Possessed hearts
Анна Морион
They walk between us #4
Their glasses are filled with human blood, and they drink it like we drink wine. They are so much like us, but we are but an ugly copy of the same species. They are superior to us in every way, and yet they have a weakness: vampires love only once, and the choice of their heart determines their eternal life. What awaits these beautiful and bloodthirsty creatures: eternal happiness or eternal suffering? Gorgeous Maria Mroczek, the dream of many men fell in love, but this woman will do anything to win in this Russian roulette and find happiness with someone who, like her, is cursed by the mocking Fate.
Анна Морион
Possessed hearts
CHAPTER 1
Mortals can be so annoying. This I know as well as anyone. – I've called you fifty times, but you ignore me!
I smiled mockingly.
Kurt. That mortal thought he was my boyfriend after just one night with me. I'd been bored that Friday, so I'd decided to have some fun, that's all. He was good in bed, and the coldness of my body even appealed to him. On Sunday I invited him over to my place and that visit too ended up being a hot night. Monday morning, I shoved him out the door and threw his clothes out the window. But, what a misfortune, he seems to have fallen head over heels in love with me! And I, such a fool, gave him my number… How ridiculous!
And why do all these mortals, whom I use only for my physical needs and entertainment, all fall in love with me and call me like crazy? Stalking me at the penthouse where my flat is, stalking me at work. Over the past four years, I've become a well-known photographer in Canada and the US, and these types make me uncomfortable and have difficult conversations with clients. "Who's the guy hanging around here? Did he come to you? You know the rules – no privacy during shooting, etc." And you can't explain to people that all these idiots are there to have a relationship with me! Yeah, what's the big deal, what relationship? Idiots, I'm just playing with them, and when I've played with them, I get rid of the old toys. Should I kill them? No, I don't want to waste my precious time on that.
They all admire me and call me a beautiful, unearthly, sexy devil they're willing to go to Hell for. My cool white skin attracts them like a magnet, they are ready to kiss my feet, to be my slaves. But the thing is, I don't care about them. Their admiration and love for me makes me laugh. Mortals demand my love! Demand that I become "constant" and not act "like an expensive whore". Ha! They dare to hope for my reciprocity. I never promise reciprocity, but I give honest and frank warning that I am looking for a one-night stand. I don't give an ounce of hope.
This Kurt, a twenty-five year old boy I met in a nightclub, thought I should be with him now. He waited for me right outside the entrance to the penthouse and blocked my way to the door with his stupid arrogance. Naive. But I was willing to play with him a little.
– Look, boy, forget my number and find yourself a nice, model girl. I suggest you look in the library-there are plenty of them," I replied to his passionate accusation with a laugh.
– You can't just forget me! – Kurt hooked his fingers into my forearm. – I can't think of anyone, anything, but you!
– How romantic! But boy, you're so stupid," I said in an affectionate tone, still letting him touch me.
– Stop calling me boy!
Passersby stared at this scene of jealousy with rapt attention and smiled.
Kurt was furious. I was enjoying this little game, but I was still a little tired of his voice and mannerisms.
– If I ever see you here again, boy, you're in trouble, okay? – I said insistently, wanting to get rid of him at last. – I'll call the police and I'll get the court to ban you from coming within a mile of me.
By the way, there's already a loser like that. Woody. DJ at Toronto's biggest nightclub. He stalked me for two months, but I successfully and easily won my case in court, and the lovesick idiot had to leave town. And with a tarnished reputation.
– Don't act like a whore!" Kurt suddenly shouted loudly.
That phrase made me laugh out loud. There it was! Once again!
– Miss Mroczek? – Fred came out of the massive wooden door to the penthouse.
Fred is my eternal saviour. The doorman. A six-foot-two big man who's used to chasing away pesky admirers. He's used to these scenes and to the fact that I, quite often, turn up at home with another man who disappears the very next morning. I suspect he's in love with me.
– Fred! You're just in time, mate! – I exclaimed happily.
– I see you need my help, Miss Mroczek? – Fred asked in his bass voice, coming down the stairs to me and loser Kurt.
– As you can see. That impertinent man won't let me in the house! – I replied with a sigh.
Fred didn't hesitate.
– You're a whore! Everyone should know that! That blonde is a dirty whore!" Kurt shrieked as Fred grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, lifted him off the ground and shook him like a misbehaving puppy.
– Shut up and get out of here! – Fred rumbled, bringing Kurt back to the ground and giving him a very resounding kick in the arse.
– Pah-pah, boy! Thanks, Fred's mate! – I smiled cheekily at my saviour and, easily traversing the stairs in my ten-inch Jimmy Choo heels, entered the penthouse.
