Page 20 of Love Immortal

Nineteen

I jerk awake to the shrill sound of my alarm clock. Shit, shit, shit. My gaze snaps to its red digits—it’s seven a.m. on Monday. My stomach plunges. I must’ve passed out at my desk reading the final chapters of Dracula . There’s a painful imprint of the book’s edge across my cheek.

How long was I out? I don’t remember resetting the alarm. An hour? Two at most. But that’s enough time for Dacian to have gotten to me. Frantically, I try to remember my dreams, but my head feels full of syrup, thick and sluggish and impossible to think through. I take a deep breath and exhale slowly, trying to subdue my panic. I would remember if he’d come for me, wouldn’t I? My window is closed, and I’m still here, alive.

I touch my neck. Temporary relief floods me when my fingers find no marks on my skin. I give it a thorough examination in the bathroom mirror to be sure, then allow myself to take a hot shower. As my stiff muscles relax a little, dreadful suspicion starts to overtake me. Why didn’t Dacian visit me in my sleep? I left myself vulnerable, and he didn’t take advantage of it. I didn’t see him lurking outside my window either. Could he have left Camden? I doubt that my knowing his secret is enough to scare him off. But then why didn’t he come? Is he playing some twisted mind game? Either way, it’s only a matter of hours before I find out.

I’ve resisted for three days. My nerves are frayed; my brain is scrambled. I’m pretty sure I hallucinated the better part of yesterday. With students starting to return to campus, I felt a little safer, but it made it all the harder to stay awake. Not sleeping for two nights does bizarre things to your brain. I tried to stay coherent, tried to think of a plan to fight back, but still, I have no solution to this vampire problem. I won’t abandon everything I’ve worked so hard for and leave Camden myself. Bleeding to death in his arms would be a better outcome.

And as such, I see no other choice but to confront him.

Despite finally getting some sleep, I feel like I’m stumbling through a haze. I barely hear a word my Latin professor says before he hands us a pop quiz. This will be the first one in my college career that I will fail. But I can’t bring myself to care. Getting a D in Latin pales in comparison to facing an actual vampire in front of a dozen unsuspecting students.

My legs feel like they might deflate when I enter the Gothic lit auditorium two hours later. I can’t help looking at the spot where Eric used to sit. It’s empty. This simple confirmation makes me feel like vomiting. He wasn’t a good person. In fact, he was always awful to me, up to the very last time I saw him in the vault. But he didn’t deserve to die like that.

Fiona frowns when she sees me. “What happened to you? I thought I’d be a zombie after driving all night, but you look like you’ve survived an apocalypse. Are you sick or something?”

Is it really that bad? I guess a nap and a hot shower weren’t enough to erase three nights of terror. “I’m okay. Just had a bad night’s sleep,” I mutter, taking my usual seat next to her. But my voice sounds like a badly scratched record.

Fiona’s brow furrows even more. “I knew I should’ve insisted you stay at my house. Being alone can do a number on a person. You should’ve called.”

My back stiffens. Calling Fiona is the one thing I shouldn’t have done. But I can’t tell her what grave danger it would’ve put her in, especially when a vampire is about to walk into the room—if he comes. I check the clock above the blackboard. Dacian is late, highly unusual for him. A familiar sensation of dread starts to slosh in my gut. “Sorry,” I mumble unconvincingly.

Fiona shakes her head like I’m a hopeless mess. She’s truly concerned about me. I clear my throat to ask her about the wedding. I hope she had a normal fall break that didn’t involve any suspicions that her professor is freaking Count Dracula. But I don’t get the chance because the door finally opens and Dacian strides in.

Despite days of replaying the image of his bloody mouth and wicked crimson eyes, of being terrified he’ll rip out my throat like those wolves in my dream, the first moment I see Dacian again, my heart gives an unexpected jolt. And no matter how much I want to convince myself otherwise, it isn’t out of fear or disgust. For a split second before my rational thinking kicks in, I’m incredibly glad that Dacian is still in Camden, that he hasn’t disappeared into the mist where I’ll never see him again.

Our eyes meet, and my throat clenches. I want to go to him, to be enveloped by his shadow. I must be sick in the head to want him like this. Or maybe he’s making me feel this way, mesmerizing me with his vampire powers. I tear my gaze away from him in a futile effort to stave off whatever influence he has over me—but not before noticing that something about him is amiss today.

I try to steady my breathing as I hear the squeaking of his polished black shoes against the floor. He isn’t walking toward me, I realize. Of course he wouldn’t do anything risky in front of so many witnesses. When I dare to glance at him again, he’s leaning against his desk, chin prideful and high, not even facing me.

