“It’s quite common to dream up a hero when your life is in danger,” Eric said, matter-of-factly, all the while wondering if it was in fact a true statement. He didn’t wonder for long though, because she squeezed his hands lightly. Her skin against his felt like silk, and it took every bit of restraint he had not to pull her closer.
“Well, hero, how will you save me then?” she asked teasingly. Her lips quirked upwards, and her eyes danced.
As Eric watched her smile, so carefree and happy in this moment, darkness began to simmer in his belly. It was black as pitch, swirling around him, eating away at him. Someone was trying to take this away from him, and right then he knew that he would kill anyone who tried. She was his. He was as sure of it as he was sure that the grass was green, or the sky, blue. She was the air he breathed; he felt it in his bones and with every beat of his heart.
“Where do you live?” he demanded, a bit too harshly.
Megan gasped, and he heard her pulse quicken. “Eric, what’s wrong with your eyes?” she asked, in a barely audible whisper.
“Where do you live!” he yelled. Everything his eyes touched blazed like fire. He tried to pull it back and tamp down the rage that was brewing within him, but he couldn’t. It was as if the anger had its own life force, burning within him uncontrollably. His muscles began to tense, shifting under his skin, and she gripped his hands tighter for support as she tried to slide away from him. Looking at her, Eric couldn’t tell if she was more afraid of him or of plummeting to the ground from the tree branch they sat on.
“In … in the mountains,” she said, her voice shaking with fear. A trembling hand let go of his and pointed behind him. “But I’ve been hiding in a cave.”
Hiding in a cave! a voice in his mind hissed. That did him in, and he lost the little bit of control he had left. His fangs snapped down, tearing through his gums in a blink.
Megan whimpered, and brought both of her hands to her mouth. Her eyes shimmered with terrified tears. “Oh my God, you … you … have fangs.” Her voice was muffled, her hands blocking the sound. She tried to move again, sliding backwards towards the thin part of the branch and further away from him. It began to sag and crack, and then it snapped.
Eric reached out a hand to grab her, but he wasn’t fast enough. Megan screamed, a bloodcurdling scream, and her arms flapped wildly about her. “I’m coming to find you,” he yelled, as she fell. He focused on sending her back, mentally pushing the image of her away, and just before her body hit the ground, she vanished from sight.
CHAPTER 12
That didn’t turn out so well, Eric thought miserably, as he looked at the broken tree branch lying below him. Scaring her hadn’t really been part of the plan, and it definitely wasn’t something she needed right now.
Eric let out a deep sigh. In the back of his mind, he could hear Megan calling him, begging him to come back to her, and for a moment, he thought about doing just that. She whispered apologies. Urging him to believe that she was not scared, even calling him her hero. His heart twisted and thumped erratically. A flash of her neck flitted across his vision. Her soft ivory skin tinted pink as the blood moved underneath the odd marking inked upon her skin. It resembled a figure eight, with a solid line passing through the center of the bottom loop. The outline of it burned brightly, illuminating and glowing in his mind, as if his brain was forcing him to see it. The glow beat in time with her heartbeat, pulsing out towards him. She called to him again. Just his name floating around his head, and then all of a sudden, she was gone. Her scent, her smile, the mark … all of it faded into a small and distant memory.
He shifted his weight on the branch, looking behind him, and as he did, he cringed. Maybe he should have been more specific with his questions. All he could see were rolling mountains stretching out as far as his eyes would reach.
Eric sat there staring, feeling utterly defeated, for a long moment. He was pretty sure that even at top speed it would take him close to a day to reach the bottom of the first mountain. His throat was on fire, he was starving—again—and Megan was in the mountains being hunted because of him. For the first time since the day he had found out what he had become, Eric wished Mitchell had never saved him, and he had died in the field, alone.
****
Starvation was a bitter companion. Since becoming a vampire, Eric had never gone this long without blood, and as the hours passed, his mind began to play tricks on him. With every turn he made, he witnessed Megan’s death, each time a more brutal death than the last.
