Made in Death's Image 03

Hey everyone!

Let me get to it.

I'm rebooting my series The Truth About Us. As much as I liked this series it missed on a lot of levels and I seemingly wrote myself into a corner. I had also birthed the concepts of the series during a failing relationship. Meaning it was colored with idealism and projections of myself that honestly had nothing to do with the story I was trying to tell. This reboot will be just as grand and sweeping and will share many story beats with the original. But It will be a more mature and developed story and will also have all the lessons I've learned from my past works.

Consider this story the last of my old guard. A special thank you to Captain Andrews for all her help with my creation of this tale. I hope you all enjoy it too! Smaller side note; I had written most of this and finished it long before the conflict in Europe began. I hope it isn't traumatizing to anyone as it has been for some of the people in my life.

MADE IN DEATH'S IMAGE III

PROLOGUE

Mütters Tasche, 1983. A club founded in East Germany where only the most fervently against Russian occupation would party and let loose. This space existed as a way to rail against the oppressive and culturally strangling control of the Soviet Union. Westlicher Herr Verein's existence attracted many different peoples because of what it stood for—it even attracted the occupying Russian spies away from their posts. The sex, drugs, and music filled the air with a pulsating and unending miasma of indulgence. Music blared loudly, drowning out any conversation that wasn't being maintained at point blank range. But no one really spoke at a club like this; it wasn't a place for discussion with men kissing men and women kissing women. Each body joined by passion, and longing to not think of the morning when the sun would rise on their end of the iron curtain. People would enter the club in trench coats or garb that fully covered their appearance only for it to be removed at the door and the men and women within would reveal themselves in skimpy attire or full-on fetish gear. Red lights cast themselves across the room and all that was left were the deep dark shadows of the maze of rooms that was Mütters Tasche. But within the shadows, a woman stood watching for someone in particular. She was magically bathed in the shadows, but her eyes would occasionally catch the light and have the silver glow of a wild animal in the black of night.

Across the room, dressed in mostly black, was a man who just watched as the occupants of the room found ways to liberate themselves. His gaze was heavy on the amount of gorgeous scantily clad women around the room, but he was working, or rather monitoring. Pavel's position in the KGB was unique; his mission was to monitor those agents under him that had been stationed on the front lines of the Cold War. He was a sort of security to those who'd be seduced away from the Soviet mission by the indulgences and debauchery of the west. Pavel kept defectors in line, and should they choose to defect... well, they didn't get to make any choices again. The truth for Pavel is that he wanted nothing more than to fall into this haze of desire and passion, to fall into the arms of a woman who would fuck all his worries away. These thoughts of freedom had distracted him and the predator in the shadows emerged and crossed the room in a glide until she was in front of him.

The woman had luscious chin length hair that curled at its ends, and bright brown eyes that glowed red in the light. Her body was dusted with glitter, and she wore a shiny red vinyl bodysuit that left her long creamy pale legs exposed as well as her breasts. Her nipples were pierced horizontally and her brazen choice to not even cover them made Pavel swallow hard. She wore tall see-through boots with red heels to match her vinyl bodysuit. Pavel always considered less being more, but in this case the minimalist nature of her outfit was a contrast of nothing at all. This stranger smiled at Pavel. Her lips were obviously covered in lipstick, but the light of the club made them glisten even redder than anything else. It was like they'd been painted with fresh, wet blood.

The woman giggled softly as the music and lust of the club drowned her out. "I saw you from across the room. I liked what I saw."

"I couldn't say the same," he replied in such a way to convey a false disinterest.

"Does this trick usually work with all the other German women?" She laughed. Somehow her voice cut through the crowd as if her lips were moving, but her voice was in his head caressing and teasing his mind.

"It's not a trick. I'm not interested."

She smiled again and leaned closer. Pavel was expecting to feel her warm breath against his ear. He got goosebumps in anticipation of what she'd say as her pert nipples pressed into him. "That's like saying I'm not an American. Don't you wanna come interrogate me? Find out what a woman like me feels—thinks like on the inside?"

