Page 30 of Love Immortal

Twenty-Nine

I envy Dacian’s ability to keep a straight face, because he barely reacts to my being in his class on Monday. As always, he looks like an aloof mystical shadow, if shadows wore stylish silk blazers and could quote classics in their sleep.

Maybe— maybe —there’s a ghost of a smile on his lips when he sees me. But I might just be deluding myself. After he scans the room to see who’s here, he breaks into a lecture about The Picture of Dorian Gray , and I…I’m just really glad I’ve read it before. Despite my honest attempts to pay attention to the words coming out of his mouth, all I can think about is, well, Dacian’s mouth. It’s absolutely maddening. I don’t make a peep when he asks the class a question. It’s too risky, attracting attention. What if my gaze lingers on him and someone notices? What if I blurt out something inappropriate? I feel dazed, my thoughts spinning round and round…

I don’t know how I survive the lecture, and it takes all my willpower to go straight to the exit afterward. But even then, I can hardly banish him from my thoughts. The rest of the week is pure torture. Thinking that it might be easier to stay sane if I keep my distance from him, I avoid the section of Kinnell Hall where his office is. But I quickly discover how unhelpful that strategy is. Not seeing him makes it infinitely worse. I miss the velvety sound of his voice, the hypnotizing, bottomless depths of his eyes, his hands on me. He’s constantly on my mind. To make things worse, I can’t recall any of my dreams, or if he visited them.

When Friday night finally comes, I can’t take it anymore. We made no plans to meet again when we last parted. But Dacian did give me his phone number. For emergencies , he said. Well, I guess this is one.

Feeling like a criminal who might get caught at any moment, I walk to the phone at the end of my dorm’s hallway and dial. It seems to ring forever, and my heart thuds impatiently until?—

“This is Dacian Bathory. Who am I speaking with?”

“Hi,” I breathe.

There’s a long pause on the other end of the line. I don’t think he was expecting me to call. But I need to see him. Besides, after my talk with Fiona, I’ve realized I still lack some crucial information I need to help him find his journal. Before Dacian can find some excuse to hang up and push me away, I say, “So, about those driving lessons…”

Not even half an hour later, Dacian greets me from his doorway, looking like he still can’t believe I have seriously suggested this. But serious I am.

“Got your keys?” I ask. I can barely contain a grin at how ruffled this gets him.

“Yes,” he says, voice dead as a tomb.

But he follows me to his Jaguar without a squeak of protestation. Either he legitimately wants to get better at driving, or he really wanted to see me too. Whichever it is, I can’t help feeling excited at the prospect of taking a night ride with him.

Under my careful supervision, Dacian drives on the highway for a while, heading north, away from Camden and possible witnesses. The night breeze flows through the open windows, and the radio is playing “Just Like Heaven” by The Cure. He’s still intense and quiet, but I like this, being with him even if we don’t say anything. For the first time since Sunday, I feel calm and at peace, like a lost satellite that has finally found its orbit.

Eventually I suggest we get off the highway and take the deserted country roads winding through the mountains, not aiming for any particular destination. Maybe it’s the darkness or the absence of traffic, but slowly Dacian relaxes. At one point I even catch him zoning out.

“You know I have no idea where we are,” he points out after some time. It’s been a while since we passed a settlement or even a farm house.

“Oh. Do you have a map?” I should’ve checked before we went off into the wilderness. But Dacian only gives me a confused look. It has probably never occurred to a creature like him that getting lost in the mountains might be dangerous. “Let me check,” I offer as he pulls over. Luckily, I find a current road atlas stuffed in my seat’s back pocket. Dacian might be far removed from such trivialities as land navigation, but whoever bought his Jag was more practically inclined.

After studying the maps for a few minutes, I’m pretty confident I can get us out of here, but when Dacian asks if I’m ready to go, I hesitate. The mountains are cold but peaceful. Through the open window I can hear the night sounds of the woods—the rustling of leaves, the distant hooting of an owl. This place is perfect for a private discussion.