Everything he saw was washed in a permanent crimson haze, and his fangs would not retreat no matter what he tried. But still he pressed forwards.
After his initial desperate defeat, Eric had noticed something. It was small, and he almost missed it, but it was there. A soft pull around his heart, like a wire tightening and humming, pulling him blindly towards the mountains, and the closer he got, and the more frightened Megan became, the stronger it was.
For the first night in weeks, the seemingly endless snow had finally stopped falling. The inky black sky was alive with a blanket of stars, and the moon shone brightly, casting a silver glow upon the snowy ground.
Eric was closing in on the first mountain, the base of it finally coming into sight. He pushed himself a bit harder, trying to run faster. He kept Megan’s smile at the forefront of his mind, pushing away all other thoughts. It was her smile that kept him moving. The coy curve of her lips, as if she had a secret that she was inviting him to share—only him. He wondered what she would think when she realized that he was more than just a dream. Would she welcome him? Would she feel the same insistent pull to be near him as he did to her?
Suddenly, the only thing Eric could smell was blood. The sounds of nature were drowned out by a rhythmic pulse, thumping in a slow and even beat, pushing the steaming, mouthwatering liquid through a waiting vein.
His throat burned, and his teeth throbbed. The scent overtook him, clogging his other senses, and robbing him of his restraint. Before he knew it, he zoned in on it, and his course shifted, veering to the right. Something inside him, deep within his belly growled. He needed food. And he needed it now.
As he raced towards the waiting vein, his mind tried to rationalize the persistent hunger that raged through him. Being a vampire had its perks. Immortality, strength, speed, mind control; all of it was a bit unbelievable, and delightfully thrilling. And Eric knew that all of their gifts centered on human blood. Without it, they would not be able to access the power they could wield. And without that power, he would never find her. Yes, Eric thought, I’m hunting for Megan. He knew the thought was ridiculous, and that hunting was taking him away from his mission, but he couldn’t stop.
Eric broke through the trees, and his eyes landed on a tiny whitewashed cottage, nestled in between two towering oaks at the base of the mountain. It was surrounded by a white picket fence, and it almost looked like a dollhouse against the trees.
He stopped, backing up a few steps, and slinked behind the tree line for cover, his eyes scanning for the humans that he could smell.
At first, Eric almost missed them in the dark. But something shifted, something brown, fabric, and his eyes zoned in on them. Three men, all wearing dark cloaks.
Eric snarled; the sound echoed off the mountain. It was them. The ones chasing her. Adrenaline surged through him like a live wire, and he sprung forwards without thought. He made quick work of the first two, on them and snapping their necks in less than a second. Eric spun to the third one, his face masked by the hood of the cloak, and he stalked towards him.
The man didn’t move. He didn’t draw the bow that he had dangling in his hand; he didn’t even flinch when Eric pounced on him. Eric grabbed the itchy fabric around the man’s throat and pushed the hood from his head.
The man locked challenging eyes with Eric, but he did not flinch. “More are here, and more will come,” the man said with a throaty chuckle. Eric snarled. All he saw was this man chasing Megan. Whether he h
ad been or not, it didn’t matter. Eric bared his fangs and sunk his teeth into the man’s neck.
“Eric, stop!” Megan’s voice shrieked, rupturing in his ears.
CHAPTER 13
Eric dropped the man abruptly at the sound of Megan’s voice and spun around. The man fell at his feet with a thud, groaning softly on the ground.
When Eric spotted Megan, standing less than ten feet away from him, she trembled visibly. She was wearing a long gown of silky white, the bottom blending into the snowy landscape between them. Her heart was erratic, jumping quickly, and then stopping, only to jump again.
“They said that I am marked by the devil,” Megan said. “That he has claimed my soul.” She rolled her shoulders back, and held her chin high, but she wasn’t fooling Eric. Her fear was evident. Her eyes darted around wildly, her fingers fidgeted with the seams of her dress, and the smell of it wafted around her.