Pavel knew from her first words and average spoken German that she was a foreigner, but her brazen outfit truly gave it away. Even the Germans here trying to cut loose would never have such...confidence. Pavel exhaled calmly, deciding to play her game. After all, the spies here for the KGB were behaving but obviously they weren't astute enough this evening to notice this foreign element within their midst. "What would be in that mind of yours? Doesn't the west have enough rot of their moral fiber to party back home?"

Grace giggled again. "Yes, but they lack a certain je ne sais quois."

Her French was also mild at best, but a cultured American throwing herself at him was practically a fetish all its own in his country. "So you're chasing after the only Russian in the room? You wanna be a national security risk when you go home?" He figured this would scare the young American woman off and he could focus on the task at hand, regardless of how much he wanted to indulge in her.

"No, but I bet you'd like to be. So how about you come with me, and I offer you more than what you're seeing right now? And I'm not just talking about me." Grace's words dripped out of her mouth with a decadence Pavel's soviet conditioning warned him of. That unchecked sexual behavior and the dangers of western women's promiscuity.

Pavel grabbed Grace by her strangely cold shoulders and moved her a foot away from him. It took everything he had not to kiss those juicy red lips or to see those eyes open in pleasure at what he'd do to her body. "Go away woman."

Grace's aura darkened, and she leaned in, overpowering him with shocking ease, placing a hand on his arm, her nails piercing his skin. "Come with me."

His eyes widened, and he looked around the room. It was like everything had moved a million miles away from him. He was frightened of his own handler hearing of the situation, but he couldn't resist the compulsion to follow her. His mind betrayed himself. There, he pulled away quickly and powerfully, ignoring the sting of escaping her grip.

"Who do you work for?" he demanded, his hand moving to the silenced pistol in his jacket. "What do you want?"

She smiled again, but this time her mouth had two unnaturally sharp canines. For a moment, pure primal fear filled him. The women in front of him, he realized, only wore the face of a human being. And yet, he could see the demon behind those eyes so clearly. This wasn't an American, and she wasn't a spy. She was something far worse.

"Do you really believe that will do any damage to me?" she asked, now annoyed by his obstinance, and pointing condescendingly to the Markov concealed in his coat.

Pavel stood his ground. "No. But at the same time, I've never seen anyone survive a bullet to the forehead."

In an attempt to slip the gun free from its holster, he leaned back, trying to move as fast as possible. However, she was faster, grabbing it out from under his jacket in a blur. In the action she was a little closer and Pavel had no choice but to watch her carefully.

"Hm," she purred. "Yes. You're quite handsome close up. But so very stupid."

His mind grew with fog.

The next time he opened his eyes, he was in a dark bedroom. It had the familiar smell of old blood. He groaned, his head heavy. Looking around the room, it took him no time to realize he was on a bed. The room was dark, furnished with black furniture and black curtains. The light of the candles danced on the wall like demons in a flame, jubilantly walking and awaiting the sacrifice. And, of the bed he was on, soft and made of an eggshell silk. The most expensive fabric he'd ever seen, and it existed in such abundance. His shirt was gone, as was his holster and gun. Slowly, he pushed himself up, finding a dull ache in his chest.

"You're awake," that familiar voice said. Still, Pavel could not tell if it was in his mind.

He flinched, now noticing the figure standing against the wall, a wine glass in hand. He recognized the now naked shadow as the mysterious and dangerous woman from the club and instantly moved back in the bed. His fingers curled into fists as he prepared himself for a fight. Slowly, she stepped forward, swaying her hips as she approached him. He inhaled deeply, his eyes drinking in the dangerous women.

"W-What are you going to do to me, demon?" he growled.

She smirked, placing the wine glass on the table against one of the walls in the room before climbing onto the bed. She crawled over towards him, her eyelids fluttering with seduction as she watched his confusion contort his stoic and handsome face. He was growing hard as she approached. A betrayal to all his self-preservation instincts, all his old-fashioned ideals. He groaned, feeling any fight drop away—he was a touch starved man after all. And no man could refuse such a visage in front of him.

She nipped playfully at his chiseled chest, running her tongue down his stomach.

"W-What do you want?" he seethed, trying again.

There was a pause in her actions, and she batted her lashes at him. "You."

