“Don’t let me stop you. I cannot have my best tracker going hungry.”
“I’m your only tracker.” My ears flick forward, then back, listening for the telltale signs of prey hiding in the bush. I run my tongue along my sharp teeth. I caught wind of deer earlier, but I don’t need something that big to feed only myself. “I’ll cut away when the opportunity arises. Could you carry my pack when that happens?”
“Of course. I can carry it now if you like.”
“I’ve got it.” The weight of the pack is oddly comforting, a bit of home tagging along on the adventure.
The silvery glow of the full moon brightens the cloudless night sky. A thousand stars twinkle in the distance. The wolf in me itches to stretch his legs, to race through the forest, to lift his chin and howl. But the human in me has questions, and Bowie is chatty.
I start with the most pressing. “Why are you helping the villagers?”
“Why wouldn’t I help the villagers?” he challenges, though his features remain relaxed, and there’s no hostility in his response.
I think on my answer as we make our way down the path, which has turned into a narrow dirt road. Wide enough for horses or a small cart, though not quite big enough for wagons. Bowie’s stride is naturally quick but not rushed. I match it easily.
“Aren’t they scared of you?” I ask. Though it’s not a valid reason not to help them, it would be a drawback. Rumors and legends of vampires abound in these parts, the foothills of the Carpathian Mountains. In human stories, the hunt and subsequent slaughter of vampires tend to involve fire, stakes, and beheadings. Reason enough to keep one’s distance.
Bowie puffs a breath through his nose. “I only interact with a few. Most of them know my family by name. I rely on my sister to keep me informed. She, her husband, and their steward are the only ones who know of”—his hand joins in on the conversation, waving delicately in front of him—“my condition.”
I nod and look him over more thoroughly. His clothes have the appearance of merchant class, but upon closer inspection, I notice the fine silken fabric of his fitted stockings, the sturdy and expertly dyed wool of his blue coat, a bright hue surely designed to bring out his eyes, the sort of luxury money buys. It’s cut to such perfection it would fit no one but him. His elegant hands, which he uses so frequently to dance along with his words, have exquisitely manicured nails, perfectly clean, not a speck of dirt to be seen. Leather boots nearly as tall as his knees shine black with polish. Even his matching hat is of the best quality. Not merchant class at all, then.
“You’re a noble?” I ask.
Bowie’s smile indicates he’s pleased I’ve parsed this out. “Was a noble,” he says. “Technically, I’m dead.”
I wave this off. “Your family is noble, and you’re clearly not dead. I don’t know what makes a vampire a vampire, but you’re as alive as I am.”
“Ah.” A mournful sigh accompanies the utterance. “Put your hand on my chest, and you may change your mind, dear Andras.”
Does he really want me to touch him, or is the suggestion rhetorical? I decide not to reach out, though now I’m imagining it. Laying my palm on his chest, feeling…what exactly? “Your heart doesn’t beat?”
“Not anymore. And my flesh is cold as graves.” The melancholy notes in his tone make me sad for him.
“Perhaps, but you’re still very much alive.” Maybe a compliment would cheer him up. “Dead people don’t have sparkling eyes like yours.”
The aforementioned eyes connect with mine. “Have you seen many dead people?”
“A few.” Images come to mind. I push them aside.
“You think my eyes sparkle?”
Is he fishing for more compliments? “You know they do.”
His dips his chin and looks at me through his lashes. “But you noticed.”
“Hard not to.”
He takes a deliberate breath. “Yours are like golden nuggets straight from the earth.” His hands form a cup in front of him as if holding something precious.
I laugh. My eyes are mostly brown; the flecks of gold come from the wolf. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Playfully offended, he declares, “They’ve raw beauty, like a jewel before man polishes all the unique qualities away.” His voice has turned to honey. “A treasure. Two of them, actually.”
My neck warms. This conversation has gotten out of hand. Weren’t we supposed to be talking about the villagers? “Are you avoiding my question?”
“What question? I’ve forgotten.” Bowie’s grin throws me off-kilter.
“The missing girls. The villagers. Why are you helping them?”