I love being a bitch. Stylish, smart, gorgeous bitch. Always on the edge of elegance and nudity. Maria Mroczek is a fashion photographer. Seductive and dangerous.
And deeply unhappy.
But no one will ever know, for I give off nothing but glowing light. Blinding.
CHAPTER 2
– Of course, what's this about? It's not every day a nephew turns three. Yes, yes, I'll see you there, Misha. No, I have everything magical. I'm going to Oslo in a week. I'm shooting, some Norwegian actress. I don't know the hell about her, I don't know her. – I had a glass of blood, because at that moment Misha was talking about her and Fredrik coming to our nephew Cedric Morgan's birthday party. – Will you be staying at Mariszka's? What about Uncle Cedric? Hm, you'd expect that. Finally coming out of his shell. Well, little Cedric's lucky to have such a crowd of relatives… Yes, yes, and everyone will carry him in their arms, it's such a blessing. Martin? Mscislav? Will they? Oh, that's marvellous.
Cedric Morgan is my nephew. The only son of my little sister Mariszka and her husband Markus. And this kid is surrounded by a bunch of relatives: two aunts and two uncles on his mother's side, and on his father's side he had an uncle, Cedric, who gave little Cedric his name. The Morgans Sr. moved to St. Petersburg three years ago. I know that there was a bad story in the Morgan family and that Cedric Sr. prefers to live away from his family and now lives in Norway, somewhere in the middle of nowhere. But I don't know what exactly caused the rift. I think he was just tired, though. Cedric has always been strange – he doesn't like parties, big gatherings, gatherings in general. Every time I saw him among the other vampires, his face was a look of utter bewilderment, as if he had no idea how he'd got here or why. The last time I'd seen him was at Mariszka's wedding. I confess that he was so attractive in his austere suit that I even had a thought of having an affair with him. It didn't happen.
But that day changed my life forever.
Fredrik Haraldson. My former lover, and for eight years the husband of my younger sister Misha. She married him when she was nineteen. Nineteen! When I found out they were married, I was speechless for a minute. Maybe it's a good thing they got married so early. Fredrik is the one who can keep my hot-tempered little sister in line. And they love each other. The lucky ones. Despite the fact that Fredrik and I were once lovers, we have a pretty tolerable relationship. Tolerable because he's too calm. Cold. He said I was vulgar. Luckily, I didn't fall in love with him and he didn't fall in love with me – we would have been a terrible couple. I could never get so lost in another vampire that I could forget about myself and my desires. But the last time I saw both of them was when Fredrik made me fly with him to Warsaw to tell Misha and our parents the truth that he wasn't the point of my sex life. The lovers made up and I flew out the very next day. They live in Stockholm now.
So, both families will be together at Cеdric's birthday party. No, three, because Misha 's in the Haraldson clan now. We'll be celebrating the big event with a close family circle. I can just picture us sitting in the huge but rather cosy Morgan living room, drinking blood, chatting like cultured people and watching little Cedric run from wall to wall, and then everyone taking turns squeezing and kissing him on the cheeks. Boring.
All the Mroczeks are the same. Everyone thinks culture is paramount. Honour and dignity. My parents don't know I'm sleeping with mortals… Well, if the truth comes out, they'll be offended and surprised that their sweet daughter Maria has fallen so low. Sleeping with mortals! A disgrace!
I don't care! No one dares to tell me how to live my life! It seems that parents cannot get used to the fact that all their children, including Misha, left home and live as they please. It would seem enjoy life! Your mission to give birth and bring up five offspring you have fulfilled perfectly! But no. They call every week, interested in my affairs, invite me to visit. It is pleasant, on the one hand, but every time I feel myself under a glass hood, unnoticeable supervision of parental eye, and I absolutely do not want to share with them the secrets of my life.
***
That evening, after a delightful vanilla bubble bath, I sat down to work: two days earlier I'd been the lead photographer on a photo shoot for a Canadian millionaire's wife, who, painted like a Barbie doll, was striking awkward asexual poses and thinking she was a queen. Is the customer always, right? No, that's the rule of wimps. My rule allows me to make a selection as to whether I want to spend my time on this or that mortal or mortals. If they have potential – my camera is ready to shoot from morning till night, and then I can spend weeks, taking a break from my laptop only for hunting, to process the resulting images. And the Canadian fife became the object of my shooting only thanks to my personal competition with myself: whether I can turn this goose into a swan.