“The subject of today’s discussion is monsters, imaginary and real…as they pertain to Gothic literature, that is,” he adds somewhat distractedly. “I hope you’ve all had a chance to review Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde so we can compare it with Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein . It’s often said that we fear what we don’t understand. No other genre capitalizes on those fears more than Gothic literature. Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde and Frankenstein are stories about beings who are perceived as monsters by society. Yet both are created by men and are, therefore, extensions of humanity, an exploration of the darker side of thought made into flesh and blood. Who would like to elaborate on the differences between Frankenstein’s creature and Mr. Hyde?”

As Dacian initiates a discussion about monsters, of all things, he never once looks at me, acting like I don’t exist. Is he mocking me? What the hell is wrong with him? As if the fear of Frankenstein’s creature could compare to seeing a real vampire kill your classmate and then stalk you, invading your dreams and manipulating you into doing as he pleases! Eric’s desk is still empty. Are we going to sit here and pretend that Dacian didn’t murder him? My blood starts to boil. My mouth opens before I consider the consequences of what I’m about to do.

“If you want to talk about monsters, why don’t we talk about vampires?” I demand, my voice rough and loud.

Dacian’s eyes snap to me. His gaze bears the deadly glint of a raised blade, a warning before the strike. But after this past weekend, I don’t know if I have any self-preservation left. I’m worn, frazzled, and pushed to the brink of insanity. I wouldn’t know how to shut up if I tried.

“Speaking of which,” I continue, “why are there no vampire books in our curriculum? Huh, Mr. Bathory? No Carmilla , no Polidori’s Vampyre —and no Dracula , even though it’s one of the most famous Gothic texts. You want to discuss real monsters? Why don’t we talk about that book?”

Dacian’s eyes flare. I don’t miss the tectonic shift that name causes in him. He clenches his jaw.

“That book is not part of our curriculum,” he grits out, his eyes narrowing dangerously before addressing the rest of the class. “Let’s get back to Dr. Jekyll and ?—”

“Why not?” I interrupt. I won’t let him ignore me. Several heads turn in my direction, including Fiona’s. But I don’t care. “It’s a perfect example,” I continue. “That monster imprisons Jonathan Harker, then goes on to lure poor, innocent Lucy to the dark side so she can eat neighborhood children.”

“Mr. Evergreen!” Dacian says sharply.

Everyone is staring now. Everyone except for Eric, whose bloodless corpse is rotting wherever this monster hid it. Maybe it’s not sleeping for three days or being scared out of my mind, but something just snaps in me. “He even tosses a baby to his vampire groupies for them to devour. Probably partook of it himself,” I continue at full volume. “How vile is that? And for what? So he can terrorize a small town and seduce Mina?”

Something flashes in my vision. In an instant, Dacian stands in front of me, looming over me like a black cloud.

“He. Did. Not. Eat. Children.” Dacian’s words are a series of staccato notes of barely contained fury. “And he was never interested in Mina. Or Ms. Westenra. It was never them. Never them .”

His gaze locks with mine, and suddenly, I feel like I’m in the middle of a stormy sea. Water is pouring overboard, and I’m choking. What is this feeling? Sadness, so much grief that I’m drowning in it. Unwanted. I made a mistake. I ruined everything. A torrent of someone else’s anguished thoughts bursts through me. I gasp as though my lungs are filling up with water. He’ll never forgive me. He’ll hunt me. I made a mistake!

Someone’s familiar voice yanks me back to the present. Beside me, Fiona looks aghast.

“Jonathan, what is wrong with you?” she whispers.

I open my mouth, but no words come. My breathing is ragged, and my heart is pounding. Not waiting for my answer, Fiona turns to Dacian. “I’m sorry, Mr. Bathory. Jonathan has been under the weather today. Will you please excuse him?”

Dacian’s tempestuous eyes flick from Fiona to me. Slowly, he backs away. “Yes. Mr. Evergreen, you do not look well,” he says, forcing calm into his voice, but the storm in his eyes is still raging violently. I can feel its echo reverberating inside me. “Perhaps it’s best if you get some rest. Sleep will do you good,” he adds, with a distinct note of pleading in his voice.

That shocks me. I suddenly notice how wrecked he looks, exhausted in a way that shouldn’t be possible for someone like him. Where has he been these past two days? What has he been doing? Just like that, regret pierces me. I feel awful for unleashing that barrage of accusations on him, of saying such cruel things to his face. That is, until his suggestion fully registers with me. Sleep? Is he joking? I want to laugh at this absurdity. I also want to scream at him for thinking he can put me through this, that he can twist my emotions however he pleases. I swear I’ll wrench the truth out of him. Except after that vision, all the fight has gone out of me. I’m dizzy and wiped out.

I don’t gratify Dacian with an answer as I yank my backpack off my chair and run out of the room, Fiona muttering an excuse and hurrying after me.

“Please tell me you’re going to the health center,” she says in the hallway.

“No,” I grit out. The truth is that I have no idea where I’m going. I just need to get away. I can’t think straight around Dacian. That feeling of drowning in despair—what the hell was that? A memory? A hallucination? Or something he wanted me to see, and like an idiot, I let him in again?