He inhaled sharply. "Why?" but Grace did not answer.

Her locks dipped down as she licked across his taut, hairy stomach, her hair tickling his skin. He gritted his teeth and dug his fingers into the bedsheet. His head was tilted back, and his eyes tightly shut. His mind whirled as he tried to desperately come up with a logical plan to escape, and yet with her current actions, nothing came to mind. While a KGB spy, he had always pushed the pleasure of a woman out of his mind, something he could thank his training for, and yet now, with his life on the line, he couldn't stop the desire from bubbling up to the surface.

"Stop that," he said, his accent growing thicker. "Get off me."

She paused, tilting her head up towards him, evil gleaming in her eyes. "You don't want me? You truly do not want to be deep inside me? Especially when I roll my hips in such delicious ways? You do not want to taste the softness of my breasts or feel my lips against yours?"

He moaned softly, "No."

Another snide laugh as she ran her fingers across the tent in his pants. "I don't believe you."

His hips jerked unconsciously, trying to chase the contact.

"All you have to do is ask," she purred, rubbing him slowly.

He groaned, banging his head against the pillow. "Get off me!" He struggled to say so halfheartedly.

"Demon?" She laughed genuinely now. "I'm just evil, aren't I? Forcing you to choose."

He gasped as she reached down his pants, and every inch of his control broke.

"Yes," he growled, sitting up and reaching for her skin. "Fine, fuck, fine! I give up. Come here! You win!"

"Good," she purred, pushing him back down and ripping his pants free of his legs. The room was filled with the soft sounds of moans and groans. She mounted his member with ease, her own cunt dripping with desire. She moaned, positioning his throbbing member at the entrance of her sex before sinking down onto it, sheathing him in one swift motion. He began panting almost immediately, his fingers finding her cold hips and guiding her hips into a roll. He'd need every second he could get before he'd cum.

It wasn't long before the mixture of her devilish motions, and his long pent-up desire had him cumming and her following shortly after. He breathed heavily in satisfaction after the intense and brief session of sex, his hands relaxing and falling to his side. He finally slowed down, but to his surprise, she never left her position. His brow went up and for a moment, he had forgotten all about the situation.

"What is it?" he asked.

She tilted her head, a sorrowful smile on her face. "This certainly was fun. But it makes what is to come a little more difficult. But I promise it'll make all that will come worth it."

There was a scream, and a flash of fangs, and blood. So much blood all Pavel could feel at one point was feeling his life leave his body and enter Grace.

"What's on your mind?"

ONE

Pavel blinked, and suddenly his nostalgia passed, and he glanced over at Grace. A sour smile grew on his face. It had been the first time they had met in decades, and truth be told, Grace was his maker. He owed everything to the vampire and for that he respected her, and yet, he hated every fiber of her being for everything else she had done to him.

Beside him, she shifted in her seat. They sat in his armored black truck. He wore the attire of someone rich. It was something Grace remembered, how Pavel embraced his liberation all those years ago. She wore a golden sequined dress, her hair curled, and red lipstick was smeared across her lips in a far less sophisticated fashion than she would've done. She was calm, her wrists cuffed together by silver, and her ankles restrained in a similar fashion.

"What did you ask me?" he questioned her curiously.

They both kept their demeanor calm and casual, and yet both knew better of the meaning behind this question.

Grace smiled prettily, her eyes cold. "I asked you what was on your mind?"

"I'm thinking of the past," he replied with a dramatic sigh. "And how all that is to come you set in motion. It is because you made me suffer this. Could I have chosen my life, I would've refused this."

Grace's lip curled up into an unspoken sneer. He watched her with interest; she had such time to harness her abilities and master the control of emotions and yet, every so often, her true nature poked through the angelic façade. The psychological stunting of being turned into vulnerable states. The permanence of who you are as a vampire, Pavel often speculated.

"I think," she then said slowly, calculated, as if Grace could not help but say what was on her mind and yet knew that such words had to be mustered carefully, "Blaming others for what you've become and what harm you've caused is an abdication. It was the forces of cruelty that drove our unfortunate ties together, and now it has drawn us together again. I don't know who will pay. But maybe we don't have to do this."

