Authors: Leeann Whitaker
He leans in and kisses me, and for a stupid idiotic second, I let him. Again I stumble backward, pushing off his chest.
“Nathan, I said no. It’s not going to happen!”
“Liz… why… shit!” He growls out a breath. “You’re still pining for Mr Prick.”
He started this, not me. Is this why he’s stuck around me all these years? Waiting for me to yield while he gets his leg over every goddamn weekend. He’ll never change. All he’s ever been to me is a friend.
I shame as he stands there showing me up in front of the whole muted party. I blush and run out into the hall, choking on my tears. Cate follows me, trying to keep up as I shove my way through the mass of people.
“Liz.” She reaches my side. “That was wrong on so many levels.”
“Cate, leave me!”
“You can’t run from him. Sort it out. You two are like two peas in a pod.” She grips my arm and yanks me back.
“Cate, get your hands off me.” I peel her away. “I going home, so just leave me the hell alone,” I scream and charge toward the elevator.
***
The rain is heavy and relentless, but it doesn’t wake me. I’m not walking in the downpour; I am the downpour. I’m verging on a mental breakdown and I’m hurting anyone in my path. I cross my uncovered arms over my tummy and move through the monsoon. My hair is dripping, weighty wet, and the icy water that flows down my face, masks my tears.
I trudge by a row of garages and hear an engine to my back, travelling at the same speed my legs move. It pulls into my side. I listen as the window rolls down. Do I look like a damn hooker?
“Elizabeth.” I turn because I know that silk voice. “Get in the car,” Adrien coaxes.
I carry on and hurry up. I can’t talk to him. I’ll forgive him. I know I will.
“Elizabeth.” He’s out of the car and is now holding my biceps.
I stop, heart pulsing with anguish as I snivel down at the silvery pavement. I wish I could look and tell him to go jump off a cliff, but I can’t. Being direct with him is impossible right now.
He handles me gently. I keep my view away from him as rain beats down on my neck. I see his Lacoste sneakers. Hell, I have to; I want to see his face. I elevate my head as rain spurts out beads in my anxious breath. I peer up at his wet skin and into destitute eyes. He sweeps his hand up my arm then cups my neck. God, I love the feeling of his hand there. I blink and draw the rain into my mouth.
“Elizabeth.” He fondles my neck to wake me.
I open my eyes. His beautiful crestfallen features incline down and his lips touch mine. I instantly rouse from the bleak void. It’s as though his touch breathes life back into me. The hunger I have for him is ravenous and emotional. To weep while kissing him is an erratic sensation. I press my fingers into his face because I don’t ever want to lose this man.
He pushes me back against a garage door with a bang. His inhalation is gruff and pensive. He groans then suddenly reels back away from me. We’re both in a state of raspy desire. I watch as he begins to pace in vexation with his fingers clenched on the top of his head.
“What is it?” I appeal. “Please don’t do this to me again.”
“Elizabeth, I trying not to.” He keels over. “I will not touch you again.” He stands upright. “Not until you know the truth. And when you do, I know you’ll never want me near you.”
“Jesus Adrien.” I step forward. “Why are you being so… so hard work?” He doesn’t answer, just gazes with this defeatist glaze across his eyes. “I want you,” I nearly scream at him.
“Elizabeth.” He expels all the air from his lungs and walks to me. “Please… never fear me.” He twines his fingers through mine. “I’m not what you think I am.”
“Okay, you’re sounding all theatrical now,” I sulk. “Whatever it is, I’m sure I’ll be able to handle it.”
“This… this you might not.” His jaw pulses. “You sure you want to come with me. I can walk away, and you’ll never see me again.”
God, why on earth is he doing this to me? It’s clear we both can’t stay away from each other. There is no other possible answer.
“You know I have to,” I utter. “I’m not going through this again.”
He sighs as though he’s disappointed by my choice, and heads toward his Jag. He opens the passenger door for me.
I look up to him as I slip down into the seat. “I’ve already asked you this, but you never answered. You’re not some psycho killer now are you?”
