Page 11 of Vampires of Eden

I pause, deflated at the mention of Oliver and the fact that he’s leaving tonight. The reality that I’m not going to see him. Maybe not ever again. I haven’t even responded to his text messages from last night.

The familiar tightness constricts my chest and throat, but I force it down. I am not going to cry in this hallway.

“I’m not lying,” I say tightly.

Raphael makes doe eyes at me as he relinquishes the keys. “Just tell me where you’re going.”

“I already did,” I repeat, turning and grabbing the handle to the garage door. “Out for a drive. I’ll be back shortly, alright? You don’t need to worry.”

Stepping through and leaving Raphael behind, I check my watch again. 3:50. That conversation cost me five extra minutes.

My destination is just outside of a little town called Nantshire, which is thirty-minutes away from the main city and toward the western shore. I’ve done this drive three times now, and I really enjoy it. Initially, I went to see Oliver just after he’d escaped from a literal dungeon. The second time was to have a preliminary meeting of sorts.

The landscape of Eden is beautiful. I complain about the culture of my home aristocracy—like any native to anywhere does. But I can also appreciate and revel in its good points.

We have spacious lavender fields and vineyards backdropped by craggy mountains. Summer brings an array of luscious green trees sprinkled all throughout our cities, towns and even into the rolling hills. Everywhere you look, whether it’s a humble cottage in the village or a stone building in the city, the scene is dotted with trees, flowers and plants. Ivy vines trailing ancient brick structures. Colorful bursts of hydrangea, lilies or geraniums lazily wafting in the breeze.

As I navigate the winding road, the woodlands are barren and lightly dusted with snow because we’re in the final weeks of winter. There’s an austere beauty here. The exoskeleton of almost every tree is exposed, while the conifers are powdered with a soft layer of pure white frost blanketing their needles.

Roland and Kathryn’s house sits alongside a narrow dirt road—the kind where only one car can traverse the lane at a time. The property is pretty far from the main road and village, and is encircled by towering trees. Like a secret hiding place deep within the forest.

Pulling up just beside Roland’s car in the gravel driveway, I’msurprised to see a second vehicle. A white delivery van with no distinctive markings. Maybe they got a second car since our last meeting?

I lean, then glance up through the windshield. The view of the two-story home is like something out of a child’s storybook. Mossy awnings hang from the enchanting river stone façade along the lower level, while the upper-level features multiple sets of framed, double-arched windows.

For all this, the house could be in much better shape. The paint is visibly peeling from the white frames of the windows and doors. And despite its initial “earthen” charm, the river stones are in desperate need of a power wash.

Curious, I crack my window. It’s nearly silent. The only sounds are the clear, cheerful echo of birdsong and the gentle white noise of a rushing stream somewhere nearby. Winter silence.

This place feels like a slice of heaven. Tucked away from the ostentatious glamor of Central Eden. Immune from the pressures of mating, money and power struggles. Out here, it’s just nature. Peace and quiet.

I check my watch again. 4:22. I have a little time, so I steel myself, take a deep breath of the damp, frosty air filtering through the cracked window, then grab my phone from the cupholder. With a few taps, the speaker is activated as the line rings.

Once. Twice. Three times.

“Hello?”

My stupid heart skips from the mere sound of his voice. Practically leaps. Even after all this time and everything that’s happened.

I’m such a fucking idiot.

Swallowing, I shake my head to get it together. “Hey, sorry I didn’t respond yesterday. It’s been busy.”

“That’s okay,” Oliver says too loudly. There’s a lot of rustling and commotion in the background. “I just thought—well, wehadn’t spoken at all since you connected me with Sylvie. I messaged you a couple times, but you didn’t respond.”

Those familiar, disturbing emotions rise up and overcrowd my chest, throttling me. Guilt and shame. Failure, rejection and grief. It’s like they’re always there, ready to swallow me whole at a moment’s notice. Like a flash flood or a devastating avalanche.

I don’t respond to his messages because it’s too hard.

I have to let him go, right?

I can’t keep holding on like this and… hoping. It’s idiotic and pointless.

Smashing my palm against my forehead, I clench my eyes shut. Keep it together, Alexander. “You did. I’m sorry, Ollie. It’s… I’ve been busy. Are you at the airport now? Is everything all set?”

“Yeah, I’ve gone through security and am heading to my gate, I think? I went throughsecurity, Alexander—at an airport! I’ve never been in an airport until today!”

In a curious turn, I chuckle. The tumultuous flood inside my chest ebbs. “I think you’re probably the only creature throughout history to be excited about airport security.”