Read Online Lilith’s Dream: A Tale of the Vampire Life by Whitley Strieber - Free Book Online
Authors: Whitley Strieber
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nightmares?”
“You cried.”
“Christ, that again.”
“And you woke up mean, just like you always do when you cry in the night.”
“None of this is news. Anyway, I’m working.”
“Look, you’re also down here hiding from Ian, which he knows perfectly well.”
“I have an urgent case, for chrissakes!”
“Paul, the Leo evidence you’ve just presented to me is absolutely worthless, as you know. And even if it isn’t, whatever you’re doing now can wait half an hour.”
“A man died last night.”
“Maybe, but a father’s relationship with his son is dying right now. Why not go up and sit with him while he eats? Talk to him, be with him.”
He was silent.
“Dammit, Paul, then don’t talk. Just be. There’s something important happening here. Right now, today, you two either build a wall or you don’t, and dammit, I say you don’t.”
He met her eyes, found he could not bear that, and looked away. Why had he ever, ever picked that little baby up out of its exquisite antique cradle? But how could he not? You couldn’t just leave a baby, and especially not your own damn son. Ian was pure vampire on his mother’s side, about a third on Paul’s. That made him more than half vampire. And it made his future a huge unknown. He had never fed, never wanted to feed, had no idea that vampires were anything real. As far as Ian was concerned, Becky was Mom and Paul was Dad, and that was that.
The question was, would puberty bring with it an urge to feed? It was already bringing an affinity for vampire blood, Paul felt sure. That was the origin of the Leo fixation. So would he also, one day—
Paul pushed the thought out of his mind with a fury that almost made him groan aloud. The rage that had invaded him told him the hardest truth there was about himself: he loved this son of his more than his own damn life, but if he turned vampire, then he would have to kill him.
How far will she go to protect Ian, if it comes to that? he wondered. Becky was an extremely effective operative, quick and ruthless and as sharp as a knife. She might not be Ian’s natural mother, but she was more loyal to him than she was to her own soul.
“More coffee,” she said, a false lilt in her voice. “Shall I bring it down?”
“No, no, I’ll go up.” There was no other choice. In a family this close to exploding into blood and death, he had to do everything he could to keep things going.
“Well, good,” she said. “That’s good. Come on.”
He followed her up the stairs, trying not to think about gallows. He was an adult. He could handle this.
Ian was in the kitchen, his blond hair glowing in a shaft of morning light. As a little boy he had been so beautiful that he unsettled people. Men and women alike found themselves wanting to hold him and touch him, to the point that it frightened some of them, made them uneasy. But that was Ian’s nature, to draw, from deep within all whom he encountered, things that they did not even know were there.
“Hey, Ian.”
“Hey, Dad.”
The boy’s knife slithered in his breakfast steak, his fork worked the eggs with busy clinks. The sound that came when he guzzled his milk revolted Paul beyond words. Then he glanced up, and his eyes were the blue of morning. “Sorry about the music.”
His heart said, All is forgiven, O my son! His voice said, “No big deal.”
“You’d think they would’ve made thicker walls back in the old days.”
Translation: I heard you fucking Mom and it embarrassed me so bad I’m still congealed inside. Paul’s heart opened to his boy. “Yeah,” he said. “But look at it this way, Ian. Your olds are tight. Better than a lot of kids, where the olds hate each other. You want the olds to be tight.”
“For sure, Dad. Melissa Smith’s parents go final today. We’re celebrating.”
“Oh? And why is that?”
“Why?” He swept the air with a closed fist, innocently showing off his smooth, gracefully muscled arm. “No more bruises
“You cried.”
“Christ, that again.”
“And you woke up mean, just like you always do when you cry in the night.”
“None of this is news. Anyway, I’m working.”
“Look, you’re also down here hiding from Ian, which he knows perfectly well.”
“I have an urgent case, for chrissakes!”
“Paul, the Leo evidence you’ve just presented to me is absolutely worthless, as you know. And even if it isn’t, whatever you’re doing now can wait half an hour.”
“A man died last night.”
“Maybe, but a father’s relationship with his son is dying right now. Why not go up and sit with him while he eats? Talk to him, be with him.”
He was silent.
“Dammit, Paul, then don’t talk. Just be. There’s something important happening here. Right now, today, you two either build a wall or you don’t, and dammit, I say you don’t.”
He met her eyes, found he could not bear that, and looked away. Why had he ever, ever picked that little baby up out of its exquisite antique cradle? But how could he not? You couldn’t just leave a baby, and especially not your own damn son. Ian was pure vampire on his mother’s side, about a third on Paul’s. That made him more than half vampire. And it made his future a huge unknown. He had never fed, never wanted to feed, had no idea that vampires were anything real. As far as Ian was concerned, Becky was Mom and Paul was Dad, and that was that.
The question was, would puberty bring with it an urge to feed? It was already bringing an affinity for vampire blood, Paul felt sure. That was the origin of the Leo fixation. So would he also, one day—
Paul pushed the thought out of his mind with a fury that almost made him groan aloud. The rage that had invaded him told him the hardest truth there was about himself: he loved this son of his more than his own damn life, but if he turned vampire, then he would have to kill him.
How far will she go to protect Ian, if it comes to that? he wondered. Becky was an extremely effective operative, quick and ruthless and as sharp as a knife. She might not be Ian’s natural mother, but she was more loyal to him than she was to her own soul.
“More coffee,” she said, a false lilt in her voice. “Shall I bring it down?”
“No, no, I’ll go up.” There was no other choice. In a family this close to exploding into blood and death, he had to do everything he could to keep things going.
“Well, good,” she said. “That’s good. Come on.”
He followed her up the stairs, trying not to think about gallows. He was an adult. He could handle this.
Ian was in the kitchen, his blond hair glowing in a shaft of morning light. As a little boy he had been so beautiful that he unsettled people. Men and women alike found themselves wanting to hold him and touch him, to the point that it frightened some of them, made them uneasy. But that was Ian’s nature, to draw, from deep within all whom he encountered, things that they did not even know were there.
“Hey, Ian.”
“Hey, Dad.”
The boy’s knife slithered in his breakfast steak, his fork worked the eggs with busy clinks. The sound that came when he guzzled his milk revolted Paul beyond words. Then he glanced up, and his eyes were the blue of morning. “Sorry about the music.”
His heart said, All is forgiven, O my son! His voice said, “No big deal.”
“You’d think they would’ve made thicker walls back in the old days.”
Translation: I heard you fucking Mom and it embarrassed me so bad I’m still congealed inside. Paul’s heart opened to his boy. “Yeah,” he said. “But look at it this way, Ian. Your olds are tight. Better than a lot of kids, where the olds hate each other. You want the olds to be tight.”
“For sure, Dad. Melissa Smith’s parents go final today. We’re celebrating.”
“Oh? And why is that?”
“Why?” He swept the air with a closed fist, innocently showing off his smooth, gracefully muscled arm. “No more bruises
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