The Fury and The Folly

         

         Rachel stood on the balcony and watched the storm approach. Ominous black clouds boiled and churned through a green-tinged sky. The air was charged with an eerie stillness that sent tingles of unease along her skin. Lightning bolts streaked across the darkening sky. The low rumble of thunder telling her it was still some distance away. But it was coming.

         She had come to Ocra Island yesterday, anticipating that the hurricane would make landfall here, in her hometown. Emilie was gaining in intensity as it raced over the warm waters of the ocean, estimated to make landfall at midnight, a Category Two in strenght. But even a minor hurricane could pack quite a punch. Stealing in under cover of darkness, Emilie was bound to leave a path of destruction and flooding in its wake.

         Twenty-two years earlier, the hospital at Ocra Island had been in the midst of another hurricane. The halls and waiting rooms had been overflowing with vacant-eyed wounded, as Rachel's mother had been wheeled into the delivery room. With no power to run their lights or equipment, Rachel had been born into the world under the soft glow of candlelight. A new life to bring hope, as the hurricane raged it's death and destruction outside. All of her life, Rachel had felt a special draw to hurricanes. Her parents were convinced it was because she had been born during the worst storm to hit the Island in over 50 years.

          Rachel had been given her first camera at age 10 and she'd been hooked. She'd become an avid photographer, sneaking out to take shots of the storms that frequented their Island. That old Brownie was a long shot from the high tech equipment she used today, but it had been her first, and had awakened the photographer within. Today she made a comfortable living with her camera, as her pictures were sought after around the globe. 

         Growing up with the constant threat of hurricanes, Rachel knew the risk involved. Most people were safely indoors or had evacuated, while she walked amid the rising fury taking her pictures. Rachel had an inborn sense that warned her when to head to the storm shelter, to wait out the hurricane with the straggle of other determined locals. She might have been born during a hurricane, but she had no desire to die in one.

         As the winds picked up speed and the rain began to lash against her windows, Rachel checked her camera equipment one last time and zipped up her windbreaker. It was time.   

         Palm trees bent and swayed in a bizarre dance as Rachel walked along the pier. The immense power and wildness of the approaching hurricane never failed to fill her with awe. She headed out across the beach, staying just beyond the reach of the crashing waves. The camera flashed against the frothy waves, creating light where none should be. She knew these photos would be good.

         When debris sailed past her head, her sixth sense jolted her into awareness. She'd been so intent on taking her pictures, she hadn't noticed the winds had gained in intensity. She had better hurry to get to the storm shelter. The storm surge would be imminent.   

         Through the lens she spotted a man, his path on a direct course to intersect with her own. She took several photos of him, a lone profile on this deserted beach. His strides were long and powerful as he approached her through the slashing rain. Was he a kindred thrill seeker or the law on a mission to save her from her own folly?

         “Don’t you know it’s dangerous to be out here?” he bellowed.

          The law, then. Rachel didn’t blame him for being annoyed, and she winced at his angry tone. She knew he thought he was risking his life in order to save another idiotic storm-chaser from their own folly. Perhaps he wasn't so far from the truth. 

         "I just wanted a few shots of the storm. I’m heading in to the storm shelter now.” she shouted to be heard over the wind.

         “The pier is gone.” He pointed to the cliff behind them. “That’s the only way off this beach now. There’s a path that leads up to the lighthouse. Hurry!”

         She had grown up here. She knew the path well. The sand dragged at her feet as she raced across the beach and started up the steep narrow ledge that had been chiseled out of the rock face. The fierce winds threatened to tug her off the ledge, as she struggled to keep her footing and climb.

         Rachel heard a thunderous roar as Emilie made landfall. Rachel faltered, as her mind registered that Emilie had grown into a major hurricane, a Cateogory Four at least. The storm surge raced across the beach towards her, the height staggering. Fear raced along Rachel's spine. She snapped a quick shot, then began to climb in earnest. The top seemed tantalizingly close, but Rachel knew she was far too low on the cliff face. She knew she was facing certain death. She would be washed out to sea by the storm surge.   

         The lawman materialized behind her, urging her to climb faster. Her limbs felt like lead. As the wave shattered against the rocky wall, the lawman pushed her against the cliff face, protecting her with his own body. The force was staggering, as water surged around them. His muscles bulged and strained, his face contorted with the effort to hold them in place. He was determined the sea would not have them.

         As the wave subsided, the lawman scooped her up and the rest of the climb passed in a blur. He kicked the lighthouse door open and they sank to the floor inside. Rachel was battered and exhausted, soaked through to her skin. It was cool in the lighthouse with no light to relieve the darkness. She wouldn't think of what might be scurrying around them in the dark. She was alive, thanks to the lawman, and she was grateful.