Alas, even my talent did not help this unsuccessful cause, and the silly goose turned into a painted duck in couture outfits. Tasteless and glamorous. However, I am always honest and do my work diligently and meticulously, so Mrs. My-Husband-Millionaire has nothing to complain about. A week later she received the coveted folder, from which she was delighted and almost squealed with happiness like a piglet. That very evening a tidy sum of money arrived in my bank account.
In fact, I don't need money at all, and this unfortunate seven hundred thousand is just a drop in the ocean. But I do not touch my billions hidden in bank accounts and prefer to spend what I earned by honest labour. My luxury apartment in Toronto's cultural and financial centre requires a decent five-figure monthly investment, because Shangri-La, the penthouse I've lived in for almost five years, is actually a five-star hotel. I lived in another neighbourhood before that, but since my looks no longer matched the number on my next passport, I had to move and buy a new passport, with a more racy number for people's perception. But I love Toronto – a city where I feel free. Lots of people, fresh blood, fun and opportunity. And so far away from my devout parents. It's a shame to be so far away from Misha, but that's the only downside to my living on another continent. There aren't many vampires here, and that's a plus, too.
I'm twenty-five years old. That's what my Canadian passport says. In reality, I'm two hundred… Hmm, two hundred and something. I don't like to announce my age and I don't count my years. I'm always young and beautiful. Time has no power over me. Only the sun can give me away, so I try not to go out during the day. My time is evening and night. Oh, then I revel in life and my beauty. Two centuries have not changed my tastes: I have always loved being the centre of attention, fun and voluptuousness. The party girl is me. For this reason, my blood relatives, including my siblings, seemed dull, almost righteous: they don't sleep with mortals, don't kill for fun, and keep to the shadows. Only my older brother Martin is somewhat like me, but he too has never "stooped to sex with mortals." Martin understands me. Two years ago I confessed to him that I sleep with mortals, and my brother accepted it. He simply said: "It's your life, Maria. You're an adult vampire." Still, I asked him not to reveal my secret, and to this day, neither my parents, Mscislav, Mariszka, nor Misha are aware of my adventures. Especially Mariszka: I have the worst relationship with her. I am only thirteen years older than her, but we have never understood each other. She's a miss of innocence and decency. It's a wonder she married Markus Morgan, who likes to hunt mortals at his friend Brandon Grayson's estate. Mariszka… Hell, I don't even regret the fact that we barely even speak to each other. But I love my nephew. Almost as much as I love my little sister Misha.
Misha 's my soul mate. I wish I had been with her since she was born, but my own affairs and plans were too distracting, so the first time I saw Misha was when she was ten. She was such an adorable little girl! But after a couple of months, I had to leave. Because of Mariszka. She was always lecturing me that I could have a bad influence on little Misha 's unformed character. I remember with what a painful smile I left the house. I forgave Mariszka. But I haven't forgotten how deeply she insulted me by kicking me out of my parents' house, chasing me away from Misha, whom I love more than all my brothers and sisters put together. Fortunately, she is now in Fredrik's good caring hands. Soon I'll meet them.
I'll meet them all. For the first time in nine years. But my first destination is Oslo. Filming. Entertainment.
Naughty, naughty Maria. And yet, being bad seems to be my calling. To break the hearts and destinies of mortals. Magnificent.
***
My plane landed at Gardermoen, Oslo's large international airport, at nine forty-five in the evening. I had timed my connecting flights perfectly so that I could arrive in the midst of darkness.
September Oslo pleasantly impressed me with its unique and slightly strange beauty, the crowds of tourists and the rapt attention with which all the men in the airport and on the streets of the city stared at me. And yet, the sheer number of beggars, gypsies and fake beggars begging for crowns on the streets disgusted me. They are everywhere, pushy and always jingling the change they have in their paper coffee cups. They know who to approach: they calculate the cost of the victim's outfit without error. That night I was wearing tight blue jeans, a white tight blouse and my favourite eight-inch heels, all couture.
As soon as my feet set foot on Karl Johans Gate, Oslo's main, wide street stretching from Central Station to the Royal Palace, lined with expensive boutiques and cafes, I was immediately the object of everyone's attention. My beauty attracted mortals and my outfit attracted beggars. The gypsies in long skirts and ADIDAS trainers were particularly insolent: some shoved pictures of children under my nose, some tried to shove some magazine into my hands for which they would later demand money, others simply said, "Excuse me" and jingled their cardboard glasses with change in front of my face.
At that moment I seriously regretted that I had refused the customer's car, which would have taken me straight to the hotel. And for what? I was anticipating a lovely walk, but instead all I got was pity pressure, crush and disgust. Quickly catching a taxi, I slipped inside, waited for the driver to stow my travelling suitcase with my equipment in the boot, and soon we were on our way to the hotel, where a suite had been arranged for me at the customer's expense.
