Dark Diary (4 page)

An old soul, perhaps. I think that’s what people call it.

He could pass for a pretty-boy who had, no doubt, faced some serious hell in his past. His face was clean-shaven, fair, and youthful, but the faint, rusty shadows tracing his eyes told a different story.

“Genetics, maybe,” he said, with an unconscious brush of his hand through his hair. The thick, subtle curls ended at the nape of his neck. Parted unevenly, some tumbled across his brow on one side. A few shorter locks rested just across the tops of his ears and framed his temples with a ripple of wispy, dark tresses. The onyx waves looked temptingly soft as I imagined my fingers combing through them.

“
Maybe.” I shrugged, shaking off the childish admiration
manifesting from my curiosity. There was much more than “genetics” at work in him. Grandpa’s well-aging good looks probably won’t make your eyes give off supernatural light. Unless, of course, Grandpa had it, too.

I wanted to keep prodding him for answers, but I didn’t want to push him away. His voice was soft and truthful, but also guarded. I had a feeling he spoke only in partial truths for his own protection. There may have been a great deal of pain and regret inside him, cloaked in indifference.

I wanted to learn all about it.

Maybe he’d tell me the answers, in time.

He sat down on a nearby, broken headstone and studied me, staring hard into my eyes. Being the center of attention made me nervous.

“Why do you
really
come here?” he asked. “Aren’t there people o
ut there who want to spend time with you?” He rested his hands, one in the other, in his lap and leaned closer.

“I don’t make friends easily,” I replied.

“What about your family?”

“I’m an only child. My father works dead shifts at the hospital ER. I hardly ever see him.”

“And your mother is…” He glanced at the headstone in front of me.

“She died when I was twelve.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” He looked at his hands.

“I got over it. My father remarried and my stepmother is horrible. He just doesn’t know it.” I sighed and adjusted myself on the bench. “And if she has it her way, he never will.”

The stranger went silent. He was gathering his thoughts,
I figured. It seemed fitting for him to be in deep contemplation.

“So you’ve been coming out here for a while I take it,” he said. “It’s no wonder you put up such a fight. You
should
protect what is important to you.” His eyes met mine, more intimately than they had all night, and he bowed his head slightly. “I apologize for my actions the other night.” His voice softened considerably. “I had no right to touch you. No man should
ever
place his hands on a woman without her consent.” He finished with a shake of his head and a guilt-ridden look away from me. He tangled his fingers together in his lap. “And certainly
never
the way I did.”

His confession was refreshing.

“I don’t regret my stubbornness,” I said, stealing another glance from his exquisite emerald eyes. “It was worth it to see your face in a better light.”

“Speaking of light.” He motioned toward the candles, which were hardly aflame now that the wicks had burned down to nubs.

I shot up and pulled another one from my bag. “I have more.” As I bent to tip the wick of a new candle into a dying one, the man stood.

“You shouldn’t be out here alone at this hour,” he said, looking sternly toward me.

“Stay, please.” I lifted a hand, but he was already distancing himself.

“The night grows short and you should go home.”

His face disappeared into the shadows as he turned away from me and my heart sunk.

“You never told me your name,” I said, eager to regain his attention.

The side of his face reemerged, as he turned halfway to reply.

“And neither did you.”

“It’s Kathera.”

He turned away again and his silhouette vanished into the night.

I was left with silence and an intense urge to gaze into his remarkable eyes once more—the captivating green irises that must have concealed incredible secrets.

MY NEWFOUND WEAKNESS
sickened me. It was difficult enough to go unnoticed along the streets of brightly lit cities after nightfall, but was too close to my new residence.

This city would be no different than the last. Those who
wandered into my territory would feel my wrath; the bounda
ries of my solitude would quickly be made known to trespassers
large and small.

But the girl—Kathera—did not fear me as she
should
have.
Surely a second fright should have sent her scurrying back to her mortal matters. Surely… I could have tightened my grip upon her throat the night before.

But, no.

Things were
not
easy anymore. My conscience was plagued
by my past, feeding my ever-growing lust for solitude. It wasn’t violence I sought. It was silence.

I had never been eager to gain friends, and enemies were few
in my world, but peace and quiet never came without a price. And now, that price had become the strange girl who took refuge in a place too close to my own dwelling. It was something that could not be ignored, though finding an appropriate solution was perplexing.

It was the thought of her that kept me stirring long into the daylight hours—long past the hours I would have
normally
rested in the sanctity of my darkened room.

It wasn’t safe for a young woman to be out in the streets past dusk. Perhaps she had done it dozens of times before I
had come around, but it would only take one heartless individual to ruin her for life. If I had gotten that close to her without her noticing, who or
what
else may do the same?

Why did I care?

Why was she so unafraid of me?

She had told me herself that finding sanctuary in the cemetery made her resist my threats, but how she could live with constant nightmares was beyond comprehension.

Another thing… the night before, she had clearly seen my eyes—as I had made no attempt to hide their fire—and yet, she had not questioned me about what I was.

