Eric ran a hand through his hair, and then, with a sigh, he glanced at her. “I…” he started, but his voice sounded wrong. Empty and hoarse and rough. He cleared his throat, ran his fingers through his hair again, and plastered on a goofy smile that he hoped didn’t look as fake as it felt. “I’m good.”
Her blue eyes sparkled, and she arched a challenging brow. “You can talk to me, you know, ummm, if you want.” It came out awkwardly, and by the way she was shifting back and forth, from one foot to the other, he was sure that she was probably regretting asking. Lola wasn’t the share your feelings type.
Eric grinned. He couldn’t stop it. He felt his lips curve, and his heartbeat picked up, thrumming against his ribcage. Lola sat down beside him, waiting for him to start talking. Should I tell her? he wondered. He wanted to. Really wanted to. Maybe if he talked about it, it would help.
He met her eyes, and her awkward smile widened to what he thought was supposed to be encouraging. He opened his mouth, the words on the tip of his tongue, but then panic gripped his chest, and his throat closed up. What will she think of you? a voice in the back of his mind questioned. He couldn’t let her know that he had found the girl of his dreams—literally—in a dream. Lola would think he had lost his mind. He was supposed to be a vampire, a demon, not a lovesick fool pinning over an illusion.
So instead of letting the words he wanted to say come out, he shrugged and said, “Really, I’m fine.”
It was clear as crystal that Lola didn’t believe him, not for a second, but she didn’t push the subject, and in Eric’s opinion, she looked relieved to get out of the conversation. “Fine, then get your butt upstairs and get ready. The townspeople will be arriving any minute now.”
CHAPTER 5
Angelle had outdone herself. As Eric walked through their colonial home, he hardly recognized it. The wooden floors gleamed with polish, and the Palladian windows were spotless. Not that the house had been dirty before, but it was extra-clean now. She had scrubbed down the wainscoting, the white looking brighter than before, and as he walked through the great room, he saw that she had constructed a makeshift platform with a podium, and before it were fifty or so chairs. Where she had found so many chairs so quickly, he couldn’t even begin to imagine.
Eric took his time washing up and dressing for the meeting. Someone, Angelle, he assumed, had lain out a pair of black slacks and a white shirt for him on his bed. He could hear people arriving, chattering downstairs about the house, and curious murmurs about the sudden town meeting, and he knew he should hurry, but he just wasn’t ready to face anyone yet. Although he was certain that Megan was just a figment of his imagination, his imagination seemed so much better than his life at the moment.
When he finally emerged from his room, he felt as if he had been beaten and drained, and for a split-second, he thought about just turning around and staying in bed for the rest of the day. The image of Megan was fading more and more every second, now, just a foggy outline in his memory, and all he wanted to do was to grip onto it—onto to her—and never let it go.
As soon as he stepped into the hallway, a caracole of scents bombarded him. Blood. So many different kinds of blood. Sweet, sour, tangy, spicy. He had never been in such close quarters with so many beating hearts before, and it made his throat burn. A crimson haze spread over his eyes, and the now familiar throb in his gums pulsated as his fangs begged to be released.
Eric shut his eyes and held his breath. He was already certain that this little meeting was going to be a disaster and showing up with blazing eyes and sharpened teeth would not help matters. He stood in the hallway, stiff as marble, as he attempted to get himself together. It was a task that was easier said than done. He pushed Megan out of his mind completely, focusing solely on not bursting downstairs and feasting on the closest neck he could find. After a long moment, the throbbing in his gums dissipated to a soft ache, and when he opened his eyes, the red fog was gone.
Eric sucked in a few breaths, testing his control. The delicious scents hit him again, and his heartbeat picked up, but his eyesight stayed normal. When he was certain that he could handle walking into a room filled with mouthwatering, fresh blood, he started down the hallway, with slow, small steps. This time, it was Angelle’s voice that stopped him, holding him in place only a few paces from his room.
“You need to tell him, Mitch,” Angelle’s whispered voice floated around the corner of the hallway. “He needs to know what’s happening.”