Fiona quickens her pace. In a few strides, she passes me and then halts abruptly, blocking my way. “Jonathan Evergreen, you will tell me right this second. What is going on with you?” I flinch at the anger in her words. “You know I care about you. You’re my friend, but that was crazy! Why are you picking fights with our professor?”

A cold vise closes around my rib cage. I feared it would come to this, but I can’t tell her the truth. What if Dacian kills her because of me? I can’t put Fiona in his crosshairs like that. But I must warn her somehow. She’s got no idea what that guy is capable of.

I lean in, afraid someone might overhear me. “Because he’s dangerous, Fiona,” I say in a low voice. “Please keep away from him. For your own good.”

Fiona’s eyes bulge, and she actually laughs. “Dangerous? Jonathan, that’s ludicrous. Are you talking about Mr. Bathory, the coolest freaking professor at this school?”

I grit my teeth. Of course, to Fiona, he’s just a professor—a charming one with impeccable style and a superhuman, photographic memory. If only she knew what kind of monster hides behind that facade. “It isn’t that,” I grunt, frustrated. “He’s not who you think he is.”

“Then who is he?” Fiona demands.

For a long, tense moment, I simply stare at her, unable to utter a word. I can’t answer her question directly. And would she even believe anything I say after the meltdown I just had?

Visibly disappointed by my lack of response, Fiona shakes her head. “I know you guys had a rough start, but I thought you’d cleared it all up. Mr. Bathory even went the extra mile to get you the job you wanted. And you repay him by throwing wild, baseless accusations at him behind his back? That’s wrong, Jonathan.”

My mouth is still clamped shut. Fiona knows nothing about the crimes he’s committed, but there’s no way out of this that wouldn’t endanger her, is there? Perhaps ignorance is the safest option.

“You’re right,” I finally agree, deadly tired. “I was stupid. Staying on campus was a bad decision. I should’ve gone to your place. I’m just…all of this”—I throw my hands out—“the silence and being alone—it got to me. I’m sorry, Fiona. I think I need to take a breather.”

“If you don’t want to see a doctor, you should go back to your room and sleep,” she says, also sounding exhausted and worried. She didn’t sleep much last night either, since she had to drive from Albany after a late flight.

“Yeah. I will do that,” I promise her before we part ways.

She goes back to class, and I stumble back to my dorm.

What am I supposed to do? No one seems to be concerned about Eric being gone. It’s day three, and I’ve yet to hear police sirens. Shouldn’t his friends have reported him missing by now? Has no one noticed he’s gone? For a moment, I wonder if maybe Fiona is right and I’ve lost it. Maybe I hallucinated the whole thing, or it was another one of those disturbing nightmares I’ve had lately…

No, I know what I saw. No matter how surreal, it did happen. I didn’t spend my entire fall break cowering in fear because I made up a bloody vampire. And the way Dacian reacted to my mention of Dracula—that wasn’t just him being ruffled by a student’s rude behavior. What I said struck a chord in him. And while his response wasn’t an outright confirmation of my theory, it only made me believe it more.

But if Dacian is an all-powerful, possibly ancient vampire who commanded kingdoms and killed Eric, why hasn’t he killed me? He’s had plenty of opportunities, even before I witnessed Eric’s murder. I’m alone a lot. I shudder at how many chances I’ve unwittingly given him to target me. He could’ve gained my trust and lured me into the woods the night he read “The Raven” to me. He doesn’t need to drag this out. Yet I’m still here. Why?

An unsettled feeling swirls in my gut, like biting into a fruit that tastes sweet and ripe, only to realize seconds later that it’s rotting and the insides are bursting with maggots. I let him into my dream s, and I enjoyed it. I wanted him there. I wished to feel his nebulous touch on my skin. I check my neck again, feeling stupid, but there are no wounds on it, no scars. Maybe he’s saving me for a special snack. Or he simply enjoys toying with me.

But then I remember his eyes a few minutes ago when I went off about Dracula, the way they flashed with hurt. Was it an act to fool me? Or is there a secret hidden deep in that dark abyss?

I’ve always wished someone would come along and show me the world.

Such a bizarre thing to say, but I don’t think he was lying that day. There was no reason for him to fake vulnerability; I was already hopelessly falling for him by then. So what does he want from me?

Sleep will do you good. I replay the last words he said to me. It was as close to openly pleading as a prideful being like Dacian could get, especially considering we were in a room full of people.

In a daze, I make my way back to my room. My bed looks like the most seductive thing in the world after three nights away from it. I don’t even have the strength to lift the covers. I fall onto the mattress, close my eyes, and let my head sink into the soft embrace of my pillow.

As sleep overtakes me, I realize there’s a good chance I will never wake up again. But there’s simply nothing to do but confront Dacian. Let him come to me this time.