Page 21 of Love Immortal
Twenty
I wake with a start.
My room is dark. My clock radio reads 2:57 a.m. Wow, I slept through the entire afternoon and dinner. At least I didn’t have work—it would’ve been a shame to miss it. I guess this is what happens when you force yourself to stay awake for days. I rub my eyes. My body feels like I’ve been hit with a baseball bat. It’s also freezing in my room. Slowly, I shift my gaze to the window—it’s open again. I feel a shiver at the top of my spine. I roll out of bed to investigate. Everything is quiet outside. Patchy gray clouds obscure the moon. The back courtyard seems empty at this hour, as expected, except for…
A shadow catches my attention, a shadow shaped like a man, standing just outside the dome cast by the streetlight underneath my window. My chest flutters. I can’t see the visitor clearly, but I know with undeniable certainty that it’s him . It has to be him.
I don’t hesitate; I’ve already made my decision. I jam my arms into the sleeves of my sweater and hurry outside.
By the time I reach the streetlight, Dacian is walking in the direction of the woods. He glances over his shoulder once but doesn’t beckon me or stop walking—it’s an open invitation. So I follow the black angles of his shoulders at a distance, through the grassy courtyard, past the baseball field, and onto the trail leading to the woods. It grows darker the farther from campus we move, and colder too. The air comes out of my mouth in little white puffs. Fallen leaves crunch under the soles of my high-tops, the only sound breaking the eerie silence around us as Dacian’s walking seems to make no noise.
Just as the darkness becomes too thick for my eyes to make out shapes anymore, Dacian stops.
“Haven’t I told you, Mr. Evergreen, that it is dangerous to walk alone at night?” He doesn’t face me, and from his tone alone, I can’t tell what he’s thinking. Is this a warning to leave now while I still can? Or is it a reminder that I never should’ve come in the first place?
“You did say that,” I admit as my heart gives a jittery thump. But I can’t run from him anymore, no matter how much I wish I could convince myself otherwise. I’m in too deep.
Slowly, he turns to face me. “Aren’t you scared of what might happen to you if you stay?”
At that moment, the shroud of clouds shifts, revealing a sharp crescent of the growing moon, the hungry moon. It shines through the web of craggy branches overhead to cast Dacian’s features in pale light, and he…he looks stunning. Like a classic painting meant to immortalize a rare beauty—a true masterpiece, the glory of which will long outlive the artist. Except no renowned museum would feature this painting in its prized collection, would dare to show such blasphemy to its loyal patrons. Because around Dacian’s pupils are two glowing rings of scarlet, a blood-chilling sight to behold.
The air catches in my throat.
He slides closer to me, smooth as a shadow. “Aren’t you afraid of me?” he asks. His steps are so light that even the crunch of leaves on the ground sounds muted, as though he’s barely touching them. A perfect predator, unmatched in his element. I have to force myself to stay in place, and even so, I’m afraid my soul might become untethered and flee my body.
“I am,” I breathe, caught off guard by my own honesty. “I’m terrified of you.”
But my admission does not faze him. He closes the remaining distance between us and leans in, his lips nearly brushing my ear. His breath caresses my skin just like the dream fog. “Then why are you still here, Jonathan ?” he finally asks.
My knees go weak at the sound of my name, and warmth pools in my stomach. He’s never once used it, and now he’s saying it with such gentleness that I want to curl and wrap myself around his fingers. It’s not at all the curse I imagined.
His mouth moves down my neck, hovering just above the pulse point. I don’t know if it’s his supernatural powers or just the effect his proximity has on me, but I have to concentrate to stop myself from swaying.
“Because I—” I swallow, trying to keep the upheaval in my chest contained. “I want to know the truth about you.”
There’s a lengthy pause before he answers. Maybe it’s only my imagination, but I think I hear a deep note of melancholy in his voice. “But you already know it. You’ve figured it all out, haven’t you?”
A wave of dizziness hits me. The impossible theory I concocted after my research—is he admitting it’s true? But it’s just a work of fiction! I want to argue. Nothing more than the author’s invention. But my last-ditch attempt to cling to normalcy doesn’t work because the proof is standing right in front of me in the flesh.
“Are you really Dra—” I start to ask.
“Shh.” His fingers shoot up to cover my mouth—so swift, but at the same time, only the barest of touches. “Don’t say that name,” he whispers, then draws back a little so he can see my face. “It’s Dacian now.”
My eyes widen. He just confirmed my wildest theory, and somehow, that’s not even the most important thing. Not when he’s looking at me like that, standing so close, crimson eyes hooded by his inky eyelashes.