An hour later I met with the client and learnt that I would be filming a rising young starlet who was starring in a Norwegian youth series. She was present at the meeting and I must say she made a good impression on me. Most importantly, she was photogenic, which certainly made me happy. The customer of the shooting – a rich boyfriend of the young actress, did not take away from me an admiring look, and his protеgе – jealous. But he was not my type, so, having negotiated the details of the shoot and the fee, I went to the hotel. Changing into a sexy silver dress, I hailed a taxi and spent the night at the club. Arriving at the hotel at five o'clock in the morning, dancing and satisfied, I didn't leave the room until after dark. The guy I'd brought with me was pushed out the door. I didn't even know his name – I just invited him into my room and he followed me like a faithful dog.
At ten o'clock in the evening the filming took place. Successfully. Both the photographer and the model knew what they were doing.
At four in the morning I flew to Prague, having bought a large flat on Aker Brygge, one of the most popular and expensive neighbourhoods in the city.
And why not?
CHAPTER 3
I remember my birthdays when I was a child: every year I saw the same faces, ageless, beautiful, perfect. The faces of my now grown-up brothers, my parents, my cousins and cousins, and everyone else who had anything to do with the Mroczek clan. And so it was until I turned fifteen: then I urged them not to have these boring meetings. When I turned thirty-five, and the sun gave out my first wrinkles, I forbade my family even to mention that I was growing older. But, what a relief! A vampire's shell never ages or fades, but always remains dazzling.
My parents still hold the record in our society for the number of children born in marriage. Vampire families don't usually have more than two children. Like the Morgans. Gregory Morgan is the only one. Oh, and Fredrik, of course. My parents did their best to raise five children. Two sons and three daughters. And now, thanks to Mariszka, we are related to the Morgan clan, and my parents have a new fledgling to warm their hearts – a long-awaited grandson. I was aware of the fact that our mother selfishly hoped to keep Misha at home, but the clever girl showed character and fled to another's nest. Not Mroczek anymore. Misha Haraldson. Sounds good.
For some time now, my parents have been hinting to my older brother Martin that "it's time for you to get serious and think about your personal life". Fortunately, Martin has always been rich in excuses and declared that "fate will find him without his interference". Love his humour.
Vampire fate always finds us on its own. Even if we desperately hope to keep her away from us even a mile away. She can be a blessing. Oh, then the vampire is happy forever, for he loves the one who loves him. Mutuality. But in many cases, fate simply mocks, throws an immortal leech into our hearts, sucking our blood just as we drink it from a person's veins. Love is a disgusting thing.
***
– Martin! I didn't expect it! – I exclaimed happily when I saw my brother waiting for me at the exit of the terminal at Prague airport.
Martin stood leaning against the counter of a closed ticket office and looked at me with a smile. And I walked towards him with a smile. Soon we hugged, kissed, he took from me my big wheeled suitcase in which I had brought my best camera and presents for my nephew and Misha, we got into the car and went straight to the Morgan Castle. For everyone else, except Mariszka, of course, my appearance in the clan circle is already a gift. And maybe this righteous woman missed me? Eight years. I don't remember for what reason, but I missed Cedric's first two birthdays. Probably because of the anticipation of boredom.
– Where are you staying? – I asked as we briefly updated each other on the latest news of our lives. Briefly, because we regularly skype-called once or twice a month, substituting "blood" for "wine" and "killed" for "met". So when Martin would say, "Yesterday I met an Irish businessman and drank some wonderful Irish wine with him," I knew that yesterday he had killed an Irishman and drank his blood. How entertaining it was to cipher our conversations about hunting!
The last time I spoke to Martin was before the Oslo shoot, and I didn't have to listen long to hear about how he'd managed to have fun in those six days. But I did share with him my short trip to Oslo, emphasising that despite the gypsies and beggars, I had fallen in love with the city and bought a flat there. If he wants, he can use it whenever he wants. Martin grinned and said he'd think about my offer.
– Like everyone else. Mariszka and Markus have it, – he answered my question. – Misha and Fredrik are also at the castle. Everyone is here, waiting for you.
– That's nice," I said sarcastically, imagining how I'd have to hug everyone. – And your parents?
– They flew in yesterday.
– I'm not surprised.
– Brandon's at the castle, too.
A sigh of surprise escaped my chest.
– Brandon? – I asked, raising my eyebrows mockingly. – Since when did he become Mroczek?
