I talked.
I whispered. I yelled. I cried. I cried so much I felt I couldn’t breathe. When that happened, Dalziel made me a mug of tea and held my hand while I drank it, or fetched a wrung-out cloth with which he bathed my forehead and the back of my neck. At some point he offered me food, but I could only just force the tea down to soothe my parched throat and didn’t dare ingest anything that might choke me or that I’d throw back up in the middle of another sobbing fit.
I dozed. The armchair became a bed as I drifted off, my eyes swollen and scratchy from weeping. When I woke, I realised Dalziel had replaced the tear-stained cushions with cool, smooth cotton pillows that cradled my aching head as I slept. He urged me to my feet and showed me to a bathroom laid out with fresh clothing and a heap of fluffy towels as well as all my toiletries. I hadn’t even noticed he’d moved my bag.
When I was clean, he produced a mug of soup, a litre of cola, and an assortment of individually wrapped snacks: portions of cheddar and crackers, little pots of chopped-up fruit, miniature chocolate bars. He switched on a wall-mounted television and cartoons played softly in the background, old familiar favourites from my childhood that didn’t require any energy to watch, but gave me something to focus on apart from the sorry state I was in.
I couldn’t even work out what time of day or night it was. I supposed it didn’t matter. I was purging what felt like my entire body, soul and all. Time was irrelevant. I dozed again, replete and utterly worn out. Then, I talked more, and cried more, and drank more liquid he pushed in my direction.So much fucking talking and crying.
When I woke the next time, the cycle started over. I wanted to protest, but some tiny, locked-away part of me knew I already felt a bit lighter. This was brutal, but I suspected, also effective. Without conscious effort, I began blurting out random statements about my time in care, my various foster parents, even bloody Daz and what I now realised were his constant micro-aggressions. AndthenI cried about my mum. Fuck my life, did I cry. Apparently, twenty-three-year-old James was still a scabby-kneed toddler who wanted his mummy.
This time, Dalziel hauled me into his arms and held me as I sobbed, murmuring words of comfort and singing me songs that sounded to my muzzy ears like lullabies in a foreign language. I no longer cared he was a terrifying vampire capable of tearing me to pieces, or draining me in moments. He wasn’t Edwin’s formidable sire, or even a comparative stranger with a tendency to use long words and a poker face that could probably win him a fortune in casinos across the world. He was simply the man who held me while I fell apart, and the father figure I’d never had. His skin was cool, but his embrace was every parental assurance I’d ever craved as well as every one I didn’t know I needed.
The next time I awoke, I was in a bed. A quick check confirmed I was still fully dressed. Another tick in the rapidly-growing fan club of one Dalziel Millar. It seemed consent really was the hill he would die on. I rolled onto my side and blinked at the clock handily placed on a small side table. Then I eased myself upright and popped the tab on the can of lemonade next to it, my throat rejoicing in every lukewarm gulp.
Heavy curtains at the window glided open on a silent rail, revealing a blackout blind. I levered that up to discover it was evidently six p.m., not a.m. as I’d mistakenly assumed. This room overlooked a small garden, mostly paved, with a high fence surrounding it, and an assortment of conifers in pots dotted about. It was immaculate. Of Dalziel there was, of course, no sign.
I pissed and freshened up in the bathroom, then padded downstairs on shaky legs to find him. He met me in the hallway.
“Breakfast?” He didn’t wait for me to answer and headed into the kitchen. “Please, sit down. I assume you’d like tea?”
While I sat sipping at my drink, he cooked me a full breakfast, plated it up, then set it in front of me. “I won’t push, but you’ve eaten very little since you’ve been here. Your strength will be depleted, so if you can manage most or even all of this, it would do you good. I could toast you some bread too, if you’d like?”
I eyed the feast. “Maybe not right now,” I croaked. “This looks amazing.”
