27. The Dark Hero
27
THE DARK HERO
SAYAH
“ B ye, baby,” I say, crouching to hug Gauge. “Text me later, okay?”
“Okay, Mama.” Gauge kisses me on the cheek before I stand.
“Thank you for coming. Truly,” I say, embracing Derek’s wife, Chrissy, in a hug.
“Oh, goodness, you are welcome, honey. So sorry for your loss,” Chrissy replies, hugging me back.
“Thank you,” I answer.
Derek gives me a side hug, and I lean in quickly and then move away. “So sorry for your loss, Sayah.”
“Thank you,” I say while Dom finishes his hug with Chrissy.
“It was nice to meet you both,” Dom says, holding his hand out to Derek, who takes it and shakes. “And you,” he says toward Gauge. “You and I still have our Mario Kart rematch to do!”
Gauge laughs as Dom squats to hug him. “Okay!”
“Drive safe,” I tell them, wrapping an arm around Dom as they head to their car.
Hilda’s loading a crock pot into the back of their car, so Dom lets me go to run and help.
“Why don’t you come over for dinner tonight, Dominic? So, we can get to know you better,” Hilda says, shutting the trunk after Maggie adds the empty food trays.
Dom’s green eyes brush mine for a passing moment, and in them, I can tell he’s asking for my acceptance.
“Yeah,” I say, “come over for dinner. I’ll make something.”
“Okay,” he smiles, and it’s settled.
I hope my aunts won’t pry too hard.
I see some rustling in the bushes off to the side that causes me to branch my look sideways. What appears to be a skinny white girl with long red hair, brown boots, and blue jeans is skulking behind a tree. I’m almost sure it’s my sister Laureya.
Shaking it off as my imagination, I open the door to my vehicle and get in, though I watch the place I think I saw her for any movement.
Nothing but a big black crow flies away.
L ater on, back at my house, after putting everything away from the celebration, I’m pulling things out of the fridge to make nachos and handing them to Lydia. She loves to cook and is fantastic at it, so I always give her free reign in the kitchen.
“So, where are you from, Dom?” Maggie asks him as she and Hilda sit down at the kitchen table.
I listen intently, excited to see how fast he can tell his human story.
“I was born in Florence,” Dom says easily as he moves to sit with them, “but I was raised in New York.”
“Oh, Florence?” Maggie swoons. She’s the aunt who loves all things Italian.
“Yes,” he replies, pouring some water from the pitcher I’d put out on the table, “but I was so young I don’t remember much of it.”
“Do you still have family there?” Hilda asks, propping her elbow on the table.
Dom’s gaze flickers to mine as I grab a knife from the drawer.
I know what he’s thinking.
Not for a very long time.
“Most of my family is in the Lake George area.”
Hilda’s jaw drops and her eyes blow wide. “Lake George?” She turns to look at me.
“Yes, Aunt Hilda,” I say, tossing the lettuce into the sink. “We found we had that in common right away.”
“That’s so amazing,” Hilda says, returning her attention to Dom. “We used to go every year when Sayah was a tot. So many fond memories of that lake.”
“And what do your parents do, Dom?” Lydia asks, starting the hamburger meat as I finish with the lettuce and wash the tomatoes.
“My dad is a trauma surgeon, and my mom runs an online boutique,” Dom replies, fidgeting with his paper napkin.
“Oooh, a boutique!” Maggie exclaims, “What sort of things does she make?”
“Oh, she makes jewelry, some gift boxes, bookish stuff, things like that.” His green eyes retrace back to mine.
In our conversations, since I learned he was a vampire, he told me his mom runs an online witch shop selling spells, trinkets, and tarot cards.
I had mentioned to him earlier that I hoped nobody would bring up anything witch or Wiccan.
My dad and Lydia aren’t too keen on my witchy ways. My dad’s not a churchgoer, and neither is Lydia. Still, I know they believe in the same god the Christians do, and my dad has mentioned me not believing in the same god with contempt before. It’s not something that I want to get into today.