“It may be just a dream, Angelle,” Mitchell said, trying to sound casual, but Eric heard the strain in his voice. His curiosity peaked. Most of the time, Mitchell seemed emotionless, always wearing a mask, but with his tight voice … Eric couldn’t help it. He stretched his hearing, needing to know what could possibly ruffle Mitchell’s cool and calm persona.
“It’s not,” Lola hissed. “I’m sure of it. You didn’t see Eric. You didn’t hear his heart or smell his desire. He’s found her.” Her hasty tone was almost vicious.
Found who? Eric’s heart stopped beating, and he strained his senses, anxious not to miss a beat of their conversation.
“I doubt that,” Mitchell said. “He’s only two weeks old.”
“It could happen, and if he’s not ready …” Angelle paused, and Eric could imagine the frown that marred her pretty little face. “He could make a mistake. She must be close, Mitch. If she wasn’t, the dreams wouldn’t have started yet.”
There was a pause, and then Mitchell let out a deep sigh. “He knows the story. If it was her, I’m sure he would have put the pieces together.”
Eric crept closer, desperately trying to keep quiet. What mistake? What do they know about the dream? What story? Could Megan be more than a dream? The questions burned through his mind, each one fighting over the other to be answered. And each one seemed ludicrous.
“Look, we don’t have time for this right now,” Mitchell said. “Everyone is waiting.”
Eric took another small step, hoping they would keep talking. A floorboard creaked under his foot. He sucked in a breath, holding it, and trying not to make a sound.
“Hello, Eric,” Mitchell called, his voice booming and tinted with annoyance.
The air rushed from Eric’s lungs in a noisy burst. Why did he have to try and get closer? He glanced over his shoulder at his bedroom door hanging wide open, debated for a second about locking himself in there, but then knowing that was pointless and wouldn’t hold against their strength, he let out a longing sigh, and ventured down the hallway.
“Sir,” Eric said tightly and gave a small, stiff nod as Mitchell came into view. He was just around the corner, leaning against the banister at the top of the staircase. Angelle and Lola were in front of him looking blameworthy, in Eric’s opinion.
Mitchell arched a brow, but he didn’t comment on Eric’s formal greeting. His eyes scanned over Eric intently. “Are you ready?” he asked.
“Sure, where’s Luke?” Eric asked. Angelle looked a bit jittery and nervous, and Eric shot her a questioning look, but she dropped her eyes and knotted her hands behind her back.
“He’s mingling downstairs,” Lola snapped, eyeing Mitchell with barely controlled rage.
Mitchell ignored her, giving Eric another hard look, and Eric was certain that Mitchell was assessing how much he had heard of the conversation. A pinprick of crimson began to spread over Mitchell’s eyes, and his nostrils flared as he, Eric assumed, tried to get a fix on his emotions.
Eric steeled himself, tamping down all the questions and accusations that he wanted to let pour out of him. There was something about the way Mitchell was looking at him that made him sure that overhearing probably wasn’t something he should admit to, at least not right now.
Mitchell must have bought his clueless act, because right then, his eyes faded back to blue, and he cracked a smile. “Let’s get this over with.”
CHAPTER 6
Luke wasn’t mingling. Well, he was—kind of. He was milling about, talking to pe
ople, but when Eric saw his eyes, he knew Luke was doing more than engaging in small talk with the locals. His eyes were milky and cloudy, and he was walking from person to person, reciting the same speech over and over. “You will not be frightened, and you will welcome us.” That’s it. Just two simple commands, and then he would slip on to the next person.
Luke was a tall man, and bulky like Mitchell and himself. But he was the least intimidating of the three of them. He had this fatherly look to him, even if he had only been twenty-three when he had turned. There was something about him, the way he looked at people with his inquisitive hazel eyes that made people think he was wise beyond his years, and it also made people … comfortable. Yes, Eric figured that was the best word to use. Comfortable. He had his shoulder length light brown hair tied at the nape of his neck, and he was dressed like the rest of them in black slacks and a white cotton shirt. Eric bet that Angelle had handpicked each of their attire for the meeting.
