Authors: Lydia Michaels
“Your thoughts about
sheep are offensive. They are for wool.”
“Huh, your presence in
my head is offensive.”
They continued in
silence. Over a gradual incline came a view of more houses. They were all
dated, nothing like the developments that littered the world now. They also
lacked the ‘connect the dots’ strings of wires communities were typically laced
up with for technology.
Small wheels pulled
through little ponds and she knew that had something to do with energy, but
really didn’t understand the particulars too well. Nor did she care. She wasn’t
staying here.
She spotted a man
working and anxiousness spiked in her belly. She needed to make friends. She
needed to appeal to someone on the farm to help her come up with better
options.
“I do not want you
speaking to other males.”
She scowled at him, but
said nothing. Were all the men on the farm as dated as Christian? Did he
realize how
bass ackwards
his views of women were?
“I am old, Delilah. I’ve
seen many variations of social living throughout my lifetime and I know my
preferences. You need not concern yourself with what other men want, only what
your mate wants.”
Her jaw tightened. “And
what about you, Christian? Do you plan on concerning yourself at all with what
your
mate wants?”
His lips twitched. They
continued to walk, their steps leading them into a more communal part of the
farm. “I am very concerned about your wants and would like nothing more than to
meet your needs.”
“Oh, I just bet you
would,” she grumbled.
Dirty Amish pervert.
Several minutes passed
without a peep from either of them. This guy was the vampyre equivalent of her
spouse. She sighed.
“That is the bishop’s
house.” Christian pointed. “He is the leader of our order, so to speak.”
It was all very
cult-like. “Uh, as far as any crazy rituals go, just count me out. I’m not into
converting to anything or participating in any sacrifices…or being a
sacrifice.”
He frowned. “We do not
sacrifice living things. We believe all of God’s creatures are to be valued. I
think perhaps your understanding of Amish culture is skewed. I will get you
some books to help correct your interpretation of our beliefs.”
Her lips firmed. The
tickertape in her head of ways he was pissing her off was quickly running out
of paper. Of course the fault was with
her
beliefs. And of course he
wouldn’t take the time to just have a conversation about his culture. No! He
would educate her in the most removed way possible. Talk about a telling trait.
When she was thirteen
she got her period. Her grandmother was out of town and her grandfather was the
only adult at the house. She told him and he looked terrified. An hour later he
returned with a brown bag and handed it to her. “The directions are on the
box,”
he’d said. Apparently, enlightening women about the laws of nature
was a deficiency in all species among the male gender, because Christian was
handling her orientation to Amishhood and the secret world of the supernatural
with about as much tact.
When her grandmother had
returned from her trip she’d brought Delilah some tea and a stitched rice pack
that could be heated as a heating pad for cramps. They had a long talk about
the ‘joys’ of being a woman and laughed long and hard about many male
shortcomings. For some reason, picking on men in that moment made it easier to
accept the injustices that came with being female.
A fucking rib indeed.
She and her Nanna had a
long running joke that went,
and on the sixth day he created man…That
God…what a kidder.
She missed her Nanna.
“Can you introduce me to
some of the women on the farm?”
Christian looked at her.
His eyes showed a bit of sadness and distrust. He caught her hand and stopped
walking. Her initial reaction was to pull her hand away, but he only tightened
his grip.
“I am sorry if I
seem…detached. It is not my intention, Delilah. I am only trying to help. I am
a solution-oriented sort of male and I am used to working problems out in a
concise manner, involving as little emotional trappings as possible. I will try
to adjust my way of thinking now that I have a female to consider.”
Wow. She picked up on
his intention to make the situation a bit more palatable, but by his last word
he made it worse. “I’m not a pet you
have
, Christian. And don’t do me
any favors. You make it sound like your shortcomings are mine. You think, because
I’m a female I’m prone to ‘emotional fits’ or however your chauvinistic brain
would put it. The problem isn’t with me being a shrinking violet of a female.
It’s with you being an arrogant, pigheaded male. I asked you a simple question
and you manage to insult me with your longwinded answer. Why don’t you do us
both a favor and stop snooping around in my thoughts? Most of them are over
your head anyway.”
She turned and marched
off, not intending to wait for his escort. Fuck him and his ignorant opinions
of supremacy.
Delilah stilled as her
mind snagged on a strange heart wrenching sound in the distance. What was that
noise? It was faint. So faint, she had to strain to hear it and pinpoint the
direction it came from. She heard it again and her body automatically pivoted,
taking her in that direction. She was suddenly running.
“Delilah?”
She ignored Christian’s
call, her only focus the faint cry of distress that pulled her deeper into the
wooded area to the north and away from their intended path. He called for her
again, but she kept moving. The cries became easier to focus on once she was
under the shade of the tall pines.
Her feet moved swiftly
over the layer of fallen pine needles, shots of emerald, evergreen, and
piercing shards of sunlit blue blurred at her peripheral. Her heart raced as
she zeroed in on the weak cry and nothing else registered as she moved faster
than she had ever moved in her life.
* * * *
Christian watched as
Delilah disappeared into the woods. At first his heart sank, thinking she was
running from him once again, but then something in her outpouring worry told
him she was not running
from
something, but
to
something,
something in need.
He gave chase, careful
not to interfere. Holding back a distance, he was quite impressed with her
burst of speed. It was as though she did not realize the immortal abilities she
was displaying.
She stilled, head
turning left, then right. Christian waited. Her head quirked to the side, eyes
closed, ear tilted toward the canopy above, and then she was off again. He
followed.