Okay. That was intended as a joke, but he’s not laughing. In fact his face is like stone. I wait for a delayed response; a slap on the thigh because he now gets it.
“Elizabeth,” he says coolly. “You will see soon enough.” He closes the door.
I press my lips together in deep thought. I have no clue why he’s so rattled. Whatever it is, he’s pushed my mind into overdrive.
I’m getting used to it now, being sat in his car while he’s all riled and unhinged. But I have to say, that was the jumpiest journey yet. He sped through the streets as though his life depended on it. He nearly hit one guy who staggered out from nowhere, and I had to scream at him to slow down.
He opens the door to his apartment and flicks on the lights. I’m expecting Sara to pop out from somewhere, scantily clad, ready to serve her master. With gradual steps, I make my way to the central fire, leaving a trail of raindrops behind me.
“Here.” I turn to Adrien. He’s holding out a white towel, while rubbing his own hair with another.
“Thanks.” I take it and wipe the rain from my neck. “No Sara?” I ask sarcastically, because I’ve haven’t forgot what I saw.
His honey tinted eyes elevate under his lids. He ditches his towel on the kitchen surface, then goes into the fridge. He takes out a beer and something else. He turns with a bottle of that tonic in his hand. The supplement that’s caused nothing but friction between us.
“You need to drink this.”
Why is he still insistent on giving me something I don’t want?
“Are you being serious?” I scowl.
“Please,” he appeals. “You have to.”
Call me naive or stupid, but that anxious look on his face wounds my heart. I huff and snatch both beer and tonic from him.
He unbuttons his shirt then slips it from his firm body, before getting another beer for himself from the fridge. I thought this was a serious issue he wanted to discuss with me. How can I do that now he’s decided to walk around shirtless? I gawp; it’s an unintentional response. I’ve touched and kissed that chest. It’s hard to contain myself when I see it. He switches on the fire so it flames like my heart is doing this very moment. I out-breathe, still as a statuette.
“Elizabeth, drink,” he says, perching on the edge of the sofa. “Then sit down please.”
I quickly down the tonic, take a swig of the beer, then sit by him unable lessen my desires. He arches over, elbows on his knees. I want to reach out to him, touch him, tell him everything is fine and I’m all ears. But I don’t, in-case it puts him off.
“The only thing I did at Sara’s was change into some of Dom’s clothes,” he maintains. “The idiot spilt red wine all over me.”
Wow, I really am an irrational bitch aren’t I
. “Don’t worry about it.” He notices my shameful face. “That’s nothing in comparison with what I’m going to tell you.”
Oh no. I really don’t like this. Something worse than me losing my mind in the street, and accusing him of adultery. When he’s given me no reason to suggest we were even an item in the first place. Other than giving me the most fruitful days I’ve ever had in life in Killiecrankie.
He takes a lengthy breath and pushes himself up to stand before the glowing fire. I haven’t blinked. I can’t. He’s tormenting me with his body, and worried me with his words. He lowers his head and mumbles something to himself in anger.
“Adrien?” I say, concerned.
He takes a small silver item out from his pocket and peers down at me, grinding his jaw.
“I have used this on you… in that room,” he discloses.
“What is that?”
He opens his palm to show me a large solid silver ring. It’s old. Very old. With a black stone set in the centre, surrounded by intricate engravings.
“It’s a Ditale, and I used it to take something from you.” He closes his hand around it tightly. “And from the moment I saw you, I fought with myself not to do it.”
He pushes his thumb down hard on the ring and something clicks. My eyes crease because it’s so small and I can’t see it clearly in this light. He places it against his chest and drives it deep into his skin. I gasp, terrified, watching blood seep from a large gash just above his nipple. I jump up with the damp towel I used on my hair.
“Adrien… what the hell!” I go to press the towel on his chest, but he grips my arms and stares darkly.
Shit. He’s a self-harmer. Is this his secret? Why would he even do that in front of me? My eyes burn with upset as I try to move my arms so I can help him. But he’s too damn strong.
“Adrien… let me help you!”
