“Hi, Mum,” she began lamely. I smacked my forehead and rolled my eyes. That was a far too open-ended thing to say to your mother. It practically begged for a vicious tongue-lashing.
“What did I say to you?” Mrs. Hunter’s voice was cold and hard, a wonderful match to her hazel eyes. She had certainly changed from the younger woman I had met twelve years ago. Through my alcohol-induced haze, I wondered what had happened to them.
Bronwyn, I could see by her expressive back, was still struggling to say something. Hopefully, whatever she dug up next would be smarter than her last words.
“You told me if I walked out the door I wasn’t coming back.”
Bronwyn’s shoulders sank and her head drooped in dejection. I winced at the tension that must have been flying around in the house before she left. I felt an instant of sympathy for her and tried to push it aside.
This was not my problem.
My guard began to rise, as I sensed what was coming next. I hoped Bronwyn could talk herself through the front door.
“Slut! Nice to see you remembered something I said. Now go and stay with your whore or pimp, whichever you rolled up with this time.
They can look after you. You’re no daughter of mine. Get out and don’t come back, you ungrateful, selfish bitch!”
The door slammed shut, and I winced as Bronwyn’s back stiffened, and then her shoulders sagged and began to hitch.
Oh my God, I thought, knowing what I had to do next. Well, I couldn’t just leave her there, could I? She was a striking young thing, and while clearly not the best daughter ever to walk the face of the earth, not the worst either. Perhaps all her mother needed was to calm down before they talked this through like rational people. In the meantime she needed a place to stay.
I sucked a deep lungful of air and blew it out as I growled and slapped the steering wheel. “Fuck!” I cursed the conscience that wouldn’t let me walk away from her.
I climbed out of the car, leapt over the front gate, and jogged up behind Bronwyn. As my hand touched her shoulder, she whirled and threw herself into my arms. Her tears rained down on my chest.
I sighed as I held her close and stroked her long, silky, blonde hair.
Her tears eased up a bit. Slowly, she calmed herself.
“C’mon.” My voice was soft, and she looked up at me as we went back to my car. We were half-way down the path to the front gate when the light came on, the front door flew open, and a large, heavy object sailed out the door, followed close behind by its friend.
I turned to see her father slam the front door shut. They were more serious than I thought. More serious than needing to spend the night apart and then reconcile.
Stumbling, Bronwyn went back up the path to the bags her parents had packed and thoughtfully deposited out into the front yard.
She sobbed as she collapsed on the ground, trying to find the handles of the suitcases. I drew her back to her feet and into my arms for a brief, comforting hug. “C’mon.”
I slung both suitcases under one arm, then slipped my free arm around her shoulders and guided her back to my car. We left the front gate open. Mr. Hunter could close it himself. His hands were free now, thanks to his recent demonstration of Olympic Suitcase Throwing.
“You can stay with me for a couple of days until you find somewhere else to live.” A couple of days? Where had that come from? I didn’t want her to stay with me at all. She added a complication to my life that I simply did not need.
She encircled her arms around my neck for a quick hug. “Thanks, Crowley.” The relief in her voice was almost palpable. Her green eyes were stressed and miserable, but held a thin thread of relief.
Wonderful, I thought as I helped her into the passenger side. I opened the trunk and threw in her bags, amazed I had the room for them in the sports car.
I could guarantee that I wouldn’t be thanking myself before dawn.
It only took a couple of minutes at the speed I was driving to get to my place. Dawn was sneaking up on us, and I had to get her into bed before the sun forced me into mine. I wasn’t keen on trying to explain my lifestyle to her if it wasn’t necessary. I didn’t doubt for one second she’d be gone fairly quickly to stay with a friend, and I could go back to my comfortable solitary existence.
I punched the button on the remote for the electric gates, willing them to hurry and open. They did so with slow obedience, barely open enough as I drove through with something less than my normal deliberation. They slid shut behind me with a firm rattling of metal as I tore up the driveway quicker than normal, but that didn’t really concern me. I could feel dawn approaching and I didn’t have much time to get to my bed.