Delilah crashed down to
her knees, careless of the bush creating little cushion for her landing. He
gradually approached.
Her shoulders rounded as
she leaned forward to the ground, tiny mumbles of compassionate words slipping
past her lips. He frowned, not understanding the sudden change in her. And then
he saw it.
The small, green warbler
lay on its side in a bed of needles and carnivorous debris, singing perhaps its
last song. Delilah cupped her palms and gently scooped the injured bird up. Its
soft wings fluttered weakly and its beady black eyes bulged with panic as she
drew it close. The tiny heartbeat raced like a soft bouncing pebble in his
ears.
“It’s okay. I have you,”
she whispered, drawing the small burden to her heart and protectively warming
it. It must have fallen from the nest.
The underbrush crunched
beneath his boots as he stepped close. Delilah’s lashes rose as she looked up
at him from her knees. Her gaze was tear filled and her emotions—grief,
sympathy, fear—were screaming at him. The bird was dying.
“He’s hurt,” she
whispered.
Christian nodded
silently, watching her curious outpouring of desire to help the small creature.
It was the cycle of life. Some creatures lived, while the weaker usually died.
It was inevitable. To be sad for such happenings, was understandable, but not
to the degree of sorrow he was interpreting from his mate.
Wanting to offer some
degree of comfort, he softly said, “Perhaps it was God’s plan, Delilah. We all
must die sooner or later.”
She shot him a scathing
glance as if his words were insensitive in the bird’s presence. It chirped and
she petted its tiny gray head with her thumb. Glancing back at the fledgling,
she whispered, “You’re not going to die.”
His mate was a
compassionate female indeed. Jealousy shot through him, as she gently caressed
the animal with such affection. She did not touch him that way.
Its feathered belly
worked as it quickly breathed, panicked in those last moments of life. A tear
rolled down Delilah’s ivory cheek. It was a losing battle and he hated that he
could not save her from the sad fact of life. But perhaps she needed to see the
unfortunate truth, perhaps it was God’s plan to give her some small lesson. He
waited.
Frantically, the tiny
bird’s lungs worked. Its beak opened, cries growing silent, and then it
stilled. A broken sob ripped from Delilah’s throat as she cradled it to her
breast. Her shoulders hunched and she wept.
Christian could not bear
the sight of her mourning the small creature. Her emotions were tangible and so
incredibly sad. He lowered himself to the ground and gently pulled her to him.
She only resisted a moment and then allowed him to comfort her. He recognized
that
he
needed to comfort her in that moment perhaps more than she
needed the comfort.
“It is all right,
pintura.
We all have our time. It is life.”
“He was only a baby,”
she cried, pressing her face into his neck.
Christian ran his hand
gently over her hair and soothed. She never released the creature and he
wondered if they would have to perform a burial for the tiny bird. He sighed,
thinking farm living could become an endless trial of emotion and loss for his
mate if this was how she dealt with the laws of mortality.
She grew quiet and
rested her face on his shoulder for a while. A small hiccup of sound escaped
her throat. She pulled away, almost urgently, and he released her. Sitting back
on her heels, she gently uncapped her hands. The warbler lay still in the
tender bed of her palm, lifeless, and growing cold.
Delilah gasped and he
frowned. Eyes wide, she stared at the dead bird.
“Delilah, we can—”
“Shhh… Do you hear it?”
She gasped again then
shut her eyes and drew in a long, fortifying breath. Her fingers coasted over
the fledgling’s breast and unexpectedly a wing twitched. Christian stilled. It
was dead. He had sensed its last breath.
The rapid tapping of its
little heart abruptly beat to life and the smile on his mate’s face was perhaps
the most breathtaking sight he’d ever witnessed in his entire life. What was
happening?
Small beady eyes came to
life. Her fingers coasted over the broken wing and the bird righted itself in
her palm. This went against all laws of nature. He looked at her fingertips.
Had she somehow given the bird life with her blood? Was that even possible?
She laughed and kissed
the smooth gray head of the warbler then raised her arms high and the bird
miraculously flew from her grip, swooping low under the trees then shifting,
building up speed and zeal as it disappeared into the forest.
They watched it go, a
watery smile on her face and a look of shock on his. Her joy at resurrecting
the broken animal was palpable and potent. He simply stared at her, amazed.
When the bird was gone
she faced him. “That was awesome.”
He said nothing.
“Finally, a vampyre
trick worth something.”
Christian shook his
head. “Delilah, I am not quite sure what you just did, but that is not a
mannerism I have seen before.”
“What do you mean?”
“Death is part of life.
We cannot interrupt it. I do not know how you resurrected that warbler, but…”
“I couldn’t let it die.
It was just a baby.”
“But how did you bring
it back to life?”
She shrugged. “I don’t
know. I thought it was a vampyre thing. I have to admit, I’m sort of
unimpressed with your species so far.”
He grunted in surprise.
“Unimpressed?”
“Well, yeah. You can’t
fly. You can’t turn into a bat—”
“Why would one want to
turn into a bat?”
“Well, maybe not a bat,
but a wolf would be cool, or a bear, or—oh! A dinosaur! That would be badass.”
He blanked his
expression and worried over his mate’s mental stability. He would ask Eleazar
about the healing and see if the bishop had ever seen an immortal possess such
a discipline. Until then, he would say nothing about her other issues.
“What do you say we
continue on our way?”
She nodded, all the
emotion of the past few minutes had evaporated. She jumped to her feet and
turned. “Okie dokie.”