“That’s your plan?” Eric hissed, as Mitchell ushered him to the platform. “You’re just going to manipulate everyone.”
“If it means living without hiding, then yes,” Mitchell replied, casting him a hard look.
Eric narrowed his eyes, but bit his tongue on a bunch of nasty things he wanted to say. Mitchell wasn’t a bad guy, and he wasn’t usually this testy. Not that Eric would admit it, but he actually kind of liked Mitchell. Aside from the know-it-all, always-right attitude, Mitchell was a little awe-inspiring, and this little plan was sort of awe-inspiring, too. And it all bothered Eric. It would have been a lot easier to hate the man that had ended his life if he wasn’t so … so … perfect.
According to Mitchell, the awe-inspiring, perfect thoughts thing was normal. A part of the change. It was common for new vampires to become a bit obsessed with their makers. It had something to do with them being made from the same blood, or was it that Mitchell was now his vampire father and family was important? Eric couldn’t remember, and as he thought about it, he was pretty sure that Angelle had walked in during that lesson, and he had spent most of it admiring her silky auburn hair. But, whatever it was that made him feel like Mitchell was the most perfect person ever, it was definitely annoying.
Angelle and Lola glided into the crowd, helping Luke with the last few stragglers who had yet to be persuaded. Eric watched, amazed, as the two gorgeous creatures made mind control look like a dance. They spun gracefully from person to person, batting their eyes, giving men delicate, flirty touches. It was mesmerizing to watch. Before long, the girls and Luke took their places beside Eric, standing just behind Mitchell at the podium.
The meeting went off without a hitch. Eric stood behind Mitchell with his mouth hanging open the entire time. Mitchell explained to the townspeople how the new “tax” system would work. Basically, the humans were to willingly give their blood, and in return, Mitchell would allow them to stay in their homes and protect them as if they were his family. And each one of them thanked him. Actually thanked him for the opportunity he was providing. To Eric, it didn’t seem like much of an opportunity. They were being forced to become walking meals. Eric didn’t know whether to be sick or amazed at the whole thing.
After Mitchell finished his speech, his family left the platform and joined the humans for a reception. But Eric wasn’t in the mood to chat. All he could think about was his bed, sleep, and Megan. So when no one was looking, he slipped out of the great room and went straight for his bed.
Sleep eluded him that night. Eric lay in bed, his eyes tightly shut, but yet, his brain would not rest. Megan’s green eyes danced through his head, smiling at him and calling to him, but no matter how hard he tried, her eyes were the only thing that his brain would conjure.
He sifted through his memories, trying to recall what story Mitchell could have been referring to earlier as he spoke to Lola and Angelle. In the last two weeks since Eric had become a vampire, he had heard countless “stories.” Mitchell called them lessons, except to Eric, they were more like boring and pointless rules. And since Eric had never really been a rules kind of person, he had promptly ignored them.
Now though, he wished he had listened.
Eric couldn’t say how long he had lain there, when he heard the knock at his door. “Eric?” Mitchell called from behind his bedroom door. Eric groaned, and the door slid open. “I heard that,” his father said with a chuckle.
Eric sat up in bed and scrubbed at his face. “I was sleeping,” he said, trying to sound groggy and hoping Mitchell would just go away.
He didn’t. Mitchell closed the door with a soft click and crossed the room, sitting down in the armchair beside the window. He leaned forwards, resting his elbows on his knees, and his chin in his hands. “Was it her?” he asked elusively, his voice a confusing mix of pain and happiness.
“What are you talking about?” Eric was sure he was looking at Mitchell as if he was a mad man. He was really starting to think that he would never get used to Mitchell’s direct and slightly elusive attitude. The way he spoke, even when asking a question, was as if everything was a secret. Except this time, Eric knew exactly what Mitchell was asking, but his gut was telling him to keep his mouth shut and play dumb.
“Did she have the mark?” Mitchell asked, his eyes boring into Eric so intently that he felt as if Mitchell was actually seeing into his brain.
