“Were you—um—visiting Will again?” he asks, and I do not miss his tone.
I narrow my gaze at him. I refuse to answer because he knows exactly where I was. I would not be surprised if he were the one I caught watching me earlier today.
Instead of responding, I turn on my heel, walking around him. I need to escape. When the vampires are awake, they are everywhere. The air becomes stifling, almost smothering. During the day, I am confined to this place, but at night, I can roam free. Of course, I never go far. I fear what would happen if I found myself closer to my former coven and farther from the vampires.
The witches are powerless, thanks to me, but I harness their magic now. Instinctively, I reach for the pendant that dangles from a thin chain around my neck. Using Will’s spell, I trapped their magic in the black onyx crystal I now covet, but I fear what might happen when the magic inside calls to them—and they hear it.
I grasp the crystal in my hand, and it hums. It is a silent echo, something only I can hear. Even the vampires, with all of their heightened senses and enviable qualities, cannot feel what I feel when the magic contained inside the crystal yearns for freedom. The darkness is there too. The evil the witches created when they dabbled in black magic is confined within this gem. And it can never be released.
I hear Malik sigh heavily before walking away. I do not look back, not even when his footfalls tread lightly away. The door to the kitchen swings open, and I am alone. Finally, I relax my shoulders, dropping my arm. The pendant dangles against my skin, and I shiver.
“Ava,” someone says. I hear his approach, and a shudder works its way through me. I turn to face him, and he smiles at me. It is soft and pure, his eyes shining and bright. They are crimson in color and glow bright neon red whenever he looks at me. I don’t think he knows his eyes betray his deep yearning for me, but I live for it.
“Jasik,” I whisper.
Suddenly, everything is better. As my sire strides toward me, looking sleepy yet beautiful at the same time, the world falls away. He is one of the few men I would call beautiful.
Unlike his brother, Malik, who is carved from sharp, muscular edges, Jasik is softer, leaner. Still toned, still able to change from loving to monstrous in the blink of an eye, something about Jasik speaks to me on a cellular level. I ache for him in ways I never experienced before.
He steps closer, gliding one arm behind me to pull me close, pressing firmly at the arch of my lower back. With his other arm, he tangles his fingers through my hair, which hangs in soft waves at my shoulders, until he reaches the nape of my neck. His grip is firm as he angles my head upward. The moment his lips graze mine, fireworks erupt within my chest. Jasik kisses me, softly but assuredly, and it consumes me completely. Everything slips away, leaving nothing but my innate desire for him.
When we pull away, I am smiling. Something about Jasik makes me forget the pain, the death and longing. I feel at peace, safe within his arms. In these brief moments, when we allow ourselves to relish in our purest, rawest animal instincts, time stops. It is just us, and I happily allow the world to dissipate. But he cannot press his lips against mine forever, and when I lose that connection, I am left with nothing but an endless pit, awash in despair. We can only pretend everything is okay for so long.
“Good morning,” he whispers, his breath cool against my lips. He smells like mint and vanilla, like the earth and the sea all at once. He releases me, tracing his fingertips down my arms until he slides his hands against mine. We thread our fingers together, and I relish in the connection at my palms. So much of my new life is dark and lonely, empty and hollow. I need more of these moments—or I might truly lose my mind.
“Morning,” I say softly. My lips are still wet with his affection, and my insides still hum from the excitement of being so close to my sire.
Our relationship has escalated since that night, and now, I guess we are an official couple. We never have any serious conversations, but with the risk of death around every corner, I almost prefer it this way. I do not want to waste time questioning my feelings. Not anymore. Not when our lives can be cut short at any moment. We are promised eternity from a hand with crossed fingers. This life is a twisted, wickedly cruel game, but it is the only one we know how to play.
I am still smiling at Jasik, staring into his eyes like a child with a schoolgirl crush, when Jeremiah tramples down the steps beside us. I glance at him, and he wiggles his eyebrows at me, his gaze darting between Jasik and me. I feel my cheeks heat and glance away.
