Love Never Dies

Paloma’s back is pressed hard against the desert floor. Gravel digs holes into her skin as Samael pushes her down further, as if she were trying to bury her. It’s a bitter goodbye, one that Samael tried desperately to avoid, but she made a promise sealed in blood and she intends to keep it. Revenge can’t be compromised, not even for love...or lust, or affection...what Samael feels for Paloma is difficult to articulate. She doesn’t want to think about it anymore, and she realizes that the harder she tries to plunge Paloma into the ground, in some strange attempt to preserve her, only delays the inevitable. Samael hates the way Paloma looks up at her with big, wet puppy eyes, begging her in this moment of betrayal, repeating sorry’s over and over again with that stupid expression plastered on their face. Still, Samael’s eyes soften at the sight, she doesn’t want to see it fade. What are you sorry for, Paloma? She asks herself, waiting for an answer that she’ll sorely regret. Paloma made a promise sealed in blood too, centuries old and bound by the might of thousands of tides. It’s a promise birthed out of some insatiable need to exist—or maybe responsibility, permanence, or something—she can’t be too sure now, everything’s a blur. Trapped in a moment of thought, Samael only now notices the knife plunged in her stomach. She should have known Paloma wanted revenge too. 

Vampires and their killers don’t mix, even when they swap spit it’s always bound to end up in tragedy. What else did Samael expect? New vampires are always so passionate, so desperate to preserve themselves. And Paloma, as different as she may have seemed, had that same instinct, the same scrambling for survival. It made sense, Samael thought, that someone who didn’t have the chance to live comfortably as a human, would so frantically save themselves in this new form. A chance for a new life--that always seemed alluring to Samael. Perhaps, in the grand scheme of things, she had made a dire mistake. And obviously so, since she was the one bleeding out and not the cold-blooded monstrous...thing...that lay underneath her. No, she couldn’t call her that, that wasn’t right. Maybe Samael was trying to justify this long, long line of hunters--an entire bloodline sitting on a necropolis, and her lover(?) was the last one on the hit list.  

Samael finds it all too difficult to process, but she desperately wants to do something in these last couple moments. Paloma flips her over, looks down at her, watching her go cold, as she once did around a decade ago. But this time it’s different, for Samael there will be no rebirth. No saving. Nothing. And she hates it, but she knows it’s necessary. They can’t both die, neither of them want it that way. Killed by the one you love–it’s not the worst way to go out, Samael thinks. She lingers on that word and smiles. Oh. There it is. Samael’s been under Paloma before, less bloody though, obviously, she replays those scenes in her head, eating them. Savoring them. They taste like copper. Paloma hesitantly leans down closer to Samael’s face, nervously lapping the blood she spits out. They laugh, and in that mixed laughter Paloma begins to sob. It shouldn’t have been like this. In another life, maybe they could’ve…

Maybe, Samael thinks. But most likely not. There wasn’t a reality where this would’ve worked out. It always ends like this. It’s just that the vampire’s usually the one to die, not the hunter. It’s a little funny to her, that just a few months ago she was so set on this kill–and she held onto that for so long, but Samael always had a weakness for raspy voices and goofy smiles. She had no chance. Paloma says something, finally, she chokes it out: “I can’t save you”. As if it wasn’t already known, but she feels the need to solidify it with her words. Tears well up in her eyes again, “I can’t lose this, Sam,” she gestures at herself. Vampiric body. New vessel. A new way to live. A gift from above. Samael understands it, she understands completely, now. She nods, once, because she can barely move now, but she manages to mutter something out. “...Miss you.” And then she’s gone, fading away on that last exhale. Paloma stays still for a moment, not in shock necessarily but just…she can’t let out any tears anymore. She doesn’t know why. The vampire gets up, delicately placing the hunter in the makeshift grave that was supposed to be her own. Paloma makes room for herself right next to her, and begins to move the desert sand on top of them both. Paloma holds her close, running fingers through Samael’s hair, as if this were just another day spent together. She waits until the sun goes down again to leave. She’s satisfied with the burial.

The desert air is colder tonight.