If I am honest, I was excited about the strength that came with being a vampire. I believed transitioning was the only way I could save both my life and the lives of the witches who were dying all around me. I had only seconds to make my choice, knowing I would forever live with the consequences of that day.
The doorway from the kitchen leads to a small butler’s pantry, which connects to the manor’s formal dining room. Again, the room is vacant. I peer through the large stained-glass windows, seeing nothing but blurry shadows from the furniture. A fire is roaring in the fireplace, and every few seconds, I hear the crackling logs from where I sit outside.
Opposite the dining room, the conservatory wraps around the entire length of the manor. I can only see the back half of the solarium, but the few wicker benches and wrought-iron table sets are home to no bodies. Perhaps there are vampires lingering in the front parlor or attached sitting room, but I doubt it. It is still early for the other vampires, with many of my housemates just now waking to greet the night.
Yes, the house is eerily silent, but that is nothing new; it has been this way for weeks. Because of Amicia’s death, the vampires of this particular nest lack leadership, which they so heavily relied on before. There is a social order to vampires—a clear alpha, like a wolf pack. Now that their sire is gone, everyone is questioning every decision the hunters make.
I miss Amicia just as much as I miss Will, but I know my pain is nothing compared to the agony the vampires feel due to her absence. When a vampire is sired, a bond is formed, a connection is made. Devotion is instantaneous. But Amicia was not my sire, and even though I hate myself for feeling this way, I am grateful every single day knowing Jasik survived that battle. If I’d lost him too…
I shake my head, blurring the pictures that form in my mind. The sights playing on an endless loop never even happened. In my imagination, I see a different world, one where I lost everyone I cherished in one swift motion without being able to stop it. I have been torturing myself like this since that day.
Sighing loudly, I flick the dead stem from my hand, and flurries of the ripped leaf scatter before me, landing in a heap at the base of Will’s headstone. That is as much as an offering as I brought with me today. Usually, I bring Will some form of a gift, be it a bundle of dried herbs or stones I gathered from the yard. But today, nothing. I suppose this is the first step to letting go.
“It is supposed to get easier,” I say, but then I silently add, but does it really? Does the pain lessen? Or as the world moves on without the departed, do we just learn to live with the agony?
I wait, almost as though I expect an actual answer. One does not come, because Will is not here anymore to share his wisdom with me. I think of all the unanswered questions I have for him, and it pains me to know I will never know the truth. There was not enough time. I know too little about his past, about the decisions he made that led him to Darkhaven, to…me. Will was supposed to hold all the answers. He was supposed to be my saving grace.
Everything moves so fast here, and I forget to stop, to think, to breathe. I do this now, inhaling deeply through my nose and releasing that very breath through my mouth. I count to ten as I breathe in, and I hold it as long as I can before I release it again. It makes my lungs hurt to take such a long, slow breath, but the expansion of my chest smothers the pain in my heart.
I open my eyes and stare at Will’s headstone.
“I think we just learn to live with the pain,” I say.
I reach forward, brushing my fingertips across Will’s memorial. As my fingertips tease from smooth stone to the scratchy etchings, I shiver. The sensation works its way through my arm, piercing my heart. My breathing tricks might release some of the hurt, but it never stays gone for long.
“We carry it with us, but it never gets easier,” I admit. I speak so softly I am not even convinced I spoke aloud, and unfortunately, there is no one around to confirm.
I do not bother closing the door behind me as I walk into the conservatory. Nearly an hour has passed since I left to spend time outside with Will, and the other vampires of the house are finally making their way downstairs. Some are already venturing into the solarium, and then they will make their way to Amicia’s gravesite. This is a daily ritual for us, and as we pass each other, no one looks up in greeting.
I stare at the ground as the others shuffle past me, and my vision remains glued to the tile floor. Vampires are all around me, and in these moments, when everyone is awake and lingering in the same part of the manor, I find it almost unbearable to live among them.
Jasik says no one blames me for what happened, but I know two deaths are at the hands of the witches—my witches, the very ones I fought so hard to protect. I wanted peace and prosperity, and I truly believed we could have that. I was naïve to think two utterly different creatures could remain friends.
The moment the wall transforms from drywall to sliding glass doors, I turn on my heel, entering the dining room from the solarium. The tile floor becomes hardwood, and finally, I look up, knowing I am mere steps from solitude. Those who are awake are venturing outside, so this is one of those rare moments when the kitchen should be vacant.
I maintain a schedule now around the others, keeping my distance, choosing to spend time alone or with the hunters above anyone else. Because even though no one verbally blames me for Amicia’s death, I feel their silent accusations. I see it in their eyes, and slowly, bit by bit and day by day, their pain is smothering me.
I push open the door to the kitchen a little too forcefully, startling those who are looking for a quick meal. I choke on my breath, not expecting anyone else to be here. Shuffling to the refrigerator, I ignore my housemates, even when the itchy feeling of their gazes on my back becomes unbearable.
I grab a blood bag, noting that our supply is running dangerously low. Those who survived our last battle needed to refuel, and we ended up drinking more blood bags in one night than we drink in a month’s time. Ever since then, no one has gone out to restock. I hate to think that the vampire who usually ventures into town to raid the hospital and blood banks is dead now, but that thought still crosses my mind.
I make a mental note to talk to the hunters about our supply as I close the door to the refrigerator. There is a line for the microwave, so I lean against the counter, foot tapping to a silent tune. Or maybe a countdown timer. I can never tell.
The creeping feeling of being watched makes me feel uneasy. I grow tired of waiting, so I leave the kitchen, cold blood bag in hand. I am already ripping it open with my teeth when I enter the dining room. I stop suddenly as I watch him approach.
“Ava,” Malik says as an informal greeting. My trainer is still in the connected sitting room, but his long legs make it easy for him to reach my side in only a few steps.
I nod at him in greeting and begin slurping down my breakfast.
“How are you feeling?” he asks.
I lick my lips, darting my tongue at a crimson dribble that slides down the packaging. When supplies are dangerously low, I waste no blood.
I shrug in response, still not meeting his gaze, but when he clears his throat, I do. Malik is frowning at me, his eyes worrisome. Like the others, he fears my reaction to what has happened.
I think back to a conversation I had with Jasik a few days after Will’s death.
“You are not handling this well,” Jasik says.