Love Like Winter

"But not anymore, right?" She said. Her voice was harsh, raw. She'd heard drunks talk like that, right before they pulled a knife and tried to stab the bouncer. "You took...you took everything from me. It's like you killed me and left me alive to watch. You ripped out my heart, and now you're just watching the body twitch because you think it's funny. I...I want you dead so badly." She choked back a sob. "I came here to kill you, you utter fucking bitch."

This didn't scare Dalila in the slightest. In fact, she looked like a chess master who'd just taken her opponent's queen. "Oh, really? You got completely blind stinking drunk, wandered in here barely able to stand, and then downed even more liquor once you got here...because you came to kill me?" She put her elbows on the bar and leaned in, like a lover getting ready to whisper sweet nothings. "I don't think so, Carly. I think we both know what you came here to do. The vodka just gave you the courage to ask for it."

For a long moment, Carly did nothing but gape. Then her shoulders dropped and she began to nudge her glass back and forth, not looking at Dalila. "No," she said sadly, "I really did come here to kill you. I just got kind of...lost...on the way. Thinking about, about--"

"Abby."

"Abby." Carly sighed. "See, killing you would be a hell of a great thing. Right up there with blowing up....oh, fuck, I don't know. The shark. The Death Star. The Ark of the Covenant. Anyway, say I did it. Say I killed you. Then what? Abby's still a zombie, and I'm still alone. Forever, or until I decide to kill myself. "

Dalila pretended to sound sympathetic. "But there's another option, isn't there? One that will let you be together again."

Carly still refused to meet her gaze. "I didn't think there was, at first. But Renata told me I was a treasure. Not Abby. Me. She said you didn't see it before, and you were a fool. But...maybe...do you see it now?" At last she raised her eyes, and the look on Dalila's face dropped Carly's heart straight through the floorboards.

Dalila smiled around her hunger. "Well, one thing I can say for Renata: she enjoys only the finest vintages. I must have been incredibly jaded, not to appreciate yours before now. Come here, darling. Let me taste you again." She reached across the bar.

"Hang on!" Carly squeaked, stepping backwards so fast she half-sprawled against the back of the bar. She fumbled for the Stolichnaya. "We have to toast first!" Carly noticed herself smiling that smile again, but now she felt tears running down her cheeks, too. "You know, to...to stuff."

At last she found the bottle. It was almost empty, but that didn't matter much. She plopped two glasses on the bar and sloshed the last of the vodka into them. Dalila picked hers up and gave a mocking salute.

Carly copied her. "A toast," she said, "to the three most important things!" Then she sucked down the booze in a single gulp.

Dalila's lip curled. She was clearly hungry, but she was having fun, too. She'd hold off a little longer, if Carly just kept being amusing. "And those things are...?"

Carly pulled out her lighter. "One, I really did come here to kill you." She flicked it to life, savoring the sudden fear in Dalila's eyes. "Two, bartenders know how to fake being drunk really well." She tossed the lighter on the bar and Dalila flinched backwards. It might have been her first mistake in a thousand years of immortal life; it was certainly her last. "And three, vodka makes the best Molotov cocktails."

The fire caught fast. 100-proof liquor tended to do that, and Carly had spread it all across the bar...and the floor in front of the bar...and the barstools...and everywhere else the bitch was likely to stand. As fast as she was, Dalila couldn't make it out the door in time. First her dress caught fire; then she caught fire.

Dalila burned slower than the others had, more like thick cloth than old paper. Carly had time to watch her beat helplessly at the flames before that final realization: being immortal didn't mean you could never die. It would have been nice if she'd screamed, but all Carly got was that teakettle hiss. It would have to be enough.

Carly let the fire burn for almost two full minutes before she pulled out the extinguisher she'd brought. Dousing the ashes took another three minutes, and then she spent about five more making sure Dalila wasn't going to rise from the dead. When she was finally satisfied, she set out to find Abby.

*****

The coterie were no threat this time around; lacking wills of their own, they'd simply stayed where Dalila left them. They stood motionless, breathless, all but dead. Who knew? Maybe they really would die in the end, if no one like Carly came to rescue them. But Carly was here for one person only.

She walked right past Abby the first time because she'd expected to find her in the room of mannequins. Of course, Carly had torched that the last time she'd been here; but she wasn't in the clearest frame of mind right now, even without having drunk all that she'd pretended.

Besides, Abby was almost unrecognizable in her alcove. She was twined like a nymph around a marble tree trunk, her own skin marbleized by some skillful painter. Another of the coterie, Carly guessed. They probably retained some of their old skills even after being drained and could use them at Dalila's command.

Carly lifted Abby from the plinth and settled her on the floor, cradling her head in Carly's lap. Abby's eyes were closed, her limbs firm but not too rigid to rearrange. Carly pulled her arms up around her neck. Then she bent to kiss her wife's cold, motionless lips.

