Chasing Shadows (A Shadow Chronicles Novel) Page 7

  “I don’t suppose I could get something to eat as well?” she queried.

  I looked at her with my eyebrows raised, then shook my head as I gathered the same sandwich makings I had used the night before and put them on the table so she could serve herself. I got her a glass and the tea as well, and for myself I opened up the bottle of cow’s blood that was in the back of the refrigerator, heating myself a mug of it and noting that I was going to have to get another batch of blood from the deep freezer today.

  “Thanks,” Juliette said again. “Sorry to ask and all; I’d have raided Mark’s fridge if there was anything in it.”

  A thought occurred to me then, as I sat at the table with my steaming mug of cow’s blood. “If Mark doesn’t know you’re Angel, what does he think Juliette is doing all day? Where does your father think you are?”

  She smiled around the mouthful she had just taken, chewing and swallowing before she replied. “I’ve been in England for the past year.”

  My eyebrows winged up again. “Really?” I queried. “Doing what?”

  “I graduated from Kent State with a degree in marketing, so that gave me a good base for my cover,” Juliette told me, “which is that I’m currently an assistant buyer for Harrod’s.”

  I smiled. “Imagine the money you’d be making if that were true. I’ve shopped at Harrod’s before—wonderful clothes, expensive prices.”

  “Are you one of those vampires that hoards all kinds of money over the years?” she asked.

  “I have a nest egg, you could say,” I admitted. “Mostly I live off the proceeds from the farm, as well as my other economic venture.”

  Juliette frowned. “What ‘other economic venture’ would that be?”

  I shrugged nonchalantly as I took a drink of blood—I wasn’t going to be shy about drinking it around her since she knew all about me. “I’ve dabbled in writing here and there.”

  “Is that how you know Vivian Drake?”

  “Who said I knew her?” I countered.

  “I was just wondering,” Juliette replied. “I mean, from the way you talked about her last night, I got the feeling you knew who she was. Us shifters have been wondering who Vivian Drake is for the last three years. Truth be told, we’ve wondered if what she said about vampires in her books was real.”

  I nodded. “I assure you, most of it is.”

  She looked at me curiously then. “Why are you being so honest with me?”

  I shrugged again. “What reasons have I to lie?”

  She took a long swig of her tea. “Oh, I don’t know,” she said as she set the glass down. “Maybe because you’re a vampire, and vampires and shifters don’t mix?”

  “We’re mixing,” I pointed out. “And I’m only half vampire.”

  Juliette shook her head. “Still, you’re part of that world, no matter how much you try to deny it. I’d have figured even someone like you would be keeping their secrets to herself.”

  I sighed. “Juliette, I’m being honest with you because you are Mark’s sister. I figure I’ve got no choice but to be honest with you. Mark is going to be a part of my life for as long as we both live, and since his being in my life means that inevitably you will be… I just don’t see the point in not answering a direct question honestly.”

  She nodded. “Alright then. Will you tell me if you know Vivian Drake?”

  For a moment I hesitated, then decided it couldn’t hurt to tell her that I knew Vivian. Based on what she had told me, I didn’t think she’d be running off to tell any vampires that I actually knew who the betrayer of vampire kind was.

  “Yes, I know who she is,” I replied at last. “But for obvious reasons, I cannot tell you who—keeping her identity a secret is paramount to her continued safety.”

  “Then why does she do it? Write the books, I mean, if it puts her in danger?” Juliette wondered. “Why would her source put her in that position?”

  “Because it’s a good story, even if humans don’t believe a damn word of it.”

  She took another bite of her sandwich as she pondered that, and I took the opportunity to ask her another question of my own.

  “How are you and your mother planning to explain to Mark about his being an immortal human—you are planning to tell him, right?”

  She swallowed and took a drink of tea before she answered. “I’ve actually been wondering that myself. Considering this turn of events—meaning you and him—I’m gonna have to arrange a meeting with her to discuss telling Mark the truth. We need to prepare him for the future.”

  “As hard as she’s worked to keep his dhunphyr status a secret all these years, I bet she won’t be too happy that his predestined mate happens to be part vampire,” I mused.

  “No, probably not,” Juliette admitted. “I know my mother—she’ll be afraid of you killing him yourself, or leading him to his death by turning him over to other vampires.”

  “I won’t do that,” I said sharply.

  Juliette looked at me for a long moment. “I believe you mean that, Saphrona,” she said slowly. “At least, I don’t doubt that you won’t hurt him yourself, and I don’t think you’d willingly let someone else harm him. But you have to admit that just the fact that you’re a part of his life is putting him at risk.”

  I looked down at the cooling cup of blood in my hands. “I know,” I said softly. “I hardly got any sleep last night because of it.” Then I looked up at her. “But you agreed with me that his finding out the truth was inevitable. And if we’re going to admit to believing in things like imprinting and pair-bonding, then we have to look at the fact that our lives intersecting was also inevitable, which means that the vampire world finding out about him is, too. It’s just a matter of when and how.”

  I recalled that Lochlan was coming over tomorrow to take me to see Zombieland. He would, at the very least, smell Mark’s scent. I wondered if he would be able to tell just from his scent that he was an immortal human.