“Actually, I have more questions,” I say.

Dacian heaves a sigh. “I should have expected as much.” A little resigned, he leans back in his seat, seemingly settling in for the long haul. “Go on. Ask.”

I nod. “About vampire food?—”

Immediately, Dacian tenses. “Why would you need to know that?” he asks, guarded. Honestly, I suspected he wouldn’t be too enthused to talk about it. He sounded evasive when I asked him if he was hungry when he was making breakfast. But still, I didn’t expect this reaction.

“It’s the main difference between humans and vampires, and it’ll be easier to help you find your journal if I understand it,” I say, treading extra carefully. “Like, how often do you eat and how much?”

It seems that question is the exact wrong thing to ask, because Dacian’s expression frosts over. “I fail to understand the relevance of this. Next question.” He folds his arms and pointedly doesn’t look at me.

Why is he giving me the cold shoulder? It’s not like I don’t know what he eats; any illusions about that evaporated into thin air when I saw him bite Eric. I have to suppress the shiver that comes with the memory. Blood was spouting out of Eric’s neck like a crimson fountain. There’s no erasing that from my mind.

“Dacian, it is relevant,” I insist gently. “You mentioned that those who stole your journal haven’t finished the ritual yet, but do they still have to eat in the meantime, or can they abstain? Blood isn’t something you can grab from a grocery store. Maybe we can find them if we figure out where their supply comes from.”

There is a long silence, long enough for me to worry that I haven’t convinced Dacian to talk. But just before I try again?—

“That is a fair point,” he admits with great reluctance. It takes several more moments for him to elaborate. “Their full powers won’t manifest until they complete the ritual, but the moment they partook of the blood of the first sacrifice, they became vampires. They must eat blood to survive. Hunger is the great equalizer, Jonathan. It does not matter whether you’re human, vampire, or wolf—when you’re hungry, it’s all you can think about.” His gaze turns distant when he says that, making me wonder just how much time he spent starving while locked up in that box for ninety years . “ I thought I was in hell” echoes in my mind.

“But you don’t need a lot to survive,” Dacian continues. “Just like with humans, your need depends on how much effort you exert. If you’re not fighting, then a little is enough to get by. However, there are also circumstances that can make you crave it even when you aren’t physically hungry.” Slowly, he reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulls out a small glass vial filled with red liquid.

I gape at him in shock. “Do you just keep that on you all the time?”

“Not always,” he replies. “However, spending this much time around a certain human has proved more demanding on my body than I anticipated. I had to come up with a remedy.”

For a few seconds, all I can do is stare. By “a certain human,” does he mean me ? Suddenly, I remember that dream I had about Dacian walking away from my window, covering his mouth as though afraid I’d see something he didn’t want me to see, and the subsequent class cancellation. Is that why he was gone? Do I give him the munchies?

Mesmerized, I follow the elegant motion of his hand as he uncorks the vial and brings it to his lips. I watch with an indescribable feeling as the liquid travels into his mouth, staining it red. From under his top lip, I can just make out the sharp tips of his fangs as his tongue peeks out to lick up the last remaining drops.

“Ah…” He exhales contentedly and closes his eyes. There’s a red shimmer coming from underneath his eyelashes.

I have to yank my mind out of whatever debauched fantasy it almost tumbles into.

“What does it taste like?” I ask. I don’t mean for my voice to come out so breathless, but my senses are still rattled.

“Like life ,” he says simply.

“Does it…have to be fresh?” I ask awkwardly.

His eyes remain closed when he answers. “Yes. Blood doesn’t keep very long, even with the modern convenience of refrigeration.”

As the implication sinks in, I get nervous. “Where did that vial come from?” I ask, unsure if I actually want to know the answer.

“Local hospital,” Dacian replies, unconcerned. “I can’t draw attention to myself by hunting around here, so I had to find a substitute.”