I sat wondering… and worrying about her intentions—disgusted by her fearlessness but curiously attracted to her story.

Those who do not change will die. Vampires cannot die as humans do but, instead, grow stagnate and weary when deprived of knowledge and learning. My restlessness that
day left me hungry for more. I wanted to know why she made
my spirit uneasy.

I had to confront her again. I had to learn the story behind the girl who did not fear the evil inside me.

As expected, she was there the next evening. Alone, accompanied by nothing more than dim candlelight and her dead mother’s soul. I shouldn’t have bothered. I
really
shouldn’t have given a damn about her… but she was human. She was human, just as I had been and would never be again.

I wasn’t sure how to approach her this time, or whether or not she would be pleased to see me again. I watched from the distance as she closed her eyes, took in a deep breath of midnight air, and exhaled slowly.

A sigh—a delicate expression renounced to my curse.

“I was hoping you’d come,” she said softly, a reserved smile forming on her lips.

I had been utterly silent in the darkness, but she had still
known I was there. There was no use remaining in the shadows any longer, so I took a few steps out into the flickering candlelight.

Kathera’s skin was very fair—as if the sun had never touched it. Her unnaturally dark, burgundy-red hair fell in long, flat tresses across her back and shoulders, held out of
her face only by tiny pins behind her ears. Fine bangs framed
her eyes and forehead just above her auburn eye shadow.

“What is it?” She uncrossed her legs and rested her palms on the knees of her black jeans.

“I apologize.” I broke my stare and took a seat slightly closer to her this time, on a small concrete bench a few feet from her. I couldn’t help but study her; it wasn’t often I stopped long enough to learn a person’s name, let alone commit to a conversation.

There were questions I sought to ask, but the nerve to ask them escaped me. I was distracted by the pale flesh of her shoulders at the straps of her teal, sleeveless blouse. My intrigue alone was quite foreign. Attraction to human features was something I hadn’t experienced for centuries, but the gentle color and
scent
of her skin enchanted my sensitive receptors.

“I need to ask you something,” she said, tangling her fingers together in her lap.

I knew, already, what it was.

“Promise me you won’t run from me if I ask this,” she pleaded, leaning forward.

Her voice was soothing to my ears, but the question, regardless of how I answered it, was a dangerous one. Still, I tipped my head to her in agreement. Curiosity had bound us and I was willing to put aside my better judgment.

She seemed troubled by the inquiry and fidgeted nervously with her hands.

“What makes you believe I am so
extraordinary?
” I asked, forcing a reply from her. “That I haven’t deceived you?”

“I’ve worked with hundreds of people—dozens of strangers
and self-proclaimed freaks,” she said. “You aren’t anything like them. I saw your eyes glow and I know it wasn’t some kind of contact lens trickery.” Her fingers combed her bangs from her brow. “It was brief, but I saw it. You’re not like me.”

“I once was!” My voice rose unintentionally. I was more offended than I should have been.

“Then tell me your story,” she whispered, remaining calm despite my outburst. “Please.” Her eyes met mine with an honest, compassionate gaze and she scooted toward the edge of her bench. Her elbows rested on her knees and her palms came together below her chin.

My secrets had never been known by more than a few mortals, and they had all taken them to their graves. It was dangerous to share such history. The details of my
condition
seem poisonous to those who learn them. It is painful to keep such knowledge private, as the need to share it tends to form a deep burden in one’s soul. It can eat at you for life and destroy you with delusions of immortality and power. I did not want the charms of my paradox to seduce yet another.

But, perhaps, there were some things I
could
tell her.

“What can you offer me in return?” I asked. “If you want answers, I want compensation for my time.”

Kathera’s eyes narrowed as she sat back and crossed her arms in a brief study of me.

There wasn’t anything she could possibly—

“A friend,” she said softly. A shy smile grew across her lips. “Maybe?”

A friend?

Did I look like I needed one?

“A… friend? That’s your offer?”

She shrugged, her smile fading.

It seemed silly at first, but the more I considered it, the sweeter the suggestion became. She fascinated me for reasons I could not yet grasp. It was more than the scent of her innocent blood that drew me in—there was something far beyond that pulling me toward her company. Sitting near her had me briefly forgetting what I truly was, and that was more than I could have asked for from anyone.

Without further gesture, I stood. “Very well.” I offered her my hand.

She got up from her bench and reached out to shake my hand. Just as her fingers met mine, she let out a small yelp of surprise. The soft blue of her eyes nearly vanished beneath the startled black of her swelling pupils. My skin was abnormally cold—a fact mortals found difficult to acclimate to.

The beat of her heart pulsed through her trembling hand
and my head throbbed in unison with its sound. “Your heart is racing.” There was a tinge of irritation in my words.

She cupped her other hand over mine and lowered her head.

“Please, tell me what you are,” she said, her voice straining
beneath her heaving breath. “So I can put my imagination
to rest.” She fell to her knees and clutched my fingers tightly.
“I won’t tell anyone—I swear it. I swear it on my mother’s grave.”