  “Look, Juliette,” I said, “I have to tell you… After dreaming about Mark for more than two hundred years, I already love him. I know I will love him more when I finally get to know the real man. And I assure you that come what may, I will do whatever it takes in order to keep him safe—even if it means risking my own life.”

  Again she studied me for a long moment, and then nodded. “I believe that you will,” she said at last. “If I didn’t believe that, you and I wouldn’t be sitting here in your kitchen having this pleasant conversation.”

  No, I thought. I daresay we would not.

  Back to Top

  Five

  Juliette finished her sandwich and returned to her animal form shortly before Mark returned from the store. Once again I offered to help him carry his things up to his apartment. As we did so, he asked me what other work needed to be done around the farm. I said that since the animals were all outside for the day and the stalls were all cleared and filled with fresh hay, there wasn’t much that needed done for the next few hours, except for a perimeter check of the fences. Mark offered to do that by himself, and since I did need to get to work on the outline for my next novel, I told him what to look for after retrieving Herugrim and saddling the stallion up for him to ride.

  “You do still know how to ride, I presume?” I asked as I tightened the cinch under the Herugrum’s middle.

  Mark laughed as he put his left foot in the stirrup and effortlessly lifted himself into the saddle. “I think I remember, Boss.”

  I smacked his leg playfully. “Alright, smarty. Now, like I said, just look for damage to the rails and posts, make note of where you find any so we can replace or repair. And stay clear of Angus, of course, until he gets to know you better.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Mark said, saluting me and then turning Herugrim around and riding off along the fence. As I was heading back into the house, Angel followed, nudging my leg. Curious, I allowed her back into the house, where she phased back into her human form and asked to use my phone, so she could call her mother and
arrange a meeting (“Like I should have done earlier, before I went dog again”). After the usual greetings were exchanged, I heard her tell Monica Singleton “Mother, we really need to talk about Mark. It’s important,” as she cast a glance at me, and they arranged a rendezvous point a mile down the road from my house.

  After Juliette departed my house for the second time that day, I went into my office and turned on my computer. While I waited for it to boot up, I called my agent and let him know that I was indeed going to write another book, that I had just the night before been hit with sudden inspiration for the plot. When he asked me to describe it to him, I gave him much the same information that Juliette had given me last night, wording it so that my protagonist—also a half-vampire like myself—was discovering these things herself for the very first time. George loved it, saying that her learning there were things about her vampire heritage she hadn’t even known would add depth to my character that would make her more relatable to my readers.

  “Except for the being half-vampire part, of course,” he said.

  I grinned in spite of myself. “Of course.”

  I hung up the phone then and got to work, typing furiously as the structure for the story came to me. And as often happened when I got into my writing I lost all track of time, and had made it through the outline and the first two chapters before it suddenly dawned on me that Moe and Cissy were barking furiously. I stood and walked to the window, which faced the back yard, and looked outside. They were at the end of the kennel that was close to the barn, standing on their hind legs with their forelegs on the chain-link, still yapping madly. I also noted that Herugrim was standing outside the barn, nibbling at the grass along the far side of the driveway.

  Fear pierced my heart as I flew from the office and into the kitchen, wrenching the back door open so forcefully that I tore it off the hinges. I didn’t care—didn’t even pay attention to the damage. I only knew that something had happened to Mark.

  When I got outside, I immediately caught the scent of blood, and my eyes zeroed in on droplets of it on the ground just inside the barn entrance. Following it with my eyes, I saw that it led to the inside door of the tack room, and I just knew it would lead up the stairs to Mark’s apartment. Paying no heed to the fact that Herugrim was still unrestrained outside, I jerked open the door and raced up the stairs to the apartment, not even bothering to knock before I entered.

  There was, as I had thought, blood on the stairway leading up, and there was yet more here on the carpet, in a trail that led to the half-open door of the bathroom. I heard water running as I ran across the living space, my heart still pounding with fear at what I would find.

  Pushing the door open further, my eyes widened at the sight of Mark standing at the sink shirtless, blood running in rivulets down his face and chest, both of which were covered in bruises that already seemed to be healing. The blood, in fact, was mostly water now, the cuts also in the process of healing. He stopped wiping at his injuries and turned to look at me slowly.

  “Mark…what happened?” I asked.

  He didn’t answer for a moment. Unable to help myself, I reached out and traced my fingers along a small gash on his right shoulder, which closed together even as I touched it, cutting off the flow of blood.

  “I can explain,” he said at last, his voice thick.

  Wordlessly, I took the washcloth from his hand and held it under the still-running faucet, feeling my heart squeeze at the pink color of the water even though I knew his injuries were healing. After wringing out the excess, I carefully wiped his face and neck, then moved down to his torso and cleaned that as well. By the time I was finished, all his cuts had closed and the bruises were a sickly greenish yellow.

  Mark swallowed. “I can explain,” he said again.

  I tossed the washcloth in the sink and turned the water off, then looked at him, holding his gaze. I knew what he was going to say, at least I thought I did, and right at that moment, it didn’t matter. The electricity that always seemed to spark whenever my skin touched his had heated my blood and the air in the tiny bathroom until it was thick with tension. From the way he breathed, the way he looked at me, I knew that Mark was feeling it as well.