Jasik and I have not discussed our relationship with each other, let alone the rest of the manor, so when we are caught in these moments, it almost feels like a tryst. I know our love is not forbidden—not between two creatures who seek sanctuary in the night—but it certainly feels like it is, with his being my sire and my being a former witch.
Briefly, I consider mentioning Holland, knowing Jeremiah’s revitalized relationship of deepening love with the witch will surely silence the vampire, but I do not. Because secretly, my relationship with these vampires is all that is keeping me sane. When they are not around, the silence is unsettling and the shadow creeps closer.
“Look alive, people,” Jeremiah says. He jumps from the final stair, landing on the floorboards beside us. The hardwood vibrates, the manor pulsating at his intrusion. “Family meeting.”
I frown, glancing from Jeremiah to Jasik, who looks equally as surprised as I feel.
“Did Malik say anything to you about a meeting?” I ask.
Jasik shakes his head, and together, we walk into the parlor, plopping down on one of the sofas as we wait for the others to arrive.
“I am sure it is nothing,” Jasik says.
I nod but do not respond.
“He plans to discuss our lack of sustenance,” Jeremiah says, answering my earlier concerns about our dangerously low blood supply.
My fellow hunter is seated directly across from me, and though I watch him from the corner of my eye, I feign disinterest as he and Jasik continue their conversation and fears over locating more blood. Instead, I fidget with the hem of my shirt, pulling at already-loosened strings, when the slow rumble of approaching vampires creaks closer.
When I do glance up, I catch Jeremiah’s steely gaze. He might be speaking to Jasik, but his attention is on me, sending a wave of irritation crashing through me. Like the others, Jeremiah is concerned. He worries about the effect our loss has had on me.
The vampires believe I am focusing too much on death, and by visiting the gravesite each night, I am welcoming agony when I should be grateful I survived. What they do not understand is focusing on Will helps me forget about everything else I lost. Amicia might not have been my sire, but she was my leader. The witches might have been awful, but they were the only family I had. Liv was my best friend. I watched my grandmother die, and I used every bit of my power to confine an ancient evil in an amulet that I now must protect. I am only seventeen. I am supposed to be thinking about boys and sneaking out to see friends, not planning funerals and protecting a town full of blissfully ignorant humans.
The sensation of being watched makes my skin prickle, and as Malik and Hikari join us in the parlor, my gaze settles on Malik, my new boss, for lack of a better term. Ever since Amicia’s death, he has taken over leadership of our nest. It was not a welcomed role by any means. He would much rather hand over the reins to someone else, but there is no one. He and Jasik are the oldest vampires left, and vampires view age as strength. Malik’s wisdom is supposed to protect us, and I know Amicia would have chosen him as her rightful successor if she’d had the chance.
But not everyone felt that way. We lost most of Amicia’s sires after she died. They scattered, and we kept the manor. The hunters remained, vowing to protect any who wished to stay. Not many did, and now, the silence is uncanny. Day after day, I walk these empty halls, forever searching for the sounds that once made this place feel like home.
The cruelest moments are first thing in the evening, when I wake for the
day, greeting the night with tired eyes. For a brief second, I forget. I do not remember the battle or Will’s death. Amicia is still leader of her nest, where she belongs. The witches are still with power, and our refrigerator is stocked.
And then I blink. Then I remember.
Malik begins, his tone hard. Everything about his demeanor makes him seem far too serious for a simple family meeting, and I find myself thinking about all the years he spent by Amicia’s side. The others will not admit their pain. They question my sanity because I can be hysterical and reckless, but containing such powerful emotions certainly must be more deadly than letting them loose. I might be rash, but I am still alive. Sadly, I can’t say the same for all of my allies.
Malik mentions something about a local blood connection, but I am already tuning him out. My gaze flutters to the bay windows that bathe the parlor in moonlight. Outside the windows, perched atop the wraparound deck, sitting prominently at the head of the stairs, is my gargoyle.