“And what is it that you do?” interjects my dad, sipping a beer in the archway to the kitchen. His tone is brutal and indifferent—per usual for Dad.
“I am a data analyst for a software engineering company,” Dom replies, turning to face my dad better. “Basically, I translate numbers into plain English for everyday businessmen. My job is to take data and use it to help my company make better business decisions.”
“Interesting,” Lydia replies, slicing the tomatoes.
Hamburger sizzling in the pan, I join Dom, Hilda, and Maggie at the table, getting out of Lydia’s way. My dad wanders into the living room to watch golf.
As Lydia dices, she turns and says, “Have any children, Dom?” her penetrating gaze probing Dom.
He lowers his eyes to the table slightly. “I don’t have any kids, no.” His voice is controlled again, reliable, and the sober smile on his face still reflects a tinge of pain in his eyes. “Maybe one day,” he adds, acting out a normal human conversation, winking at me. I give him a smile. “Where are you all from, originally?”
“Oh, we all grew up in Pennsylvania,” Maggie answers, doing something on her phone. “We moved to New Jersey when we were all teens, and then Hilda and I lived in the same house we grew up in until about five years ago when we moved to Washington state.”
“And there were five of you, yes?”
“Yes. Now there are three,” Maggie says solemnly, setting her phone on the table.
“Speaking of sisters,” Lydia asks nonchalantly, peeking her head toward the living room to ensure my dad doesn’t hear her. “Sayah, you haven’t heard anything from Laureya, have you?”
Being caught off guard by the question, I linger on my stepmom for a few seconds, wondering why she’s bringing her up.
Did she see her at the celebration, too?
“I called her to tell her mom died,” I reply, putting my hand on Dom’s lap. “She hung up on me. You haven’t either, I’m assuming.”
“No, but that’s what’s weird,” she replies, adjusting the glasses on her face. “She usually comes around occasionally to get money from your dad. We haven’t heard from her in over a year.”
“Huh,” I say, wondering if I should mention that I swear I saw her earlier. “Must be way into the meth now, then. ”
Lydia looks at me and squints at my snide indifference toward my sister.
When she returns her attention to the sizzling pan, I retrieve my phone and unlock it, pulling up the message thread that’s just messages to her from me.
All unanswered.
Hey, were you at the celebration today? I swear I saw you.
Hitting send, I return my attention to the group, setting my phone on the table.
“So, Sayah tells me that the house you lived in as girls was haunted,” Dominic says to the aunts, changing the subject.
“It was,” Maggie replies, eyeing him demurely.
“What sort of stuff happened?” Dom asks, intrigued. He leans closer to the table. “I had a house once that was haunted, too. I love ghost stories.”
“Oh, we would see lights on the hill thinking it was my dad coming home, and it wasn’t,” Hilda says seriously. She’s the best at telling ghost stories. Her face is always so grim when she tells them; her brows draw into a tense line, and her expression doesn’t waiver.
“They lived in an old house on the grounds of this park,” I explain. “My grandpa was the caretaker. Since they lived on the grounds, Grandpa would walk to work and back.”
“Oh, wow. That’s cool,” Dom says, propping his head on hand. “What else would happen?”
“Our book bags used to sit in a corner, and one night, a rubber band shot across the room, and they fell over,” Hilda says, looking to Maggie.
“Sayah’s mom and her Aunt Janet shared a room,” Maggie continues, “One night, they heard breathing in the vent and chains on the stairs, so they pulled the covers over their heads. Something burst into the room and started thrashing all the perfumes and things off the dresser top. They realized it wasn't a dream when they woke up in the morning. ”
Chills climb my arms and the back of my neck.
Their ghost stories never get old.
Lydia stops cooking for a moment and leaves to grab something from the living room.
“What about you, Dom?” Hilda asks. “What happened to you?”