  I stood up on my toes and tentatively pressed my lips to his. Mark responded, kissing me back as one of his hands came up to hold my head at the nape and the other snaked around my waist to firmly grip my bottom. I wrapped my arms around his waist, drawing us even closer together. My hands roamed up and down his back, feeling each taut, sinuous muscle as the kiss deepened and our tongues danced together. Mark turned and backed me up against the sink, pressing himself into me so that I felt his readiness against my belly.

  Suddenly he broke the kiss off and touched his forehead to mine. We stood there for a moment in silence, our breathing in a matched, shallow rhythm.

  “There’s something I need to tell you.”

  He pulled back and I let him—reluctantly, of course, because all I wanted was to continue the kiss, to let the passion that was obviously very mutual continue on its natural course.

  But I could see that Mark was very serious, that he absolutely had to say what was on his mind before he could continue. So I nodded and waited for him to speak.

  He looked at me, his eyes searching my face, before he swallowed and said, “Saphrona I… I’m not entirely human.”

  I felt my eyes widen. So he did know after all, or at least had some clue that he wasn’t your average human male. This was a good thing, I realized, and it was the sign I had been looking for—the one that told me he was ready to hear the truth about me.

  I smiled tentatively and looked into his eyes. “It’s okay, Mark. I’m not entirely human, either.”

  Mark frowned. “What do you mean?”

  I unwound my arms from his waist and took his hands in mine. I knew that it was now or never, and taking a deep breath, I looked into his eyes again and said, “I am what is called a dhampyr. My mother was human and my father was…a vampire.”

  His eyes widened as I said the last word, but he remained silent for a moment. “So all that stuff that I read in Vivian Drake’s Everland novels is true,” he said at last.

  I smiled again, pleased that he had read my books. And because of who he was, what he meant to me, I said, “Actually, Mark, Vivian Drake is just a pseudonym. I wrote those books.”

  He stepped back further, and my chest tightened when he dropped my hands. “You wrote them?”

  I nodded. “Most everything you read about vampire biology is true,” I said. “At least insofar as we believe it to be.”

  “And the dhunphyr? The immortal humans, are they real too?”

  I looked him in the eye. “I think you know the answer to that,” I replied softly.

  Mark leaned back against the open door, dragging his hands down his face and then back up through his close-cropped hair. “So there’s a name for what I am,” he said, before suddenly stepping away and out into the living room. I stood in the doorway watching him pace.

  “I have wondered, for so many years,” he mused aloud. “I wondered why it was that I never got sick. How it could be that cuts always healed almost instantly. I broke my arm once, falling out of the tree in my best friend’s back yard—but by the time my dad showed up to take me to the hospital, the break had already begun knitting together. I could feel it—thank goodness the bones were in the right position, or it would have had to be re-broken. Of course, no one believed me, and Race’s mom said she must have been wrong when she thought I’d broken it.”

  He turned around and looked at me. “I should be dead right now,” he said, then pointed to a scar on the left side of his neck that was about three inches long and slightly jagged. “See this? This is a shrapnel wound from an IED—in layman’s terms, it was a homemade bomb. A shard of metal from the casing sliced right through my jugular vein, because I was too close to the damn thing when it exploded.”

  A hand flew to my mouth and I gasped, fear lancing throug
h me yet again even though he was perfectly safe and healthy and standing right in front of me.

  “I lost pints of blood from the wound—pints, damn it—but by the time I made it to the MASH unit, the cut was closing,” he went on. “The doctors were freaking out, wondering how I had lost so much blood from such a ‘minor flesh wound.’”

  Mark paced away again, bracing his hands on the back of the couch. The way his muscles were bunching in his shoulders, I just wanted to go to him, to rub my hands all over them until the knots melted away. But I stayed rooted to the spot, leaning against the doorjamb of his bathroom.

  “Do you have any idea what it is like to know that you are not normal and not be able to tell anyone?” Mark asked, and though I suspected he meant it as a rhetorical question, I answered him nonetheless.

  “I do, actually,” I began, and he turned to face me. “I haven’t lived as a vampire since I was fifty years old. I’ve sustained myself on human food quite well, though to satisfy my need for blood—something I could not escape—I turned to animals. It’s why I set up this farm. But most of the people I know and associate with are humans. I have had to say goodbye to more people than I care to count over the years. I’ve left so many good friends behind because I had to walk away before they grew suspicious about my lack of aging.”

  “How old are you?”

  “I was born on Independence Day.”

  Mark nodded. “But what year?” he pressed.

  I smiled minutely. “1776.”

  His eyes widened. “Wow. When you say Independence Day, you really mean it.”

  I nodded, and then feeling suddenly vulnerable, I crossed my arms over my chest protectively and looked away from him. The secrets were out now, mine and his…

  …so what happened next?

  Mark crossed the room back to me. He reached over and pried my arms open, holding my hands in his. “We are what we are,” he said with a shrug and a light squeeze of my hands. “Didn’t choose it, can’t fight it, can’t change it—am I right?”