In the Shadows

by Jill Nolan

“I'm not looking for a fight," Sam says meekly.

  “You aren’t? I just heard you say your people are good at fighting. Why don't you demonstrate for us?"

  I'm starting to get really pissed at how Mason is reacting to this. All this poor guy did is offer me a drink, which I was about to refuse, if he’d given me the chance. It's not like the guy was obviously hitting on me or touching me, even if he did make me uncomfortable. Mason is not doing this to defend my honor or some shit. He was looking to get into a fight earlier, and now he found one.

  “I should go,” Sam says, looking down. He gets up, but Mason doesn’t move to let him by.

  “Oh, come on. Show us you aren’t as big a pussy as you look.”

  "What are you doing? Leave him alone." I say sharply. I'm too immersed in what is happening before me to look at the people around me, but I feel their eyes on us. I'm feeling incredibly embarrassed at how he's acting. I'm all for a fight, but it has to be for a good reason. Mason is just being a fucking bully right now.

  He completely ignores me and moves around me to stand in front of the guy again. "Let’s go, asshole.”

  Sam reluctantly follows him to the center of the bar as people clear out of the way. A ring forms around them, and Mason stands confidently, staring at this guy like he’s prey. I stay by the bar, feeling pissed and frustrated that Mason is being such an asshole and not listening to a word I say.

  “C’mon, hit me,” Mason says, the mischievous glint in his eyes just moments ago is now replaced with something much, much darker, like a burning rage. He looks like he wants to kill this guy.

  The guy puts his hands up, looking very untrained. He throws a punch that Mason easily ducks. Mason throws a quick jab, catching the guy right in the nose. His head is thrown back, and blood runs out, down his lip. He puts his hands to his nose, wiping at the blood. Mason isn't letting him get a break in; he throws another jab and then a cross, knocking the guy to the ground. Then Mason's on top of him, hitting him. Shit! How did this get so out of hand?

  "Mason!" I scream. I grab his arm, and he lets me pull him off the guy. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

  He's just staring at the guy on the ground, who's holding his face moaning while others are trying to make sure he's okay. Mason seems to be in some kind of murderous daze, like he's deciding if he should go back and finish the job.

  "Whatever you're thinking, stop. You need to get out of here. Now."

  He looks at me then, but he barely sees me. He must have heard me though, because he leaves the bar.

  Feeling embarrassed and uneasy, and not wanting to get into any trouble myself, I leave too.

  Chapter 29

  I'm fuming when I get home from the bar. I was so stupid to think something like this wouldn't happen. I mean, he kills someone every other fucking week, of course he's violent and unpredictable. What did I expect?

  He was starting to be so sweet to me, and he had to go and ruin it. No matter how sweet he is when it's just us, how can I be with someone who acts so irrationally violent in public just because some other guy talked to me? Maybe he heard him offer to buy me a drink, but that’s still no reason to do what he did. All I had to do was say no thanks, which I did, and the whole thing should have ended there. I don't know if it was jealousy or possessiveness or a lethal combination of the two, but I want no fucking part of it.

  I lock the door to my balcony; I didn't uninvite him the other night. I'll have to amend that next time I see him. I spin towards the bathroom door when I notice someone in the corner of my room. I jump back, then realize it’s just Mason hiding in the shadows of my room.

  When I catch my breath, I ask, "What are you doing here?"

  "I wanted to explain—“

  "There's nothing to explain. I was there. Now get out." I step out of his way so he can be on his way. Except he doesn't move. Why isn’t he moving?

  “I need you to hear me out.” He moves closer to me.

  He's not leaving. Why is he not leaving? “I uninvited you. You have to leave,” I say, even though it seems to not be the case.

  “I never needed an invitation.”

  “You lied?” I ask, dumbfounded.

  “I wanted you to feel like you were safe here, to know that I would leave if you told me to.”

  “Then why aren’t you leaving now?”