He tilted his head, holding back a snide and unprepared rebuttal. Perhaps, he felt the need to match her. He wanted her to see how powerful he had gotten—both physically and mentally since she'd abandoned him all those years ago. And yet he had gotten no such reaction from Grace. Instead, she met him with boredom and patronization.

"That's no surprise," he replied coolly, curling his fingers into his palm. "Someone as old as you must've finally been able to learn responsibility. Unfortunately, you will get to do no good with that newfound enlightenment. I will inherit everything from you with violence and deception like you visited upon me. I'm gonna take your life from you, Grace—your love and joy and purpose. I'll take it all."

Grace said nothing, but she did stew on his words. More than anything, she wished she could rip his head off and be done with it. She cursed her legacy. She could see herself in Pavel's conflict like Codrin could see her defiance and hatred. But did Codrin feel remorse like she did now? He had been so easy for his age, yet he fell to her. Would her guilt kill her now?

"Do you truly hate me?" she mused. "You wanna destroy me for the harm I've caused you? For all I took from you? I don't blame you. I have disowned my maker's legacy of putrid behavior. I've regretted all the evil I've committed. If so, I can make peace with your revenge, Pavel. But threaten to harm the people I love and have sworn to protect and know I will stop at nothing to end you."

She didn't say it, but all she could see in him was a reflection of herself in vampiric adolescence. It was pathetic, she thought, and truly sad. But had it only been longer, she might be able to reach him. The young never fully understood their own actions until it was too late. Neither did Grace when Codrin forced her to be a maker.

"You think it is something so trivial? To just forgive?!" he demanded.

Grace frowned, pushing away her anger and sighing deeply. In truth, she wished it was a reason less horrid. It would make him much easier. A man with a grudge always fell because of it, but what Pavel seemed to have, it seemed like a better fuel. And yet the question still remained, how did Pavel get so much influence? Did Codrin's crimes truly exceed anything she could imagine?

"Of course not," she replied.

He stared at her for a moment to find mockery, but her emotional state was earnest.

"You owe me nothing," Grace admitted, allowing her heart to recall the guilt she had felt from all the pain Codrin made her force upon others. "And I won't demand an explanation. But this is your last chance to find another way."

For a moment he paused, surprised by her words. "You surprise me, and for that I'll tell you this much: Before this new year is over, this world will have a new future. One where we do not have to hide in the shadows, and one where every human—no—every being will sit in the same night you have forced me into. I will be the most powerful vampire in the world."

"You really are after everything now," Grace whispered, then asked, knowing this conversation would only cause a terrible slip up on Grace's end, "Where are you taking me?"

Pavel leaned back against the seat, misunderstanding Grace's deflection as surrender. "Europe. I cannot tell you specifics should I lose you, and I won't tell you when we arrive. Please understand that we can never be at peace. I'll never forgive you."

Grace turned her face towards the black tinted window. It allowed nothing from the outside world to venture through. "And you believe every other being in this world will simply allow you to take that power?"

He sneered. "I'll take it before they ever know I'm asking." The air stood still.

TWO

Besalu was normally quiet. The hot air had settled long ago in this ancient Spanish village. It had been a popular spot for vampires in the medieval age, however, the town had long ago been abandoned by their makers in the wake of hunters attacking it. Now, it stood as a small hunter and human community. The hunters here only worked to protect their village and nothing more. It kept the vampires away, and the vampires didn't bother to take arms against the small group of hunters lest they lose it all again. Each year passed peacefully with a blood moon festival.

Today, Besalu was not so quiet. The overwhelming noise of a motorcycle disrupted the peace. Tearing through the roads at a speed that promised a sudden shattered neck to its rider with the smallest mistake. And yet, no such thing occurred as it ripped through the streets of cobble made less conducive to such risk. Eventually, the black motorcycle slowed, pulling down a stone road, away from the busier streets and at a large medievalist structure turned warehouse. He kicked the stand down on the bike, pulling to a stop. Sliding off, his shoes twisted roughly against the stone path. The man pulled off his helmet, and shook free his hair, running his free hand through his dark locks.