He is dark gray in color and weather-worn from years of service. His face is scrunched in fury, the wrinkles of his face deep crevices in his otherwise smooth skin. His eyes are two lifeless dots, his ears pointed and unearthly. His teeth are bared, a clear warning to all who pass.
Not a day goes by that I do not caress his cool scalp. It has become almost ritual now. But lately, there has been animosity between us. Legend has it gargoyles are the vampires’ daylight defenders. Before the witches stormed our grounds seeking nothing but death and destruction, I was naïve enough to believe the stories. I thought we were safe.
I am upset my friend did not protect us, even though I am well aware that my anger is misplaced. I should not be mad at the unworldly stone creature doomed to watch the days unfold without ever taking part in the life thriving around him, but even as I remind myself that being angry with the gargoyle is silly, I can’t help the madness that washes over me.
And as my frustration grows tenfold, the amulet that hangs at my chest hums.
Chapter Two
I know I am dreaming. The feeling of my body asleep, heavy and unyielding, on my bed in the manor is as clear as the sunny day around me. My lungs are full and heavy with each inhalation. The sunlight against my skin is warm, comforting—something I have not experienced in quite a long time.
Despite knowing I am asleep, this place is no less real to me. In my mind, I am here—with him—and we are safe. It always happens like this, which is why it is becoming increasingly difficult to discern fantasy from reality, imagination from vision.
Jasik smiles at me, but he looks so different from the vampire I know. His eyes are bright, his irises a sparkling blue. His skin is tan and smooth, and I reach out to touch it, letting my hand graze the muscular edges of his body. Everything about him is familiar—from the way his body presses against mine to the way he touches me—even if his appearance plays tricks on me.
His lips never move, yet he tells me how happy he is. I feel it too. That moment of peace. But lurking at the edges of our picturesque life is darkness. It creeps closer, bleeding into the frame. With spider web veins, it seeps in, surrounding us, clinging to my skin.
I blink and everything changes. I see it in his eyes—he recognizes it too. The evil presence is all around us, smothering, basking in our happiness.
The sun above us is suddenly obstructed. I have to shield my gaze to look at it, and I watch as something dark and sinister covers what was once bright and glowing. The eclipse shrouds the earth in gloom, and I can do nothing to stop what is already here.
The world is cloaked in shadow, and I feel its presence in my bones. I shiver as Jasik’s eyes turn from a cool, light aqua to a stark, glowing crimson. The vampire surfaces, emerging as it senses danger.
My sire cools under my touch, and I jerk away from him as if he has lashed out at me. I don’t mean to react the way I do, but something revolting washes over me—something eerie and sinister is in our midst. My senses are rapid firing, warning me of danger at all sides.
The shadows loom closer, and I feel them. They are thick, stagnant in the air, and when they touch me, I cringe.
And then it happens. Somehow, I expect it. I have had this nightmare over and over again ever since I returned to this place. It’s always different yet still the same. I anticipate his death, but the pain still envelopes me in a fury I have never known.
Awash with grief, I watch as my lover’s hard curves become soft, like whispers against untouched skin. He bursts into ash. I blink, and he is gone, whisked away with the breeze, forever out of grasp. I clutch my chest as the pain creases, my heart imploding at the sight of losing Jasik.
I am alone now, and with each exhalation, I see my breath. My lip quivers and I hold myself, cradling my torso beneath my arms. I scratch at them with my nails, desperate to ground myself. I fear I may float away, forever spinning out of control in this obsidian abyss that surrounds me.
The air becomes heavy with smoke. I squint through the haze, but the mist intensifies. My lungs burn, and I choke on my breath. My fear intensifies, and I scream. But the noise that I emit sounds nothing like me. I do not recognize the lost, helpless girl who weeps, even though she wears my face.
I clutch at my throat, scratching the skin raw. I know this will not help; this will not send oxygen rushing into my lungs any faster. In fact, this is making it harder to breathe, and even though I am aware of this, I cannot stop. I claw, viciously, like a predator tearing through prey.