“You know I was just sleeping, right?” Eric asked. He didn’t understand why, but he didn’t want to share Megan. He just didn’t. Not with anyone. At this point, he was certain that they were all just speculating, at what, he really wasn’t sure, but they didn’t really know anything—yet.
“Oh, give it up, Eric,” Mitchell said. “You weren’t sleeping. Did she have the mark on her neck?”
Eric threw up his hands, exasperated, this time really having no idea what Mitchell was asking. “What mark?”
Mitchell eyed him again, and Eric figured that Mitchell had finally realized that Eric had no idea what he was talking about, because he let out a deep sigh and leaned back in the chair, letting his arms dangle over the armrests. “Eric, I’m asking if she had the soul’s mark.” His tone was crisp and clipped. “But clearly, you must not have been listening when I told you about it.”
A frustrated growl rumbled through Eric. “Well, tell me now,” he said through clenched teeth. “What is the soul’s mark and what does it have to do with Megan?” Darn it! Why did I say her name!
Mitchell arched an eyebrow and smirked. “Megan?” he questioned.
Eric growled in frustration, and all he could see was red. “Just get on with it,” he spat venomously. Mitchell’s smirk was irksome. Maddening.
Mitchell sighed, and shook his head in disappointment at Eric’s lack of control, Eric assumed, because the look he was getting was definitely the one Mitchell gave when he lost control over his emotions.
After what felt like ages, Mitchell cleared his throat and said, “It’s a witch’s curse. As I told you before, about fourteen-hundred years ago, a vampire killed a witch’s lover. Out of revenge, she stripped all vampires of their souls, leaving them as soulless monsters with no humanity. Mother Nature corrected it. She linked our missing souls to our soulmates through the soul’s mark, the alchemy symbol for soul, which would have appeared on our soulmates necks when we became vampires. The mark gives us a connection to our humanity and ultimately to them.” He said the whole thing in one breath with a methodical air, as if he was reading a well-rehearsed speech.
Eric’s throat was tight and his mouth, dry. There was something in Mitchell’s little speech that sounded vaguely familiar, and Eric was pretty sure he should be drawing some kind of connection, but he wasn’t. His mind was a blank slate. “What does this have to do with my dream?” he asked.
Mitchell smiled—a little. “Everything … and possibly nothing at all.”
CHAPTER 7
Eric jumped up from the bed and advanced on Mitchell, towering over him as he sat, relaxed, in the armchair. “Do you realize how i
nfuriating you are?” he yelled down at Mitchell. “Can’t you just give me a straight answer? Why does everything have to be a bloody secret with you?”
“Calm down, Son,” Mitchell said, and rolled his eyes.
But Eric couldn’t. Suddenly, terror spiked through him, rushing through his veins in a burst of heat. Lightheadedness overtook him, and he stumbled. Eric reached out, gripping onto the window ledge as he fought against the dizzying blast. His head spun, his heart raced, and darkness began seeping in around the edge of his vision. He blinked furiously, fighting against the gray fog that was settling over his eyes.
Someone screamed. It was loud and quiet all at once. An echo vibrating through his brain. And it was familiar. The voice, even with the panicked screams, sent shivers and sparks through his body. Megan.
“Eric,” Mitchell said, his voice filled with concern. He shot out of his chair and began inching towards Eric slowly, cautiously, as if he was scared to move too fast.
Eric opened his mouth to say something, but his voice lodged in his throat. Megan screamed again and again and again, and in the back of his mind, Eric swore he could see her running. Her face was tear stained, and her hair was flying wildly around her shoulders. Her eyes were wide and terrified, and she kept glancing over her shoulder as if someone was chasing her.
She stumbled, falling to her knees, and then clenched her hands to her chest. Looming shadows were closing in on her. Big, dark figures, wearing cloaks. “They’re going to hurt her,” Eric blurted. What was happening to him? How could he be seeing her as if he was standing right in front of her? The image in his mind was so crisp that it was as if he could reach out and touch her.
“Who?” Mitchell demanded, and for half a second, Eric looked at him, and when he did, he was sure he saw trepidation in Mitchell’s eyes.
Waking Dreams (A Soul's Mark Novella) Page 3