  “Because I need you to listen.”

  “Fine. Talk.”

  He walks past me and sits on my bed. I stay standing, my arms crossed over my chest, thinking this better be good.

  "I don't even know where to start." He rubs a hand over his face and stares down at his lap. I wonder if he's trying to make something up.

  "Why don't you start with why you freaked out?"

  "It won't make sense if I start there." He rubs his face again and takes a deep breath. "The first thing you need to know, is that I was born about three hundred years ago."

  I narrow my eyes in disbelief. Then I feel even more angry at him, for lying to me about how old he was. If he didn't want to tell me he could have just said so! What else has he lied about?

  "You said you were only twenty-five," I say icily.

  “I am; I have only lived twenty-five years. I told you I made a deal, for power, for revenge. As soon as that deal was struck, I lost consciousness. I woke up three hundred years later."

  "How is that possible?"

  "How is it possible that I am the way I am? The world is not as simple or as small as most would believe."

  "But why? Why were you asleep for so long?"

  "I don't know," he says, looking defeated. "I never got an explanation, and I never saw him again. All I know is that he took away any possibility for revenge."

  "Revenge for what?"

  The pained look on his face dissipates my anger; I know he’s about to tell me his story, with whatever tragedies still plague him. Reluctantly, I sit facing him cross-legged on the bed and wait for him to begin.

  “When I was fifteen, a small band of us had been traveling not far from this area, a territory typically occupied by the Winnebago. We weren't concerned about running into them; different bands and tribes traveled all over and everyone was generally peaceful with each other. For some reason, or maybe for no reason at all, the Winnebago warriors killed them all: my mom, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins. Everyone but me. They left their mark on me, cut me up before they let me go." He gestures to the scars that look more like claw marks.

  I can see the anguish evident on his features. My anger is a distant memory, and I scoot closer to him, the need to comfort him too strong. I take one of his hands in both of mine, not sure what else to do.

  "I went back to my tribe and told them what happened. I tried to convince them to declare war immediately, but they would not. They met with the Winnebago, who claimed it wasn't them that attacked us. When the chief officially declared there would be no war, I left to get my own revenge. I made a deal that I shouldn’t have, a deal that cost me everything else I had. I awoke to a world that was not my own, the land that I loved all but destroyed, the tribe I knew long past dead.”

  I feel overwhelmed with emotion. He’s gone through so much more than I ever could have imagined. He’s endured more than anyone should ever have to. I absent-mindedly massage his hand between mine. “I’m so sorry.” I don’t have the words to express how anguished I feel that he went through all that, and I quickly wipe away a tear that falls down my face.

  "What happened tonight... First that guy was hitting on you and then I heard him say he was Winnebago, and not just that but that they were good fighters? I fucking lost it. I remembered how they had ambushed us, and all I saw was my family's blood on his hands."

  "It's okay. I understand now."

  "No, I don't think you do. I have impulses that have nothing to do with survival. I try to act normal, like I couldn't kill everyone around me in less than thirty seconds, as human or vampire. But sometimes I can't hold back the dark. And no one around me even reali
zes, nobody has any fucking idea how lethal I am when they talk to me. There are certain times when I just see black, and all I want to do is rip someone apart, paint the room with blood. If you hadn't have stopped me, I would have killed him and felt nothing. Just like I feel nothing for every other person I kill."

  I swallow. Does he hold that much viciousness inside him? I always knew he was capable of great violence, but for the first time, I wonder if I have only glimpsed the tip of the iceberg. I've only seen him kill out of necessity, to survive and to defend. Does he also kill just for the hell of it? I'm afraid to ask, afraid to know the answer. The darkness inside him goes deeper than I imagined, and while it unsettles me, it does not repel me like it probably should. I know now that he has reasons for the way that he is, and I'm positive that this is not all he has endured.

  "Why are you telling me this?"