I wince as my nails dig into flesh, scraping the area bloody. I crumble, falling to my knees. My body slams against the cold, frozen tundra, and a sharp cramp shoots through my thighs, burrowing itself deep into the base of my spine. I feel the pain everywhere, all at once, and I shriek, silently, because even though I gasp for air, I cannot breathe.
As I slowly drift into unconsciousness, a cackle resonates all around me. The faster I die, the louder it becomes.
I jolt awake, drenched in sweat. Sitting upright and breathing heavily, I run a hand through my damp hair, tangling what is already a heaping mess. With sleepy eyes, I glance at Jasik, who still slumbers beside me. I watch as his chest rises and falls with each inhalation.
Seeing him breathe—how simple it seems—calms my racing heart. Before long, the dizzy haze of my dream dissipates, and I quickly forget the pain and the fear that comes with my nightmares.
I dangle my legs over the side of the bed, planting my feet firmly against the hardwood floors. I slouch forward, resting my elbows on my thighs and forehead against my palms. I close my eyes and exhale sharply, gnawing on my lower lip. The worst part about sleeping isn’t the inevitable nightmares that follow—it’s talking about them the next day. So if I don’t wake Jasik, I don’t tell him about them. It just seems easier that way.
After drowning in self-pity, I stand and tiptoe toward the bathroom, glancing back at our bed only once I have crossed the threshold. Confident I haven’t woken my sire, I close the door and slump forward, allowing my palms to linger against the cool wood once it is firmly shut. Again, I close my eyes, preferring the darkness of my mind over the reality of my visions. I remain like this until the hammering in my head ceases.
By the time I step away and look at myself in the mirror, I am confident I can forget about my dream. Sometimes, what I conjure while I sleep haunts me throughout the day. Other times, I am able to remain blissfully unaware of what may come.
It may be careless to write off this one as just another nightmare, especially considering my affinity for spirit, but these warnings come too often to properly vet. The more frequently I have them, the harder it is to sense whether or not they are foreboding visions or the result of an overactive imagination. So I have decided to ignore them and let fate define our path. Our greatest enemy—the witches—is no longer a threat, and I am confident we can best anyone else who brings trouble our way.
Still, I am shaken by them. Watching Jasik die again and again is not helping my sanity. It isn’t helping our rela
tionship either. I feel myself pulling away from him. The thought of losing him hurts so much, I almost wonder if it will be easier if I weren’t so…invested. I hate myself for even thinking this, but I’ve lost so much. I can’t bear the thought of losing my sire too.
I turn on the tap and splash water on my face. I let the droplets drip onto the countertop, and I stare as they pool before me, molding into shapes that look eerily similar to the monsters from my favorite children’s stories. I used to read them under the covers at bedtime with nothing but a flashlight guiding my way.
I hold out my hand and concentrate, summoning an element to dry the mess I’ve made. The air shifts slightly. It tingles and vibrates against my exposed skin. The pooled water ripples before blowing into the sink, disappearing down the drain.
I complete my task easily, even though I rarely rely on my magic these days.
I admit I have been in a rut. Living with the vampires has almost suppressed my magical half—just like the dark spell. They don’t ask me to keep from casting spells, but after everything the witches did, it feels strange to harness magic in this house and around my nestmates. They harbor no ill will toward me for what the witches did, but I still bear the weight of it. It compresses against my chest, forcing the pounding beats of my overworked heart into my head until I can hear nothing else. It is a constant reminder of what they did, of what we lost.
I finish my morning routine and change into new clothes. Before I exit my bedroom, I glance over my shoulder one last time. Jasik still sleeps. Knowing he—and the rest of the house—won’t rise for at least another hour, I close the door behind me.
I crouch beside his headstone, brushing off the debris that fell overnight. The stone is rough against my palm, and it sends a shiver down my spine. Everything about this place feels cold, yet I visit it, day after day. I tell myself Will is not here. None of them are, but that does not ease the pain.
Dark Shadow Page 2