         Rachel heard the sounds of the lawman rummaging through what sounded like drawers in the lighthouse. How could he see anything? She peered towards the sounds, but could see nothing. The flash of sulfer filled the air as the match lit and then the glow of a single candle pushed back the darkness. Rachel gave a sigh of relief. 

         She brushed the wet tendrils of hair out of her eyes and had her first clear look at him. She sucked in a breath. The man was drop-dead gorgeous! Young for a lawman, maybe mid 20’s. His dark wavy hair was saturated with water, the drops glinting in the candlelight. The man was in excellent shape, she remembered how his muscles had bulged on the cliff fighting the water, and then he had carried her the rest of the way. He wasn’t even breathing hard after that exertion.

         “Are you the sheriff?” she asked.

         “No.” He answered with a smile. “I saw you taking your pictures on the beach and felt the vibration of the surge approaching. I didn’t want you to be caught in it.”  His voice was deep and even, with a light trace of accent. Scottish, she guessed.

         “Thank you.” She said, and added “I’m R-R-Rachel”, her teeth chattering from the chill.

         “Ethan.” He answered.

         His eyes were green, a haunting sea green, and she was mesmerized as he watched her intently. She couldn't look away. Everything took on a dreamlike quality, hazy and warm. Ethan reached out his hand and tugged on hers, pulling her to him as if in slow motion. She didn’t resist, snuggling into the welcome warmth of his lean body.

         They sat like that for a long time, listening to the storm rage around them. She felt so tired. Her eyes began to droop. He was a stranger, but he had saved her life. She felt safe and comfortable with him. A little voice screamed in the back of her mind, Something isn't right here. You don't know this man, push him away and get out of here... NOW! Rachel snuggled deeper into his embrace and ignored the annoying voice.

         She should have listened. 

         Ethan smiled and pulled her closer. "Sleep" he said softly, as he trailed light kisses along her neck. Her body hummed in response, as her eyelids driffed shut.

         A searing pain stunned her into wakefulness as he bit into her neck. There was a burning tearing agony as he sucked, drawing out her life’s blood. She tried frantically to push him away, but he held her in place with ease. Terrifying screams echoed off the lighthouse walls. Then all was silent. 

         The pain ended and exquisite pleasure filled every cell in Rachel's body. She giggled, drunk on his gift of euphoria. Wasn’t that just her dumb luck to escape a killer storm, only to be rescued by a killer?     

         As she drifted and floated, she found her thoughts intermingling with Ethan’s. She was surprised that he was old, centuries old. He thought she was so young, a rare beauty as wild and untamed as the storm that had threatened to claim her life. Her blood had called to him, and he had come. The same blood that zinged through him now, rich and sweet. He had been compelled to save her from the storm, but he was loath to save her from himself. 

         Rachel knew she was dying. She could feel her soul tethered by a solitary thread. A red haze hovered around the edges of her vision, and she floated into the welcoming arms of blissful darkness.
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         When Rachel awoke, the sun was shining in golden streams through the wall of pristine glass. She yawned and stretched, feeling rested and content. Her memories of the dream were hazy and began slipping away, as dreams do with the coming light. She sat up, fully awake, as she remembered.

         Rachel looked around her. She was in her own house, in her own bedroom, dressed in her own silk pajamas. She reached a shaky hand up to her neck. Her skin was smooth, unbroken. It wasn't even tender. Had it all been a dream then? 

         Rachel reached for her camera on the bedside table. There were some amazing shots of the hurricane, but not one of a lone man on the beach. In spite of herself, she felt a pang of keen disappointment. She had felt a strange connection to Ethan, that was, until he had bit her neck. How had she survived without so much as a mark? She laughed at her own foolish thoughts. Everyone knew that vampires didn't exist. Ethan. Didn't. Exist. It had been a dream.

         She clicked through the rest of the photos. She stopped and starred at the last one. It was of the storm surge. In the photo, the wave towering high above her. She shivered. Indeed, she had been on the cliff path when the surge had hit. The photo proved it. She should be dead. No one could have withstood that force of nature and lived to tell about it. How had she? Had a vampire rescued her from certain death, only to kill her later? She pinched herself, and felt the sharp sting of pain. She was very much alive. Rachel's thoughts were mired in unexplained turmoil. It was a mystery. Maybe I've just been working too hard, she thought as she headed for the shower.

         At that very moment, a vampire slept the daylight hours away, secure in the earth beneath Rachel's house. Ethan had been shaken when she had probed into his mind. In all his 300 years, no mortal had ever had the power to do that. What was she, a mortal woman, a witch, or an angel? He had spared her, given her a taste of his own blood when he had taken as much of hers as he dared. Not enough to change her, but enough for her to heal. She was an intriguing mystery, one he would take great pleasure in solving. He smiled, as the sleep of the dead pulled him under once more.