Sweat beads along my forehead and drips down the side of my face. Autumn has come in full force and is already being pushed aside for the colder months.
I throw the dagger embedding it in the trunk of the tree I'm using for practice. Chunks of bark are missing from the weeks I’ve spent trying to perfect my aim, or rather develop it. I would be much better if I had my bow and arrow instead, or someone to teach me how to properly wield a dagger.
Instead, I must figure this out through my own trial and error. Constantly creating bad habits only to realize once I’ve ingrained them, it is ineffective.
Alaric and I see each other at dinner each night. He doesn’t touch me, as per our agreement, nor does he get close.
It’s good. Better that he doesn’t. When he’s near, I forget Xander… his power is too consuming.
I can’t be sure he won’t try something to get me to unwittingly make contact with him. I swallow down the feeling that is too close to disappointment for my taste.
Gripping the hilt, I brace my other hand against the tree and pull. It doesn’t give at first, then like a hot knife through butter, it gives way, and I stumble back several steps. The strike was good but off target.
I wipe my forehead with the back of my hand then rest my back against the tree. I’m more comfortable with the blade in my hand, it feels more like an extension of me.
I turn my head to look up at the window on the third floor of the manor. I see the faint light of a fire roaring in Alaric’s study. I can’t tell if he’s in there or not.
With every passing day, I grow more and more restless, anxious to get home to my sister. I hope she is doing well. I have sent two letters but have yet to hear back, which makes me worry all the more.
I have asked her about Xander as my letters to him have also gone unanswered. It makes me wonder if they are getting to him at all. He would have been worried when I never showed up that night as we had planned.
It is only the prospect of me attempting to cut Alaric and failing… the thought of his mouth on mine that I cannot risk. It seems a simple enough request, but I can’t help but feel as though it will lead to something far more dangerous than a simple kiss would imply.
I need to draw blood from him soon… but worry is making me hesitate.
I move around the tree, using it to hide my body as I slip the sheathed blade into my pocket and practice ways of reaching for it that seem natural. I do everything I can think of with the dagger, wanting every movement with it to feel as natural as everything else, so when I do go to strike, Alaric will not see it coming.
One glance at the sky is enough to tell me that it is nearly time for dinner. I will go to my room and change, then the two of us will dine with soft music playing on the phonograph in the background, and then he will ask me the same question he does every night.
I arrive before him. It has become more and more common. Every night thus far, I have come to dinner telling myself that tonight will be the night I will draw blood… but every night, the thought of his kiss has me halting my plans.
I take my seat and wait. A warm fire blazes in the hearth, snapping and crackling. I take a sip of wine to temper my nerves. As I set the crystal glass down, music drifts into the room.
Then he appears in the doorway. Immediately my stomach clenches. And it is because of that reaction to seeing him walk into the same room that I have stayed my hand.
As of late, he has shown me less and less of the telltale signs of vampirism. I think he does it to play with my mind, to lull me into feeling safe around him. But I cannot let my guard down, no matter how human he might appear.
“Good evening, Clara,” he says, taking his seat. “Have you been waiting long?”
He looks tired tonight.
“I’ve only just sat down myself.”
Our conversation is stiff and scripted. But every night we continue this charade, it grows harder and harder to remember that this man is not my friend. We would both like to see the other dead.
We eat in silence. I notice he barely touches his food. Eventually, he sets his fork and knife down and looks to me for the first time since entering.
“I will retire to my study now if you’ll excuse me.”
I dip my chin in a single nod.
He seems paler than usual, dark shadows have formed under his eyes. Alaric stands then asks the same question he does before we part ways. “Will you be attempting to draw blood tonight?”
“No,” I say automatically.
I’m unsure if he expects me to ever answer yes, or if he expects a no and an attempt.
He nods once, and then he walks from the room.
I look down at my plate of food, barely touched. It is as delicious as everything else I’ve eaten since being here, but something about tonight’s dinner has left me unsettled, and I have lost my appetite.
I am not worried about him. I’m not. I can’t be.
Pushing away from the table, I stand and walk out. I make my way down the hall faster than usual. I am almost running by the time I stop at the landing that leads to the third floor. I grip the banister tightly.
What am I doing?
I take a step away. I will not check on him tonight.
I keep moving down the hall and enter my room, closing the door securely behind me.
There is something strange about tonight… something different than every other night. I pace, nearly crawling out of my skin with anticipation.
I busy myself, trying to read by the fire as I do every night after dinner, but I find I can’t focus on a single word on the page. After reading the same paragraph a dozen times over, I close the book and set it aside. I itch with the need to do something, but I can’t decide on what.
Every dress in my armoire has at least one hidden pocket sewn into it. I have practiced for hours with the dagger, and yet I can think of nothing else.
I pace the length of my room. Deftly, my hand reaches for the dagger and pulls it. Over and over. Yet it seems with every other step, my thoughts return to the vampire and to the disappointment I felt when he left dinner early… to the way he looked, sallow, and unlike himself.
“No,” I chide aloud. I don’t care about him. I can’t.
Stopping in the middle of the room, I return the dagger to my pocket and stare down into the palms of my hands, as if they might literally hold the answer to the question I’ve yet to ask. A question I can barely think and will not speak.
I go to the bedside table and pick up my worn and tattered novel close to falling apart.
“Oh, Kitty… what should I do?” I whisper.
How can I want to return to her and yet refuse to do what I must here first?
Because I am afraid. Afraid of failing because that would mean facing something I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready for.
What is wrong with me that I am concerned for a vampire, of all things, because he looks unwell?
Like a bolt of lightning, it strikes me why tonight is different than all our previous ones.
It's not worry for him that made me nervous—it was the realization that he is off, weak, tired, slow, something, and I would be a fool not to take advantage of it. I know killing him would be the best, but I wonder if I am brave enough to follow through anymore. But I will settle for drawing blood and winning my freedom.
If there ever was a time to try, it is now. Because I must return to my sister as soon as possible, to Xander and start my life, and to get away from the vampire before I fall for this illusion of humanity more than I already have.
I pat the dagger hidden at my side and then head out of my room and into the halls and up the stairs to Alaric’s personal study.