  “So you understand. I know you see me differently than you did when you first laid eyes on me, but your first impression of me, when all you saw was a blood thirsty monster, that was probably the most accurate.”

  I don’t have a response. It’s like he’s trying to scare me away. I feel another tear slip out of my eye. I can barely sort through my feelings: horror at what he's telling me, grief at what's he's lost, pity for what his painful past has turned him into.

  "Do you want me to go?" he asks.

  "Would you ever hurt me?"

  He turns to me, concern in his eyes. He caresses my cheek, "No. I could never hurt you." I nod, believing him. I close the distance between us, snuggling against him. He holds me tight, staring off at the ceiling.

  After a few minutes, he asks hesitantly, "After everything you know about me, you still want to be with me?"

  I look at him with surprise. "Of course; why would your story change anything?"

  "I thought it might be the straw that broke the camel's back. Now you have an idea of how entirely fucked up I am."

  "I don't care. That doesn't bother me."

  "It should. You're so innocent and happy all the time. You're the light to my darkness, and I feel like I'm a better person around you, but then I wonder if I make you a worse person. Sometimes I worry I'm going to ruin you."

  "You won't. I can handle your darkness, as long as you don't let it take over."

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “Like, don’t kill people for no reason and don’t kill someone out of jealousy. It should be a pretty clear line.”

  “It’s not. Nothing’s clear in my head, in my world. I didn’t have a normal upbringing, not for this time period anyway. I lost my humanity the day my family was killed in front of me. I will never have a normal life, nothing will ever be black and white for me.”

  “I know. It would be enough if you stuck to killing the worst people you could find.”

  “I’ll try.”

  “I suppose that’s all I can ask.” I go over everything he's said, believing his words yet knowing there's more to him than his dark desires. Everyone thinks dark things. It's your actions that define you. And while some of his actions are questionable, so far, all I've seen him do is survive and protect me.

  "What happened once you woke up?"

  "I found myself buried in the earth. I had to dig myself out, through the skeletons and remnants of my people."

  I don't know why that pushed me over the edge, but I find myself crying. I'm picturing this fifteen-year-old kid who just lost everything he knew, and then waking up buried and emerging from the ground to find a world he didn't recognize. To be so alone, to be dealing with so much pain. God, I can't even imagine how terrible that must have been, how deep those scars run.

  "Hey," he says gently. "Don't cry." He wraps his arms around me and pulls me on top of him. He holds me curled up against him while his fingers gently move the hair from my face. "I just finished telling you about my homicidal nature, and now you're crying for me?"

  "I'm sorry, I just—I hate that you went through so much, that you were so alone."

  "I wasn't alone for long. About a month after I woke up, a family took me in. They were Chippewa and spoke my language. They were the first people I'd talked to since waking up."

  "Did they know what you were?"

  "Yes."

  "Were they also vampires?"

  "No, but they listened to my story and understood. They essentially adopted me, not legally since I didn't exist. My adoptive mother taught me almost everything I know: English, math, history, science, and whatever else she thought important. My new brother, who was two years younger than me, helped by teaching me some of the things he was learning in school. My adoptive father taught me about how the world works now and put me in classes for different styles of fighting, knowing I needed that outlet. I repaid them in whatever way I could, hunting game to save money at the store, doing chores, telling them stories of how our people lived in the past."

  "I'm glad you found them." We're quiet for a bit then. I try to digest everything he's said. I can't even imagine what it must have been like for him. I haven't experienced even a fraction of the pain he's felt; I've never had to go through anything traumatic. I mean, I lost my grandma, which was incredibly sad, but it wasn't a tragedy. Sure, she could have lived longer, but she still got to live a long and happy life, and her death wasn't unexpected. When my guinea pig Sparkles died, the only pet my parents let me have, I was devastated...for about three days. I got away with minimal psychological scarring from high school and grade school, even during that horribly awkward pre-teen transition period where I had less confidence than a dodo bird.