“Dacian,” I whisper back before he has a chance to remove his hand. My lips graze the pads of his fingers, just a little cold from the night’s chill. I can’t help but wish them closer. I can hear my heart thudding in my ears. As scared as I am of the sinister red glow that makes his sharp cheekbones look even sharper, I can’t look away from his eyes and the eerie, beautiful death they promise.
What starts as an idle thought in the back of my mind quickly spins into an uncontrollable desire. I want to kiss his fingers. I want to open my mouth and take them inside. We are alone. No one will see; no one will know. I want to push him down into the leaves and kiss the rest of him. I want, I want, I want?—
Unhurriedly, he lets his thumb slide across my lower lip.
“Thank you,” he says.
For what? I wonder deliriously. For saying his name? I’ll say it as many times as he wishes. I part my lips in silent invitation, waiting, hoping, but his thumb doesn’t dip inside. It moves to the corner of my mouth, then skims down my jawline until it stops on the side of my neck. It rests there along the collar of my sweater, unbearably intimate yet restrained. There are still things to be said and truths to be uncovered. I think Dacian is giving me permission to ask for the answers I want before I lose myself in him. Or maybe it’s a condition I must fulfill before he claims me. Either way, I slog through my brain’s haze, struggling to recall why I wanted to confront him in the first place.
“Did you kill Anita Hernandez?” I ask after some clarity returns to me.
Dacian’s eyebrows crease in confusion. “No,” he replies.
It occurs to me he could be lying, that he could easily mislead me with his mesmerizing power. Yet, with so little distance between us, surrounded by darkness, it’s like we’re inside our own private confessional. So I believe him. He’s already admitted to being history’s most storied vampire; what else is there to hide? Relief starts to wash over me, but I put a dam in its path.
“What about Dr. Kowalski?” I add.
Still frowning slightly, Dacian shakes his head. It seems he didn’t expect that name to come up, either. “I promise I did not harm him. As far as I know, the old man is delighting in his retirement somewhere in the lush Caribbean. Which is a wise choice, considering the generous sum of money he received recently.”
This time, it’s my turn to be confused. Does Dacian mean he bribed Dr. Kowalski to leave his teaching job? Would Dr. Kowalski really have abandoned Camden for a bunch of money and let some stranger take over the Gothic lit course he taught for decades? So much for his loyalty. But I guess I should be happy he’s alive and—more importantly—that Dacian is not as diabolical as I thought.
But I can’t drop my guard just yet. There is one more victim, and that one will be a lot more difficult to explain. “What happened with Eric?” I finally ask.
Dacian is silent for a moment before delivering the brutal blow. “I killed him. As you witnessed.”
I knew what to expect, and I still draw in a sharp breath. “Why?”
Dacian hesitates again before replying, as though deciding how much of the truth he’s willing to give me. “Mr. Stockton…he was dangerous. More than you can imagine. Several months ago he took something from me, something of great value that I need returned to me by any means necessary. That night, I had no choice but to do what I did.”
I don’t try to hide my dismay. Eric? The not-very-bright, uber-rich boy whose favorite response to anything was “Cool, bro”? How could he be dangerous to Dacian?
“I don’t understand,” I say, fighting the instinct to pull away. I don’t know what miraculous explanation I was hoping for, but hearing him justify killing Eric in the horrific way he did—a chunk of flesh missing, blood gushing from the jagged wound—forces me to relive the nightmare of that night. My pulse spikes and my mind starts crawling with anxiety.
“I know it is difficult to believe.” Dacian’s voice cuts through my panic, and I’m instantly reminded of his thumb resting on my neck, now warm from the skin contact. It anchors me in place. “I want you to know,” he continues soothingly, “that it was never my intention to put anyone’s life at risk. Especially yours. And before you ask any more questions, I must warn you that the more you entangle yourself in this matter, the more danger is sure to come your way. If it were up to me, I’d keep you as far away from all of this as possible.” He gives me an intense look like he’s hoping to convince me to back out. But he obviously knows it isn’t that simple. “However, I understand that you’re too stubborn for your own good and that none of my warnings will deter you. Thus, if you truly wish to know, I will not stop you. This Friday, come on a ride with me. You can ask everything then.” He leans in again, his lips nearly brushing the shell of my ear. “But I implore you, my dear Jonathan—until that day, take caution and think things through.”
As he says my name, the shadowy woods begin to ripple around me. I try to open my mouth, but a sudden, overwhelming exhaustion falls over me. I tip forward, my head falling onto Dacian’s shoulder. The last sensation I register is his strong arms embracing me.
I have no memory of getting back to my dorm, but the next morning, I wake up snuggled in my bed, my window shut tightly, and my sweater slung over the back of my chair. It’s like the midnight meeting with Dacian was just a dream.
A dream in which he finally called me by my name.