He sat opposite me. “I cook for my staff at times. Or for visitors. It helps put folk at ease when they see I’m not ‘just’ a vampire.” He took out a mobile and began typing. “If you feel able and would like to go home tonight, I think you should. Edwin has been blowing up my phone constantly. He and Trace are really not complete without you.”
God help me, but I felt fresh tears pooling in my eyes at his softly spoken declaration. It surely wasn’t possible I had any liquid left inside me by this point.
“Yeah,” I breathed. “That would be good.”
He nodded and went back to typing, his fingers lightning-fast on the screen. “Sorry, but I must beg your forgiveness while I take care of some business.”
I gave my full attention to the food in front of me. Amazingly, even though I felt like I’d been dragged through a gravel pit naked, every centimetre of me raw and hyper-sensitive, I was hungry. Starving, in fact. I ate methodically, clearing the mound of grilled and fried goodies until all that remained were smears of egg and tomato. Dalziel refilled my mug without my saying a word and I emptied that too.
Then, I laid my head on the table and gave vent to a sigh that seemed to come from my toes. “God, I’m tired.”
A soft huff of what might have been amusement. “Don’t try to rest there. Why not sit in the garden? I took the liberty of taking the small sofa outside last night. If you remove the protective cover, you could doze in the fresh air in comfort. You enjoy sunshine, don’t you?” He sounded pained at the idea.
A giggle erupted from me without warning. Dalziel raised one thick dark eyebrow. “I can’t imagine not wanting to be outside in the sun,” I said hastily. “I know obviously youcan’t,but don’t you miss it?”
He shuddered. “Heavens, no. How cruel would it be to condemn us to an eternity of longing for something that would kill us? The compulsion to stay in the shadows is one that arrives with the rebirth into vampirism. Likewise, the urge to drink only blood. Although,” his mouth twisted in a wry grin, “there have been some exceptions over the years since my own turning when I’ve witnessed some attempts to defy our nature by consuming human food and drink. Usually when some poor bastard has been turned against their will and their mind hasn’t caught up with their new reality. It’s not pretty watching someone heave their innards almost inside out.” He appeared to hold back a second shudder and gave me a cheerful smile. “So, would you like to nap in the sunshine?”
I had no intention of sleeping, but replete from a magnificent meal, and shattered beyond belief from the spilling of every lastthought I’d ever had in one long purging of my brain, I nodded off before I had time to appreciate the simple lines and stark beauty of Dalziel’s garden.
Later, when it was properly dark and Dalziel had pushed some more tea down me, I finally felt together enough to pack my belongings. It didn’t take long. I found Dalziel hefting the sofa back inside and ran to offer my help. He accepted with a grateful grin. “It’s not the weight so much as the awkward shape. Your taking one end makes it so easy.” I didn’t think any part of it could be covered by the word ‘easy’, but what did I know? I wasn’t a vampire.
Speaking of which…
“Do you think Edwin’s okay? He hates bagged blood.” I felt a tug of guilt low in the pit of my belly at the thought Edwin might have had to go out to feed on a stranger — oh, God,jealous!! —or worse, he’d been staying at home and starving since I’d been gone.
Dalziel eyed me strangely. “Do you not recall your discussion with him before you left? He made sure to get your permission to feed from Trace. He didn’t want to use a stranger unless absolutely necessary.”
I wracked my brain. Nope, nothing. Possibly not surprising considering the fog I’d been existing in lately. Next question, how did I feel about Edwin drinking Trace’s blood? Remarkably okay, it seemed. I wasn’t exactly thrilled by the prospect, becauseIwas Edwin’s shadow and feeding him was my job. But the thought of him being thirsty and unhappy when there was someone who could give him what he needed, moreover someone I trusted, sat badly with me. I did trust Trace, I realised. There could be no one better to keep my vampire fed in my absence.
“Glad to hear it.” Oh, I’d said that last part out loud. I felt my cheeks heat, but I didn’t overly care; Edwin was mine and I was his.
However, another thought occurred to me. “Dalziel, you haven’t gone out since I’ve been here, have you?”