Oh. Well, it’s a relief to know he didn’t drain some stranger prior to my arrival. I mull this information over. This may be the answer I’ve been looking for. “Could the people who stole your journal be using that as their source as well?”

But Dacian shakes his head. “I watched the place for a few days back in September, but I don’t think that’s how they are getting their supply.”

“Hmm,” I murmur, disappointed. I guess I should’ve known better than to expect an easy solution. “What about…” I pause before continuing. “Does the blood have to be human ?”

Dacian’s eyelashes finally lift, and he glances at me from the side without turning his head. Embers still glow warmly in his irises. “Yes,” he replies.

“But you drank Eric’s,” I say.

“A vampire’s blood will suffice if circumstances demand it. They used to be human, after all. But it’s not as nourishing. And Stockton’s tasted like dirt and fear and a desperate obsequious need for peer approval,” he says, with a grimace like he just ate something rancid.

His accurate assessment of Eric’s character startles me. “Did you get all that from just a few sips of his blood?” I ask.

Dacian sighs, and for a moment, his gaze turns pensive. “You’d be surprised how much you can tell about the nature of people from the taste of their blood. It used to be that men went to battle for life and death, raised their banners in the wind and met the enemy head-on, steel clashing against steel, knuckles bloodied and bruised. You couldn’t only taste it in their veins—you could smell it from miles away, the roaring strength of their spirits. Even the pampered nobility all trained with weaponry and would fight if they were called on to do so. But these days”—he purses his lips with disappointment—“such bravery is but a dusty memory. And why would men remember it when any lowlife with a handful of bullets can slay dozens in one breath? No need to see or remember their faces. The blood of men runs thin this century. Just like their spirits.”

I’ve been itching to know this for a while, so quietly, I ask, “Can you smell mine too?” I almost immediately regret it, though. After all, I, too, have the blood of modern men Dacian holds in such low regard.

His piercing eyes turn to me. “Of course I can, Jonathan. You are human.” He watches me for a long moment, letting those words hang between us.

I swallow and look away.

“Does that frighten you?” he asks.

“No,” I hasten to correct him. “Just…I guess it would be nice if you had the option not to take human life.”

Dacian’s eyebrows crease. “I don’t have to kill to eat if that’s what you’re worried about. Mr. Stockton and I were fighting, and that’s why I had to do what I did. But I can stop short of draining a life completely. And as far as the blood being human, I don’t know what you’ve been reading, but taking an animal’s life is not the morally superior choice you might think it is. I’ve encountered many humans in my lengthy existence, and I can say with certainty that animals are better people than people. For one, they will never stab you in the back. They don’t even understand betrayal.”

“Sorry,” I say, fidgeting uncomfortably. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“No offense taken,” he replies. “Now, let me ask you something.”

I perk up, immediately curious. Compared to his, my life must seem so dull. What can he possibly want to know about me?

“Why haven’t you turned in your midterm essay yet?” he asks.

My face all but bursts into flames. Oh god—that’s the one I was supposed to write on desire and fear. I was embarrassed about the subject, especially knowing that Dacian was going to read it, so I never figured out what to say. But I have pondered over this situation, and I have a solution that will solve more than the essay problem.

“Actually, I’ve been thinking. I don’t want to get you in trouble with the school,” I say hesitantly. “I’d like to drop out of your class. It’s a bit late in the semester, so I’ll need your written permission.”

“Oh,” Dacian says, surprised. Something seems off about him, but I can’t immediately decipher what it is. “I don’t think you need to worry about that, Jonathan.”

“I really do, though,” I object. “I don’t know how it was in the eighteen hundreds, but if anyone catches us together, you’ll be dragged through an ethics investigation and probably lose your job, and I might lose my scholarship. It will be a huge scandal. Besides, it doesn’t feel right that you have to grade me when I’m…when we’re…” I trail off, feeling too self-conscious to name this thing between us. The Jag becomes quiet for a minute, save for the night sounds of the mountains.

