I squared my shoulder, feeling defensive. “Draven, I was helping someone. What else was I supposed to do? There was a child in the fire! I had to help!” I was angry. Angry at Draven for thinking me so reckless that I would put myself in danger without a cause.
“I am not saying you should not help. However, you need to think about the risks. You could have been hurt.”
“I do not need you to tell me what I can and cannot do. I can take care of myself.”
Draven’s eyes flash with something I couldn’t quite decipher. “This is not about control, Rosalia, it is about common sense. I do not want to see you get hurt.”
“I do not need your protection,” I shot back.
Our voices clashed in the grand room, the tension thickening as the candle’s flames wavered. Draven took a deep breath, running his hands through his hair, trying to regain his composure.
“I do not want anything bad to happen to you.” His voice was calmer now.
I softened slightly. “I appreciate your concern, but we barely know each other.”
Draven nodded, his anger slowly dissipating. “You are right.” He looked down at my dress as if noticing it for the first time. His glance shot back up to mine and his eyebrows furrowed together, clearly wondering where I got it. It was obviously not mine considering it was a size too small.
“I think I will be going to bed now,” I said in response to his gaze. I moved past him, and he straightened as if realizing he had been staring.
“I will have Imalda come and draw you a bath,” he suggested as he followed me up the stairs, guided by his candlelight.
I was aware of his every movement as we walked. Long shadows trailed across the walls. Had Draven waited for me to return? Why would he care whether or not I came back? I thought about our almost kiss, and I instinctively brushed my lips with my fingers.
We arrived at my door, and I reached for the handle, wanting to end this strange encounter.
“Rosalia,” Draven said from behind me. I looked up at him and I felt my hands grow clammy as I noticed how close we were to each other. The heat was radiating off my body.
“Yes, Draven?” I asked him, my body remembering the other night, when we had stood this close to each other … and what almost happened.
“I worry about you,” he admitted in a soft voice, and he reached out his hand. This time, he didn’t stop. His hand cupped my cheek though his expression was still stiff.
I felt a pang of guilt for making him worry about me. “I promise I will be more careful next time.”
Draven sighed. “I do not want anything to happen to you. You mean too much to me.” His voice was almost a whisper as he admitted that, and I felt my heart quicken.
I smiled at him. “Goodnight,” I said, as I reached up to squeeze the hand on my cheek. Looking at him, I thought about what Vail told me in the market about Draven’s mansion being haunted. I searched his eyes for a moment longer, looking for the answers.
The only thing haunted in the house was a lonely man.
“Good night,” he said, and I retreated into my room, closing the door behind me. I took a breath to steady myself and went over to my bed and lifted the mattress. I took the crucifix from my pocket and placed it in my father’s journal.
NINETEEN
January 11, 2010
I kept a low profile for a few days, staying indoors and drinking blood from Vail’s fridge. I helped her search her books for new tracking spells and to see if we could find anything about making an antidote for the drug. Flipping through the books, I felt a familiar restlessness creep in, whispering temptations of old habits. I struggled to resist the urge to flee. I made sure to keep myself well fed.
This town had been suffocating me, dredging up memories of my past and trapping me in a web of nostalgia. Yet, when I had woken up that morning, I surprisingly felt better than I had in most days.
I wandered into the kitchen and found Vail at the table, a glass of blood in one hand and a newspaper in the other.
“You still get the newspaper?” I asked her, taking a seat and pouring myself a glass of blood from the teapot on the table. She tossed it to me, and I glanced at the headline.“Two Campers Found Dead in Brutal Attack,”it read, describing a possible wolf or cougar mauling. I glanced back at Vail, her brows furrowed, and her arms crossed.
“That was fast,” I remarked, tossing the newspaper back on the table. My actions from that night clawed at my conscience, and my good mood vanished in an instant. Each sipof blood was a bitter reminder of the violence I had unleashed and the many more lives I ended that night. I avoided Vail’s gaze, unable to meet her eyes as I tried to shake off the weight that had settled in my chest.
“This is from you the other night, isn’t it?” she questioned.
“Maybe,” I admitted, my voice heavy with regret. “That night is kind of a blur now.” It was a lie. I remembered every second of it. I remembered my anger, my predatory need to feed, thinking that if I just let out my frustration, I’d feel better. But I didn’t. I had spent the last couple of days hiding from my emotions in the house, but now they had come back to confront me.