Eric chuckled. The devil. It sounded about right. Forgetting the man on the ground, he stepped over him, and in a blink, he stood in front of his red haired goddess.
“Are you the devil?” she asked, her voice shaking with small tremors, although she kept her shoulders straight as she tried to hide her fear of him.
I found her! a voice in his head shouted. I found her. Eric cocked his head to the side as he gazed into her sad eyes. She watched him expectantly, waiting, and he grinned. “Do I look like the devil?” His heart was pounding in his throat.
“Yes,” she said. She gathered up the bottom of her dress, and tore a strip of fabric from the bottom. Eric watched her curiously, as she gathered the fabric in her hand like a washcloth and began wiping his face. When she was finished, the white fabric was stained scarlet. She gave him a small, shaky smile, dropped the cloth, and then she turned from him and walked to the house. She opened the little picket fence, and without a backwards glance, she marched up the porch steps and vanished inside.
Eric went after the girl who held his soul and heart in the palm of her hand, helpless to do anything else. When he entered the house, warmth washed over him. A welcoming fire flickered in the hearth of the one room cabin, and Megan stood beside it, staring out the window and into the night. She didn’t look at him when he entered the room. “I think they will kill me soon,” she murmured, as he closed the door.
“Hush now.” Eric closed the space between them in four large steps and gathered her in his arms. “Do not speak of such things.”
Megan rested her head on his chest, hugging him closely. “I’m not afraid, Eric.”
“You are not going to die. I won’t let it happen,” Eric said with fervor. Now that he had her, he was never letting go. Never. No one would harm her again.
“What can you do? You’re only a dream. A figment of my imagination. Something I have conjured up to ease my fears.” A small tear glistened as it snaked down her cheek, and she dropped her gaze to the wooden floor. “I’m not naive, Eric. They said I was marked for a devil, so my imagination constructed the devil in my dreams. You are only my mind playing tricks on me, giving me the love that I need before the end and showing me my fears all at once.”
“You’re sleeping,” he breathed, his heart shattering in a burst of sharp-edged pieces. “Megan, you need to tell me where you are,” he said desperately, grabbing her chin in his hands and forcing her to meet his eyes.
But she didn’t answer. Instead, she rolled up onto the tips of her toes, and kissed him. It was full of longing, rough and deep, and in that moment, Eric was powerless to her touch. All reason left him, everything melted away. It was just them, lost in each other.
It wasn’t until morning dawned, and Eric woke up alone, that he realized she had never told him which mountain she was on, or what cave she had crawled into.
****
Eric stood on the lawn outside his house. It looked so daunting, a glaring reminder of his failure. It had been a month, thirty long days, since the last time he had heard Megan’s voice or seen her loving eyes and her blood red spiral locks. The vision that had felt so real, now felt like nothing more than a dream.
For the first time in a month, he felt awake—alive. And being alive was mind numbing and empty.
Eric couldn’t say how long he stood in front of his house, debating on whether he should enter or leave. Now that he was back, he wasn’t so sure that he would be welcomed, or forgiven. Not that he deserved forgiveness. He knew he didn’t, not after the way he had treated Mitchell, but a small part of him hoped …
Eric heaved a sigh and turned his back on the house, ready to leave, when he heard the door creak open. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Mitchell step out onto the front porch.
“Eric?” Mitchell asked, squinting his eyes against the sunlight.
“Hi, Dad,” Eric said with a little—and more than a little awkward—wave.
“Are you leaving?” Mitchell asked, as he jumped down the steps and raced over to him.
Before Eric could so much as offer a word, Mitchell wrapped a firm arm around his shoulder, and started ushering him up the porch steps. “Eric, you look awful,” he said. “And you smell horrid.”
“Thanks, Dad,” Eric said, because he really didn’t know what else to say, and Mitchell didn’t seem to expect anything else.
He gave Eric’s shoulder a squeeze and said, “I’m glad you’re home.”