  At fifteen, Mason had to deal with losing everyone he loved and an entirely different world, while killing someone every other week. At that age, my biggest worry was probably if I put enough makeup on. Why would he even want me? I must seem so shallow to him.

  "Asiniiwin," he says, pulling me out of my head.

  "What?"

  "Asiniiwin," he says again, pronouncing it like As-in-ee-wan. "It was my name, before. It means stone child. I asked my adoptive family to give me a new name. I wanted to leave my old life behind; I knew I could never return to it."

  I smile. "So, they named you Mason? It suits you."

  Chapter 30

  Mason and I have our first real date tonight, three weeks since our first night together and two weeks since we've been officially together and also completely inseparable. He takes me to Ishnala Supper Club, which I've only been to a few times before. It's a beautiful restaurant, set far back in the woods and overlooking a lake. It's apparently very popular, and we're told the wait will be over two hours. Normally, that would be my cue to leave, and that's exactly what I want to do, until Mason shows me the bar in the back with outdoor seating above the lake. I decide sitting out here for a few hours would actually be quite nice.

  We get drinks, and take a walk on one of the paths they have through the forest while he tells me what it was like growing up in the late 1600s/early 1700s and about his culture, both past and present.

  After a while, we head back and settle in to the outdoor chairs, enjoying the beautiful view of the sun setting on the lake. We talk and laugh with no awkward pauses, just content ones.

  When we get our table, I find I'm glad we had to wait a few hours. The decor inside is very cabin-y with dead stuffed animals everywhere and lots of wood, but it's definitely a very classy place. The food ends up being amazing, and the whole night is romantic.

  As we walk back to his car completely stuffed, we notice someone with their car hood up. I'm inclined to keep walking. That sucks for them, but there's nothing I can do to fix a car. To my surprise, Mason takes us over there. He talks to the guy and ends up jump-starting his car. I stand by, content just watching him interact with this stranger, helping him, joking with him.

  I smile, thinking back on how he talked about the darkness in him. I wonder if he realizes how much good is in him too. He didn't have to help this guy, but he did. And when the waiter messed up my order, giving m
e sweet potatoes (which I loathe) instead of normal mashed potatoes, I begged him not to say anything. He did, but to my surprise, he wasn't rude about it at all. I'm not sure why I expected him to be. Maybe because he can be such an asshole to other guys at the bars. The waiter looked embarrassed and apologized, but Mason just waved it off, making a joke to put him at ease. And then there's the way he talks about his family – both the ones he lost and the ones he gained. It's clear he cares very deeply about them, that he would do anything for them.

  Mason is so much more than he seems. If you met him during the day, you'd think he's a normal, funny, polite guy. If you met him at a bar, you might think he's a womanizing asshole. If you met him as a vampire, you'd think he was a terrifying monster, and you wouldn't think much else after that, because you'd be dead.

  ◆◆◆

  We continue our date on my couch. Allison isn't home, and we're both too full to move. A stretch of silence descends between us. I can't help thinking about his past again, wanting to know more. I don't want to bring up bad memories after what a great night we've had though.

  "What are you thinking about?" Mason asks.

  "I was just wondering about your life, but I don't want to bring up anything painful."

  "No, it's okay. Ask what you want to know."

  I nod, thinking about how to phrase my question. "You mentioned before that your brother made a sacrifice to save you. What happened?"

  “He had made a deal before I did, for strength and power, same as me, except his purpose was to save our people; mine was to avenge them. But what he became…it’s ironic, actually. He became a monster to save our people, only to lose them because of the monster he became. I made a deal to get revenge, and as soon as it was made, I woke up hundreds of years later, robbed of any possibility of avenging my people."

  "How did he lose them?"

  "He was accused of killing people from our tribe and exiled. I tried to fight for him, even though I knew he was guilty. In the end, I did nothing as they forced him to leave. I couldn't even meet his eyes."