He looked at me blankly, and I knew the answer was no. “Once we know you’re safe, Amy, you can move out . . . if you prefer. Whatever you want to do . . . I’m sorry if I scared you.”
“You didn’t.” I reached across and grabbed a water bottle off the bedside table and sculled a few mouthfuls down. He was watching me, waiting for me to go on, so I said, “I was scared for you, not of you.”
His brow drew into deep lines. He looked as though he might want to say something, but whatever it was he held it back. I felt a stab of hurt. Didn’t he trust me enough to tell me?
“Maybe I should just leave town,” I said. As I made the revelation, I was surprised by the sudden burst of emotion that gripped me. My eyes stung and my stomach clenched like a vice.“I don’t fit in here. You’re a vampire, Ethan, your friends are vampires, and I’m not. I don’t belong.” I looked down at the comforter, running my fingers over the fabric.
“Please don’t say that, you belong.” His tone was raw and husky. “I don’t want you to be a vampire, I don’t want you to be anything like one.”
The anguish in his voice made me lift my head. I hadn’t considered the thought of me leaving would hurt him. Wishing people cared was futile, wishing I fitted in, was not something I allowed myself, it was a catalyst for pain. History had taught me that, if little else.
“Oh, come on, Ethan, you hide things from me all the time. Treat me like a child. I heard you all whispering while I was in the kitchen. Like I’m lesser, or not trustworthy, or—” a sudden lump jarred the words in my throat.
He sighed and looked up to the ceiling for a moment, like he was seeking divine guidance. “I don’t mean to make you feel that way, we don’t tell you things because we don’t want to hurt you. There’s things we do, things we are . . .” He paused and dropped his head. “That you don’t need or want to know about.”
Lies. I’d seen some horrific things. I doubted whatever they had to say could be any worse than the visuals that replayed in my head. A tear escaped my eye. He reached out and brushed a thumb across my cheek. “These things that fall from your eyes are part of what makes you special. It’s your completely annoying human emotions that make you who you are, and from where I stand that’s pretty perfect.”
Another lie. I was far from perfect and I annoyed him, sometimes. A lot. When I did things like leave my bag on the hallway table, or a trail of cereal on the bench, or an unwashed coffee mug in the sink, or when I put a load of washing in, then forgot about it. And he hated shoes left at the front door. ToEthan, shoes at the front door was a jailable offence. He would comment, briskly. I would apologize and do it again.
I could leave, but go where, to who? I tried to imagine life without him, without Karson. I couldn’t imagine it now. I was repulsed by the violence and yet at the same time, and perhaps equally, entranced by all they were.
“Do you have any idea how it feels to have people you care about shut you out?”
“You’d be surprised,” he answered, a flicker of pain in his eyes and then it was gone as his eyes settled over mine. There was a long pause. Finally, he spoke, “Do you trust me?”
Trust, of all the questions. Could you ever really trust anyone? Once, I would have said I trusted my father. I trusted Tom, look where that got me. Ethan peeled back and watched me. But I wasn’t dating Ethan, and I did trust him. At least as much as I could ever really trust anyone. He had put himself in danger for me, taken me in when I had nowhere to go. Protected me. I didn’t know everything about him, but trust him, for now, I could do.
“Yes.” And as I said it, it felt right.
“Then trust me enough to know we are protecting you and I will tell you if you ever need to know. Okay?”
“Okay,” I agreed reluctantly. I hated secrets, they felt like lies, but I agreed.
He looked relieved.
“Did you hear back from Matt?” I asked.
“Yes, it was a hire car and a dead end. It was the Penfolds, a couple considering running the day spa. They left because Mrs Penfold is pregnant and was feeling unwell, it all checks out.”
“Back to square one then.” I couldn’t keep the sound of defeat out of my voice.
He reached across and smoothed my hair down at the side. “No such thing as square one with a vampire, Amy, we canleap over the whole board in a single bound.” He paused, then conceded, “we just need to know which direction to leap.”
I was well and truly awake now and felt restless. My mind whirled with all that had happened in the last few weeks. So many innocent lives ended. I got up, tucked my arms around my waist and moved over to the window, peering past the drizzle to the sky, brushed with cloud and glinting stars. It was beautiful. He followed me over and stood beside me. When I turned back to look at him, I couldn’t read the expression on his face.
“Thank you for sticking up for me.” I took his hands in mine, a zing shot up them, travelled up my arms, buzzing my heart. Warming everything. It was unnerving, the power he held. I released him quickly and fought the urge to shake it off.
Ethan stared at my hands. His brow flicked. “Karson has an anger that he can’t always control if he’s pushed,” he growled, “you need to be careful, if he moved in true anger, I wouldn’t be able to stop him.”
“He doesn’t scare me, Ethan.” Which was true, and false.
He grabbed my forearms. “He should scare you, Amy!” The flare of emotion was startling. He released me and stepped back with an unsettled look. When he spoke again his voice was gentle, “He cares for you, or I wouldn’t be standing here talking to you now. He wanted to come up to you when he heard you cry, I said no, but you must understand I have seen what he is capable of. I hope you never do.”
I shivered.“I know, I saw him rip the head off a vampire already.”
He breathed heavily out his nose, shaking his head. His eyes moved out the window, glazed over by some distant haunted memory. “That’s nothing compared to what he can do.” I didn’t ask what he’d seen, his grim voice and the look on his face was enough to tell me it wasn’t good. “You should get some rest.” He gave me a half smile.
I gazed back to the stars, searching for an answer, the right move somewhere amongst the vast expanse of the black glittered horizon. I’d always felt as if the night sky was sent as a silent summation of everything that’s possible, a visual illustration of the endless insurmountable possibilities awaiting discovery. Or sometimes, in the worst of times, a reminder that the light only shines in the darkness. How many times as I’d grown up had I stared up at the stars seeking their solace? Hundreds, probably. Now, I stared up at it waiting for its whispers to speak to me.
