“What happened to your family?” Zeph asks me quietly. He’s clearly been watching me take in the scene and my no doubt bemused obsession. It’s been a long time since I last witnessed a scene like this, something so chaotic yetnormal. It sends a pang of longing through me and I fight to keep my expression impassive, not showing the wince that his words have hit a sore spot.
It’s been just over a week since the Solstice. Days cooped up in the cramped library, bent over books until our eyes have felt dry enough to bleed, spent almost entirely in the company of Silver and Zeph.
For someone like me that spends ninety-five percent of their life alone, it’s been an adjustment.
It’s also meant I’ve spent a great deal of time in the company of Zeph. While he started off the week snarling like a cornered dog, something changed over the past few days and ever since he’s been... not exactly pleasant, but not actively antagonistic. It’s like he’stryingnot to be entirely unpleasant, but much of the time, it’s like talking to a person who was raised by wolves. Hedoesn’t seem to care for social graces. And I know I’m not one to judge when it comes to socializing. But this seemingly innocuous question is like one of many from Zeph. It’s as though he doesn’t mean to press on all the bruises in my psyche, but he unerringly seems to find them, anyway.
“They’re, uh, dead, or at least I assume so. I was thirty-three when I was Turned and that was just over a century ago.”
You would think in all that time, I would now be a smooth operator, able to talk to people. But I’ve rather gone the opposite way. After a while, the lethargy of life weighed me down and I stopped interacting with people unless strictly necessary.
Now it seems like I’m out of practice. The words swirl around and round in my head but don’t quite get as far as my tongue and I end up choking on them.
Somehow, I never had the same problem with Silver. Perhaps it’s because she caught me off-guard when we first met. Or because we were in my territory where I feel most comfortable. It might also be that we’ve spent months with brief interactions and, in that time, I’ve grown comfortable.
Or it could be the instant zing of connection I felt when we first met. That unexplainable tether that drew my attention and hasn't been released.
“You don’t know what happened to them?” Zeph asks, reminding me we’re in the middle of a conversation, however unwanted the current topic might be.
I don’t think he means to continue poking my bruises. From the way he’s watching Silver from a few feet away, it seems only a small portion of his focus is on our conversation.
It’s odd, because until recently I think he would have relished in torturing me if he could.
My voice comes out quiet and raspier than I would like. “We lost touch. It was a... messy few years after I was first Turned. I barely knew which way was up. I’d liken it to having anaddiction to something where it takes over all of your thoughts and actions. By the time I was back to myself, they’d moved. And several more years went by where I attempted to track them down. At the time, supernaturals weren’t so well integrated into society and my family wasn’t likely to accept my new status, so I stopped looking.”
He glances at me for a long moment, then nods before turning his attention back to Silver.
I’m grateful he doesn’t pry any further. Some wounds never fully heal and the guilt over what happened in those early years still haunts me.
Newly turned vamps should not be allowed anywhere near people they care about. That way leads to nightmares of torn out throats and lifeless eyes before the bloodlust is something that can be controlled.
The piece of me that was more than a blood-sucking creature of the night was shoved into a box deep down. I only resurfaced periodically and when I did, the things I saw were enough to leave me with flashbacks for years after.
It was something like being a soldier returning from war. Knowing my family wouldn’t understand the new me. Although in this scenario, during the war, I’d been rampaging like a wild animal and returned haunted by visions of the pain I’d caused along the way.
A whole five minutes pass with Zeph and I standing in silence, watching Silver work.
“Did you choose to be a vamp?” he asks.
The question is quiet but my spine stiffens, my already slow-beating heart almost grinding to a halt. I could act like I didn’t hear him, but for some reason, I find myself shaking my head.
“No.”
Once again, he doesn’t ask any follow-up questions, which is a surprise. He hassomesense, after all.
He must do. He must also have more emotional depth than that of a puddle, or I don’t see how he could attract the attention and interest of someone like Silver. Someoneremarkable.
Once sufficient time passes that I can convince myself he’s not going to continue to delve into the deeply traumatic events of my past, I force my shoulders to relax and my spine to loosen.
“You, uh, should stick around,” Zeph grunts at me. “For dinner, I mean. If you eat food, anyway. I’m not offering up my neck or my leg for you. Ro’s a really good cook.”
For a moment, it’s all I can do not to gape at him like he’s speaking a foreign language. He’s inviting me to stay. To be a part of this noise-filled chaos.
I glance at Silver, who has Roscoe wrapped around her back, and she laughs joyfully, trying to buck him off, the expression lighting up her face. Do I want to stay here or head back to my silent life? My quiet office, safely behind the tinted glass.
It’s a no-brainer.
I slip off my suit jacket and hand it carefully on a hook beside the door.