Was it just her imagination, or did she feel the hint of a sigh against her cheek? She pulled back just a little, then brushed her fingers across Abby's nipples. They stiffened instantly. "That's my girl," Carly whispered. She leaned in for another kiss, then brought one of Abby's arms down to her own breast--as bare as her wife's, since she'd left her clothes in the bar. She knew how this was supposed to work. Renata had told her.

Soon Abby's hand began to caress Carly's breast on its own, and then her eyes opened. Her pupils were pinpricks, her irises almost indistinguishable from the sclera. But somewhere, deep within those pinpricks, a hunger was beginning to build.

Carly leaned in, slipping a hand between Abby's legs to tickle her swelling clit.

Pain bloomed suddenly across her breast, making her gasp, but she didn't stop her motions. Renata had told her to expect this. Carly knew that if she looked down, she'd see a jagged streak of white; but she didn't dare look down.

Abby's other hand dropped between Carly's legs and slipped inside her, questing deeper than it ever had before. That hurt, too, but less than her breast; and it also felt good in a way. Carly groaned, even as Abby's pupils began to widen. Pale color flooded her irises, and she blinked. "C-Carly?"

"That's right sweetheart," Carly murmured, smiling as best she could. "I'm here. Here to--uh!--save you."

Abby's eyes grew darker and she struggled weakly against Carly's grasp. "No," she whispered, but her hands never stopped their work. Carly could feel it now, her will draining away to be replaced by blind arousal. It felt really good now, and soon it would feel even better; she knew that from experience. Renata had left Carly's memory intact, so she knew the pleasure of surrendering her will. But after all, Renata had been merely an acquaintance. There was a limit to what they could share. Abby, on the other hand, was the love of Carly's life. Carly was--and would be--the love of Abby's. The memory of that bond was strong enough to give Abby the will to feed; and that love, flowing into her, would bring her back.

"No," Abby moaned again. She'd come back enough, now, to understand what Carly was doing. Ironically, gaining free will made it harder to complete the process. Abby didn't want what Carly was offering; but Carly had known she wouldn't want it, and she was determined to give it to Abby anyway. She just had keep giving long enough to be sure it took. If she failed, Abby would return to the same deathlike trance as the rest of Dalila's coterie. If she succeeded, something worse would happen.

Renata had never lied to Carly, but she hadn't told her the whole truth, either. Not at first. She'd tried to keep Carly alive and whole, miserable though she might be, but Carly wouldn't allow it. One way or another, she was going back for Abby; so the least Renata could do was make her sacrifice count for something. That was how she rationalized it to Carly, just before explaining how she'd come to be what she was. She and Dalila and all their kind had started out as slaves, drained dry by some other immortal. They'd had no more will than Abby, and when they drained a victim's will, they retained it no more than a sieve retains water. The inertia of will-lessness held them fast.

There was just one way out of that trap, a way so difficult and horrifying that creatures like Dalila tried not to think about it...and creatures like Renata never forgave themselves for it. Each of them, at some point in their slavery, had drained a victim with whom they shared such passion that it burst the bonds of passivity once and for all. It restored their freedom--but at the cost of someone else's. Someone they loved.

Carly could only save Abby by sacrificing herself; and she'd do it gladly, even though she knew the cost. There'd be no restoration for her, no other source of passion to jump start her will. Abby was her light and life, and she possessed no other. But she'd give that light and life back to Abby, if she could. The problem was that Carly's resolve was withering by the second and Abby's was growing. It was like they were racing, only in opposite directions. Abby didn't want to hurt her, and if she gained enough will to stop herself before Carly lost enough will to stop pushing her, all this would be for nothing.

Carly had to keep going, keep tempting. As best she could, she cradled the half-struggling form beneath her and pressed their bodies together.

Abby whined, but her fingers began to squeeze and pump. She'd spent years learning all the right moves with Carly; and now she had no choice but to use them. Combined with the draining, it hurled Carly into a fog of passive ecstasy. She writhed and moaned, but gently, since that was all she could manage now. One by one, her every thought and desire trickled out of her and into Abby. She sagged against her wife's face and sighed.

Rich, dark color burst into Abby's eyes, and her face began to twist. "No," she whimpered, "No, Carly, I won't. I can't. I can't do this to you."

By now, the essential Carly was just a quivering nub with space for a single thought. That thought, though, was important enough to hold onto even when she'd surrendered everything else: Abby had the will to resist her now, really resist, but she wasn't fully restored. If she had been, Carly would be too far gone to notice. She couldn't give in yet.

It was almost impossible to raise her hand, but she managed because she had to. Her fingers circled Abby's wrist and drew her, almost languidly, another half inch inside herself. The drain grew stronger; it was just reflexive--as was Carly's response. Her muscles clenched and she let out a final involuntary moan, then dropped her hand.

Abby screamed.

Sometime later, Abby sat on the floor of Dalila's penthouse and cradled the limp, white form of her wife. "Oh, Carly," she sobbed, "I'm so sorry. I never, ever wanted this."

But the silent shape beneath her wanted nothing more.

THE END