He gapes at me. His eyes large and inexplicably black. Oh god, that’s not real is it? No one’s eyes can dilate that way
“Elizabeth,” he says deep and low. “I’ll let you go… but you mustn’t do a thing.”
“Are you kidding… you’re fucking bleeding everywhere?” I yell.
He releases my arms and strolls into the kitchen with blood trickling down over his abdomen. It’s unusually thin, like water. He pulls a polystyrene box out from beneath the kitchen island, and opens the lid. In a frenzy, I pull out my mobile phone. I’m not going to let him bleed to death. This is frigging nuts.
“Elizabeth,” he calls, as I stab my finger down hard on the screen.
I try to switch the thing on, but my hands tremor, and I’ve suddenly forgot how to work the stupid thing.
Crap Liz, stop shaking
.
He takes a bag of red fluid out from the box. Okay, that’s not blood is it? I’m obviously losing my head here.
I move my torso forward and squint at the bag. I have to be hallucinating. I’ve drunk too much; or I’ve been spiked, because what I’m seeing here is beyond crazy. He unscrews the cap and starts to drink from it. What the name of all things holy is he doing?
“Adrien!” I charge over. “You need help.”
He’s frigging downing it, swallowing fast; now the bag is nearly vacuum dry.
My jaw hangs before my chest. I’m really freaking-out and don’t know how to handle this screwed up situation. He’s lost his damn mind.
He takes in a massive breath and stares down at his chest, wiping the blood from his breast and body with the towel.
Okay Liz. You’re clearly tripping out. Because what you’re watching his body do right now, is simply not possible.
The deep gash is not there; just black thread veins moving beneath his skin, like worms stitching his flesh back together.
I stop respiring in fright. The whistling in my head is loud and my skin clammy cool. A tingling numbness spreads all over me. Oh, I’m going to pass-out. I waver back and forth, waiting for my face to meet the marble.
“Elizabeth!” I’m up in his arms, my vision whirring round and round.
Focus Liz, focus.
He lays me on the sofa and crouches next to me, stroking my fringe across my head. This is nice. It’s soothing. Nothing at all is wrong with this, is there?
I discharge upright, clutching my dithering chest, realising what just happened did actually occur.
“Elizabeth… calm down.”
I look down at his body. The cuts has vanished, but there’s a smudge of blood on his skin. The man I love has just sliced himself, drank blood, and healed right before me. I’m in the freaking twilight zone.
I shuffle back fast and hold my knees to my chin. I’m scared. I don’t want to be. But hell, it’s impossible not to think he’s going to latch onto my neck at any moment.
“Err… So I’m figuring out I did just see that,” I hum. “Are you… well…well…” I’m speechless.
Still squatting, he looks at me attentively. “I will never hurt you,” he says shamefully. “I had to show you.” He reluctantly hovers his hand out to me, but I flinch back. “Elizabeth.”
“What… are you?”
“I’m of Nemuritori,” he replies. “I need you to see something.” He stands up and extends his hand out to me.
I study him for a moment, contemplating whether I should run through that door and never come back. Or go to the nearest psychiatric ward and check myself in. His fingers and eyes are coaxing me, but I’m more than reluctant.
“Trust me… I will not hurt you.”
I slowly outstretch my hand with a deep-set frown, my subconscious screaming,
don’t do it
. His fingers lock through mine as he guides me up to my feet. As horrifying as this is, I’m still in love with him and have to know more.
I’m sitting at the desk in his office, watching him shuffle behind his chair. I think I’m going to have to tell him to put a shirt on soon. I’m losing my wits seeing his back flex in such an inviting way. To want sex right now is a stupid thought after what he’s just revealed.
His hand hovers across the books on the shelf and he places his fingers between book and wood. There’s a loud click, opening up a hidden compartment that conceals an electric safe. He pushes in a code. All I notice is the first number, two. He takes out a wooden box and puts it on the desk in front of me.
“That’s me, in that box. I’ve never let anyone see it before you,” he says, pointing hard on the top of it. “I’ll leave you with it. After you’ve seen what’s in there, you have to choose. Come back to me or leave, and swear I’ll never bother you again.” He goes, closing the door behind him.