“You won’t have to do that,” Dacian finally says. “With any luck, I won’t be the one giving you your grade.”

“Why not?” I ask. Little alarms begin to chime in my mind.

“Because once I locate my journal and deal with those who stole it, I plan to disappear from this town.”

For a moment I just sit there, too shocked to say a word. Dacian is planning to go away. To leave. “But why?” I ask.

“You know why. I have already explained it to you. It isn’t safe for me here.”

“But…but what about your job?” I stammer.

Dacian’s eyebrows arch. “My pretend job teaching literature?”

“It’s not pretend,” I argue, surprising myself with how defensive I sound. “You’re doing great! Your students adore you. Can’t you tell how captivated everyone is when they listen to you?”

He gives me a very unimpressed stare. “By students , do you mean those girls who are obviously infatuated with me?”

Wow, I didn’t know he was aware of that. I always thought he brushed it off as something not worth his attention. “Fiona isn’t,” I say. “She definitely doesn’t have any romantic designs on you.”

“Are you quite certain?” he asks flatly.

“Yes, I am,” I say, my voice starting to teeter on the edge of hysteria. Why are we talking about this? This isn’t important. This isn’t life or death. “You’re changing the subject,” I point out.

He doesn’t respond, and I look away, unable to face him anymore. As seconds tick by in silence, I stare at the Jag’s dashboard with its neat black dials and white numbers, their lines going blurry in my vision. My world is crumbling. He’s leaving. He’s leaving me.

“Jonathan,” he says finally. “You know why I cannot stay here like this.”

My throat quivers despite my effort not to cry in front of him. I know. Of course, I know. But knowing and accepting are two separate things, aren’t they? And accept I cannot. My thoughts spiral. I’m going to be left alone again. Alone with the ghost of a memory, with a love no one can share with me or even understand, with a void instead of a heart. If I have to go through that again, no old books, no letters, no moving to a different state can save?—

“ Jonathan ,” he says again. There’s movement in my peripheral vision, and a hand reaches out to touch my hair, lightly brushing a lock behind my ear. “Can we please not talk about this right now? You asked me before where I most wanted to go. A long time ago, I wanted to see the world; that is true. But things have changed. The world has changed. Ever since I escaped imprisonment, all I’ve been trying to do, every moment of every day and every night, is reassemble the pieces of my scattered existence. My body, my estate, my memories, my journal. I haven’t had a thought to spare for what comes next. What is my place in all of this? Where do I fit in in this new century? I simply haven’t decided. That is the truth. There is no need to descend into gloom.”

His voice is unusually warm. He knows I’m upset, so he’s suddenly offering me honesty. But how can I believe it? After all, he hasn’t said he’ll stay.

Still, as his thumb slides from my ear down my neck, drawing small circles just above the collar of my sweater, a petting kind of gesture, I make myself face him. His eyes are dark again, the blood-glow dissipated; his proud jawline is illuminated by the silver of moonlight. He’s breathtakingly gorgeous. Immortal, powerful…and still running away, afraid .

I’ve told him that I’m not that other Jonathan, that I’d never betray him the way he did—and I meant every word. But can I convince Dacian it’s okay to stay? To trust me? To not hide from the world?

Can I be enough ?

My heart curls in my chest and shudders with a thump. If he can hear it, he doesn’t say.

Time keeps ticking, away and away and away. I lean into his touch, needing reassurance, something to hold on to so I won’t break into pieces. I kiss him. Even if it’s just for this moment and not for keeps, I let his tongue make a home in my mouth. And if I’m a little desperate when my hands pop the buttons of his jeans, he doesn’t mention it and doesn’t stop me. His fingers weave their way through my hair as I take him into my mouth.

In this world of shadows, Dacian is my anchor. If he disappears, I will become unmoored. Lost in the darkness without the light of his eyes to guide me, I may never find myself again.