Mitchell never asked about Megan, none of them did, and Eric never spoke of her. At first, it was too painful, but then, as time went on, she became a distant memory, feeling more and more like a dream every day. Maybe they were right and someday her spirit would find his again. He knew she was out there, starting a new life. She had to be, because, well, if she wasn’t, he wouldn’t have a link to humanity, and he did. He felt compassion, and empathy, and he knew it all stemmed from her. And all he could hope was that this life would be kinder to her than the last.
EPILOGUE
Willowberg, 121 years later
Who would have thought that finding green hair dye would be so hard? Eric hadn’t. Not that he was complaining. The distraction couldn’t have come at a better time.
Today was the day. Mitchell’s search was finally coming to an end. After hundreds of years, he had found her. Amelia. It was supposed to be a happy day. But … for Eric, not so much.
Jealous. That’s exactly how Eric felt. Well that and angry. For the last one-hundred and twenty-one years, Eric had somehow managed to slowly let go of Megan, burying the memories deep within him, and now … now Mitchell had to go and ruin it, resurrecting the love and longing Eric felt for her so long ago.
Mitchell had decided, like this morning, that he was moving out until Amelia settled in, because for some retarded reason that Eric couldn’t understand, Mitchell didn’t want her to know that they were vampires—yet. But that wasn’t even the worst part, not only was he moving out, but he had also given Eric the job of “Amelia’s chaperone.” Eric had agreed, of course. Really, what choice did he have? Except, the last thing he needed right now was to surround himself with a lovesick teenage girl.
Eric flipped down the visor and opened up the mirror, inspecting his new hair. The color turned out better than he had thought it would, and it matched his eyes perfectly. Note to self: next time just go to a hair place first, Eric thought, realizing how much time he would have saved if he hadn’t spent two hours driving around trying to find the right shade (or any shade for that matter) of green. It had been a spur of the moment decision, something to get his mind off Megan, and as he checked himself out, he was glad he did it.
With another quick inspection, he closed the visor and started up his Corvette. The engine purred to life, and he popped the car into gear, pulled away from the curb, and headed towards home.
The drive home took less than ten minutes, and before he knew it, Eric pulled his car up to the gate. He rolled down his window and grinned, when he caught Joe’s muffled laughter. “What’s so funny?” he asked, innocently glancing at the portly, balding guard in full un
iform, except, he was pretty sure Joe was laughing at his hair.
Joe’s eyes sparkled with amusement, and he grinned. “The color suits you, Mr. Carter,” he said with a chuckle.
“How many times do I have to tell you, call me Eric,” he said as sternly as he could, and then he wrinkled his nose. “You make me feel so old.”
Joe shrugged, as if to say get used to it already, and then he flipped the switch, and the big iron gate clanked open. This had been a daily conversation for years, and still, for some reason, the guard insisted on calling him Mr. Carter. Eric was pretty sure he did it for a laugh, but man, it really did make him feel old.
“They here yet?” Eric asked, looking at the road before him.
“Not yet, Mr. Carter.” Eric grumbled something, and Joe’s smile widened. He rolled up the window, and thrust the car forward through the opened gate, climbing up the hilly street.
When he turned onto the driveway, and the house came into view, he clenched his jaw. It was all arches, turrets, and balconies, with a brown tiled roof and gray stone walls. A present for Amelia. Mitchell had the castle built after one of their dreams. It should have been magical. Seriously, he lived in a bloody castle, but with the way he was feeling, it looked more like a wicked witch’s castle than his home.
Eric tried to push the turmoil that was brewing inside him away, because really, he wasn’t one of those guys. He liked people. People liked him. Having Amelia around could be … fun.
He glanced at the clock on his dash. Twenty minutes. She’ll be here in twenty minutes. Megan’s bright eyes surfaced in his mind, and his stomach clenched with anxiety. Pull it together, he coached himself. She’s been gone for more than a hundred years.
Waking Dreams (A Soul's Mark Novella) Page 6
