced patrons.

"Michael?" he whispered, yet a pained expression passed his eyes then it was gone.

Grey orbs glowed brighter than the candle flame. He was ethereally pale, yet his hands were warm. He chuckled and muttered the name once more as if it was a joke.

Like waking up from a dream, Gabbi returned to her senses when the man let go, this time, tracing his steps back to the end of the bed. "Strip," he commanded. "Show me what's more to the beautiful face."

Gabbi didn't move. For the first time, she was ashamed to undress. This man would surely be disgusted, just like all the clients before him. But then, that's what she wants.

If he'd seen her body, he'd be disgusted too, like all the others lured by the pretty face, and then they'd return her to waitressing and not even touch the ends of her hair.

She untied the ribbon, and the silk slid down her body, pooled on the floor like water. Gabbi closed her eyes.

"How ugly."

With a bitter smile, she retrieved her robe, but a hand stopped her. Him again, back in front of her in half a breath, with no sound nor warning. His palm caressed her face, to the scar at the crevice of her neck, between her breast, to the long line slashing across over her belly, sprinkled with shorter, deeper cuts healed, some just months ago, some a few years.

Each one had their own story. Each one will accompany her until death. The hair on her nape raised, feeling his warm fingers against the scars. For a moment, there was a tingle on her spine.

"How broken." His finger drew circles to her neck. "...Yet alive, breathing, and so human," his voice trailed off in anger. "...Human."

Then he smiled, dark and evil, like a hungered beast as sharp fangs grew in his mouth. He was a monster, in the shape of a beautiful man. "Yet, I like broken things."

Gabbi couldn't even scream.

Fictitious. A beast like him should be in books, screens and whispers of the old tales. Vampires, she assumed the monstrosity in front of her, should be nothing but imagination and work of the creative minds. They don't exist. And much more, one, a real one, must not be standing in front of her.

No. It doesn't matter if they are real. She's going to die, that's certain. And yet...

With the thought, words escaped her mouth. "Please," she looked up to him and begged. "Please do so." She turned to her left, to give him better access on her veins.

She must be insane, or desperation made her one. It's better to die in the hands of a fictional monster come to life, than people with no hearts. This is better, this is alright, Gabbi convinced herself.

"Ah, a willing prey," he commented, amused. "A rare kind."

"Please Sir, kill me."

The man smiled, all too pleased. "As you wish."

His hands cradled her neck, and the other one snaked on her waist to her back. Sharp stinging pain pierced through her skin. Her warmth was sucked away, strength disappeared and her eyes wide open slowly closed, until the last she heard was a faraway echo.

"Let's play some more, Gabrielle."