Immortal Love by Carmen Ferreiro-Esteban

at me, his face expressionless, his eyes as dark as unfathomable wells. As I stared back, his lips parted, to reveal white flashing teeth. For a moment, his canines, longer than what seemed normal, rested on his lower lip.
    I didn’t see him move, yet he must have, because his body was close to mine, his hands cupped my face, and his lips were on my lips, pressing them open. Over the familiar scent of lemon and cinnamon that was his, I felt the salty taste of blood and in my mind I heard his words: “Take it. You must take it.”
    As he spoke, I felt a pressure in my mind and images formed unbidden: a woman dressed in white sitting by a fountain; a young actress declaiming her lines on stage; a baby in a laced gown; an abbey — its bells ringing — outlined against the background of a solitary mountain; an angry mob burning a horse-drawn carriage while the horses reared, neighing in panic; the face of a woman, beautiful and pale, smiling with blood stained lips.
    “Better now?”
    Bécquer’s voice intruded in my mind and the visions disappeared. I looked around. I was still sitting on the sofa, and Bécquer was staring down at me, his perfect features set into a mask.
    “What have you done to me?”
    “Nothing, really.”
    I checked with my tongue and found no wound inside my mouth to justify the taste of blood my mind still remembered. So the blood had not been mine.
    “You gave me your blood.”
    He shrugged. “Only a couple of drops. Just enough to solve your problem.”
    “I didn’t know I had a problem.”
    “You just told me you faint at the sight of blood. And I couldn’t help but notice you were terrified of joining the party. Now, you won’t be.”
    “Have you changed me?” I asked, my voice higher than I had intended.
    “No. Of course not. You would need a lot more of my blood for that. I gave you enough to make you stronger.”
    “How wonderful. I don’t know how to thank you.”
    Bécquer gave me a crooked smile. “A kiss will do.”
    “I was being sarcastic, Bécquer. Don’t you get it? This is exactly what I was trying to explain to you before. You manipulate Federico, and everybody else, for all I know. You assume what people want and give it to them. Then get upset when they are not overjoyed by your interference.”
    “I meant it as a gift.”
    “Maybe. But even if your intentions are good, it is not all right to force your will on others. I didn’t ask for this ‘gift.’”
    “All my lovers beg me to give them my blood. I thought you’d want it too.”
    “I’m not one of your lovers.”
    Bécquer looked away. “I’m sorry,” he said after a moment. “I see what you mean. I … I would take it back. But I can’t. The effect of my blood won’t last long, though, and I promise, I will ask next time.”
    “You don’t have to ask next time for the answer is no. I don’t want your blood. I don’t want to be like you. In fact, I wish — ”
    I wish I had never met you, I was about to say, but stopped because I didn’t want to offend him. Besides it wasn’t totally true. Although I’d rather not know there were immortal beings among us with powers to control humans’ minds, this ancient yet childish god who had just kissed me like a lover also fascinated me. And I hoped he had learned his lesson and was not sensing my feelings, because just then, I wanted nothing better than his lips against my lips and his arms around my body. A stupid wish I knew I must stop at once.
    I stood up. “I wish we would stop wasting time and join the party,” I said a little too loudly.
    If Bécquer was surprised at my sudden change of the conversation, he hid it well, for he just smiled and, already on his feet, offered me his arm. “Of course, my lady. Your wish is my command.”
    I took his arm.

Chapter Seven: The Party
    Bécquer stopped by the wrought iron balustrade overlooking the ballroom and turned to me.
    “Do you think you can take them?” he asked.
    I looked down through