I drove the car into the three car garage next to my motorcycle, pleased with my returning co-ordination. The doors rattled down behind us, and I hopped out of the car, barely remembering to undo my seatbelt. My head thumped away, but that seemed to be less as the alcohol in my stomach was slowly banished by my vampire’s body.
Bronwyn was fast asleep again, tears trickling from under her closed eyelids. I’m sure she thought she was having a nightmare, but the reality would come home all too soon, and I thought it best to play along with her subconscious and get her settled.
I opened the car door, and she fell out into my waiting arms. It was enough to wake her up, and she blinked uneasily, and then stared up at me with anguished, red rimmed eyes.
“Where are we?” she asked.
“We’re back at my place, just like I said. Can you stand?”
“Uh.” She got out of the car, tripped over her own feet, and landed on me again. “I guess not. You’ll have to carry me.” She giggled, and I raised an eyebrow.
“Okay.” I scooped her up, and she giggled again. She slipped her arms around my neck.
“You’re the beautiful princess come to carry me away from my evil stepmother.”
“She’s your real mother, and I don’t think so.” A soft snore greeted my words. She had passed out again, hopefully for the last time. I opened the side door of the garage and stepped onto my stone path with Bronwyn cradled in my arms.
I never locked the door to the kitchen, and I opened it now with a little difficulty. I went out of the kitchen up my hallway, lighter now than it normally was during full night. I ran when I hit the living room.
I raced with her up broad, thickly carpeted stairs that were almost painfully bright in the predawn hours. The doors at the top of the stairs were to the master bedroom, and I always left them open. I was glad of that now as I put her on the satin sheets in my king-sized bed. It was comfortable enough, undoubtedly a hell of a lot better than she was used to.
I pulled the remaining shoe off her foot and covered her with a light, summer doona, and cursed under my breath that I couldn’t do more. I abandoned her and raced downstairs, hands covering my eyes.
I stumbled through the kitchen and tore open the door to my basement hideaway. I slammed it shut behind me, barely pausing to lock it. I sagged in relief against the door, thankful I’d made it in time and that I could sleep safely for another day. I straightened and then barreled down the steep, creaky wooden stairs to the door of my bedroom.
I only just made it through the door. There was just enough time for me to slide the lock home, before the sleep of the vampire came over me and I collapsed where I stood.
“Oh my aching head.” I came to my senses, cramped and compressed by my crumpled position by the door. I winced. Even those words were too darned loud for me. I cursed my rotten luck at having run smack into Bronwyn overnight and being forced to consume a drunken boy. Then it hit me.
I’d invited Bronwyn home.
Invited her
home
to my place.
Just what the bloody hell had I been thinking? Had I taken leave of my senses? For crying out loud, I knew I should never have feasted on that drunken boy. I knew what was going to happen to me and I still did it. If only I had walked an extra couple of steps I may have run into one of his friends, and most of them were decidedly less inebriated than he was.
I threw up my hands. Moron.
Fine.
What to do now?
I looked down at my dirty, wrinkled shirt. Well, the first order of business was to clean up. I only ever needed to shower if I got covered in dirt or blood. Most of the time I didn’t need to bother because my body wasn’t alive like a human body was. I didn’t sweat or excrete, I didn’t breathe and I didn’t eat in any conventional sense. I liked showering because it gave me a good chance to think, particularly when I had to get my life in order.
After that, of course, I needed to find out what happened to my houseguest.
At my best guess she had been awake for several hours already.
Without a doubt she’d gone through my kitchen cupboards and noticed they were somewhat empty. Would she have run screaming from my house? I didn’t think so, because that scenario would have been the easiest to deal with, and my luck was not running that way.
The worst thing was that she’d probably collected all her friends and was engaged in wrecking my house with an out of control slumber party. I didn’t know the first thing about Bronwyn and the almost woman she’d become, but if her parents’ reaction was anything to go by, she was a typical teenage shit or worse.
I shrugged as I continued on down the hallway into my bedroom with its king-sized, four poster bed and dark carpet, and then into my bathroom. I left the lights off as I shucked my clothes. The extra light added nothing to visibility for me, anyway. I flicked on the hot and cold water taps and put a hand under the water to test the temperature.