Okay, I have to do this. I blink slow and cautiously flip open the lid. First thing I see is a long brown leather wallet. I lift it out, smelling the musty age of it. I slide off the elastic bind to open. There are yellow distressed papers and old photos tucked inside it.
I glance down at one of the pictures, dated September 17
th
, 1916. First I see Laurie; I swear it’s him. Next to him, a dead-ringer for Ben. I mumble to myself, completely flummoxed, thinking maybe it’s one of those fancy-dress snapshot parties. I pucker my eyes and lift the picture right in front of my nose. I must need my glasses, because right there in the middle, in-between Conner and Ben, stands Adrien. All of them dressed in authentic military uniform, brandishing arms before a great mountain range. I drop the photo. This has to be some kind prank.
I take out a tatty piece of paper, which has clearly been read countless times. All the folds are barely holding it together. Carefully, I unfold and position the loose sections so I can see. At the top in bold faded print it reads, Washington Certificate of Birth. Beneath the header is the name of the child, Adrien Emmanuel Knight. I nod my head and read it again. Crap, it’s still there. He was born on December 5
th
1886, in a house on Connecticut Avenue. His parents: Father, Johnathon Knight, and Mother, Francine Knight.
I can’t read anymore. My head is going to burst any second. My eyes and brain are in conflict, and I can’t accept any of this is factual. I’ve read plenty of fiction books and watched movies. All for study or entertainment purposes. This is beyond the realms of normal. This is really messed up.
I push my hands against the desk and stand, when something else in the box catches my eye. It’s a newer paper, hardly touched. I remove it from the box and open. It’s the contract I foolishly signed at The Mill, with my blood smudged signature soaked into the paper. I fold it and quickly tuck it down my bra. He’s not having this contract. I’m going to find out what it is and burn it. But first I have to get out of here.
I hold the doorknob and take several deep breaths. If I dreaming, it is now the point I should wake the hell up. I dig my fingernail hard into the tip of my thumb. But I’m still fully conscious, and now I have to go and face him.
I gulp and open the door slowly. I peek out to see him sat on the sofa with his head in his hands. As soon as my feet move forward, he cranes his head and bleakly gazes at me. Why is he doing that with his beautiful eyes? And why am I not running to the door? I should be telling him to stay the hell away. Truth is, I’m in love limbo and unsure what to do. To run a thousand miles from him, forgive him, or fear him.
He stands up from the couch, all broody and really apprehensive of me. He hovers a step, then waits for me to make the next move. My eyes are stuck to him. He picks up a glass of wine from the floor and without a word, holds it out to me.
I move closer, eyes drifting to the door then to him. It’s a crossroads, and the road I choose is going to either label my completely insane, or well-balanced. So, I guess I really am whack-job material. I have to follow my heart. It will always rule over my head when it comes to him.
I take the glass from his hand and pour the lot down my neck. It heats my insides and gives me the determination to find out what in god’s name I’m involved in.
I sit down quietly and he parks himself opposite in the corner. He’s waiting for me to do something, and watching his tapping foot he’s imagining the worst.
“Elizabeth… shit, say something.”
“What are you… a vampire?” I cringe, because it’s the most preposterous question I’ve ever asked anyone.
“I’m Nemuritori. Vampire, undead, evil bloodsucker, walking leech.” It’s not the best reply. I stopped listening when he said undead. “Sorry… I’ve never had to have this conversation before,” he adds.
I frown. “What… I mean how?”
“You didn’t look in the box properly did you?”
“I got to the birth record that tells me you were born in eighteen eighty-six.” I huff. “I couldn’t absorb anymore. So that’s real is it; you’re how old?”
“One hundred and twenty-seven years, yes as Nemuritori,” he states. “To you, I’m twenty-eight.”
Okay, so I’ve been having a love affair with someone old enough to be my great, great, great Grandfather. A very attractive senior citizen though, but surly it’s not acceptable.