When I was satisfied, I strolled into my shower. Fine—let Bronwyn find out the hard way that pissing me off wasn’t a particularly good idea.
As I stood there, luxuriating under the warmth of the hot water, it occurred to me that I was pretty hungry. Wonderful. I would have to go out hunting, and I couldn’t take her with me. Should I drain her to the last drop?
It seemed somehow quite rude to take her life after inviting her into my home. The idea made me uncomfortable. I was no serial killer, luring young women to their deaths, after all. I simply fed on humans because I needed to eat, no more, no less. If I were ever to take her life it would be from sheer self preservation. I would not kill her because it struck my fancy to do so.
What had she done to make her parents think she was such an unredeemable arsehole? Why had they kicked her out of house and home? Was it because she really was an animal masquerading as an attractive young woman?
Would it be a good idea to kill her? If she went missing, would her parents care? Struck, I walked around this thought for a moment or so. My obedient memory from twelve years ago brought up the unremarkable features of Mrs. Hunter. She had had a twinkle in her hazel eyes, such kindness. The love she held for her daughter shone bright and true in her heart and eyes.
I shut off the water and got out of the shower, humming, and dried myself off with one of my favorite towels. I ran a brush through my thick hair.
What would Mrs. Hunter be thinking now? Would she be regretting her actions, questioning where Bronwyn was, wondering how to find her, how to bring her home again? Or would she be thinking that it was about time her rebellious daughter found out that living at home wasn’t the worst thing that could happen to her? There were, after all, a lot of questionable humans out there that took great delight in tormenting young people.
Bronwyn, quite frankly, intrigued me, I mused as I pulled on my long, black, baggy shorts and long sleeved white shirt. She had been a pretty young girl and had grown up into an equally lovely young lady. Her long, blonde hair and stunning emerald green eyes combined with her lithe, muscular body made her quite an appealing package, a promise of spectacular beauty to come. Yet she was such a rebel—she had habits that were quite unseemly for a child of her tender years.
She had seemed an obedient child when we had first met, so what had happened to her?
All right. My simple curiosity would decide her fate over the course of the evening.
I pushed my long, damp, hair out of my face and back over my shoulders. I grabbed my discarded shorts and dug in the pockets for my keys. I threw my dirty laundry in the hamper I had in the bathroom.
My first order of business was to find my guest, if she was still here.
I walked up the hallway and climbed the rickety wooden stairs to the door that led to the kitchen. With a steady hand—my headache had already disappeared—I put the key in the lock and opened it with a firm snick.
My stomach growled mightily. Needless to say I was bloody well starving.
“Quiet!” I slapped it to get it to stop yelling at me.
I looked around the kitchen, half hoping a victim was there for me to snack on. It was empty—a slightly water-stained glass sat on the damp sink from where Bronwyn had obviously helped herself to something to drink. The doors to all the cupboards lay shut, my bare fridge hummed away quite happily in electric contentment.
I first tried the master bedroom. It was jarringly different to its normal sterile state, with crumpled sheets and her discarded clothing.
I checked the master bathroom. The shower was wet. At least she had some concept of hygiene. Not like a typical human slut, so that part of her mother’s assessment was wrong.
I checked the dummy wardrobe I kept upstairs and noticed one of my white shirts and another pair of green cargo shorts was missing.
That made sense. Her luggage was still in my car. She needed something clean to wear. Where was she?
Sighing, I ran a hand through my now dry hair and wandered back downstairs. I already knew what I was going to do—step out for a quick bite to eat and go cruising the city on my bike—the kind of therapy I needed this evening. I could worry about Bronwyn’s whereabouts later on after I’d eaten.
Downstairs in the living room, I looked out the bay windows to the roadside, struck as always by the pull the night had on me. I didn’t know what it was. Was it the streetlights, casting a small pool of light on the gray and oily road? Was it the clean smell of the air? Was it the stillness and the nightlife that came out to bask in all its glory? The night had something I’d always loved, and nothing had ever been able to stop me from sitting alone for hours watching the sleeping world drift all around me, often until the cold light of dawn came up over the river behind my parents’ house.