“Oh, this old house we had when I was a kid had a singing ghost,” he says, reclining back. “She was gentle and liked to turn the lights on and run the faucet, but nothing too major.”
Suddenly we hear a scream. “ David? ” comes Lydia’s panicked voice from the other room.
Chairs scraping against faux wood echo as Dom and I scamper into the other room, quickly followed by Hilda and Maggie.
My dad is lying on the couch, gray as a sidewalk, dripping sweat, and talking nonsense.
“Daddy?” I exclaim in a tone of wild panic, running and skidding to my knees at his side. “Daddy, what’s wrong?”
“I’m gonna die tonight,” he slurs; his voice is high-pitched, and it’s clear that he’s not himself.
“Lydia, what is it? What’s wrong?” I look at her, my eyes burning frantically into hers.
“I don’t know,” she breathes, kneeling on the floor beside me. “I came out here to get my water, and he was like this. He asked if I thought his eyes were dilated, and then he started telling me goodbye, that I was the love of his life, and he doesn’t know what he would have done without me.” Tears are streaming down her face, and hysteria taints her voice.
“Does it have anything to do with his heart?” I inquire, holding my dad’s clammy hand.
Six years ago, my dad suffered from cardiac arrest and had a defibrillator implanted.
“I don’t know,” she says, stroking his hair, her eyes bulging with fright.
“I love you, Sayah. You’re my one and only,” my dad stutters, and I can tell from his eyes that something is seriously wrong. All I can think about is that I just lost my mom a month ago, and now, I’m going to lose my dad, too.
Dom pulls me up by my arm and into the hallway. “It’s his blood pressure,” he says quickly, the dark mystery of his eyes penetrating. “I can help him, but I have to move fast, and we can veilweave them later to forget.”
I nod urgently as his fangs protrude and his eyes whiten. Following him back into the living room, a grotesque crunch echoes as he bites into his arm, deep enough to draw blood. He squeezes it so the pool of crimson is thick and dripping and shoves his arm onto my dad’s mouth before he can even protest.
Lydia gasps and freezes in horror.
Hilda and Maggie keep unreadable expressions, watching Dom as though he was doing CPR. As strange as that is, I return my focus to Lydia.
Dad’s eyes are fixed on the ceiling, absentmindedly blank as he grasps Dom’s bleeding arm with both hands, suckling at the wound like a baby cow at a bottle. As he drinks, the gray begins to fade, his color returning.
“What’s he doing?” Hilda asks, seemingly incapable of looking away.
I put my arm around her, not knowing what else to do.
“What are you doing?” Lydia screams, scrambling to her feet and retreating from Dom. “You fucking psychopath! We need to call nine-one-one!”
Panic blows her eyes wide, making my heart race.
I hope Dom hurries to veilweave her first so that she stops panicking.
Satisfied that my dad has gotten enough, he jumps over the couch and grabs Lydia by her shoulders like he reads my thoughts.
At first, she puts her arms up in defense, trying to slip out of his grip, but the moment she catches his eyes, her thrashing stops. Whatever his mind tells her, it’s enough to calm her as her eyes go blank, her arms limp at her sides, and she nods.
She stands silently when he lets her go, as though in a trance.
“What the hell is happening?” Hilda demands, tense and shaking in my arms.
With no visible movement, Dom grabs Hilda’s face. I watch his eyes narrow, and Hilda relaxes in my arms; her shoulders and neck tension eases.
Maggie, bewildered by all that’s happening, says nothing as Dom moves to her, taking her face in his hands and veilweaving his silent coercion.
My dad, whose color has returned to normal and his hair has dried from sweat, sits up looking perplexed. Dom is a whiz of colors as he flashes over to him, sitting in front of him on the coffee table, putting his hands on his shoulders, and the dazed look melts away.
Lydia snaps out of her trance and goes back to the kitchen. My two aunts return to their seats at the table, and Dad resumes drinking his beer and watching his golf.
It’s as though nothing happened at all. Mystified and perplexed, I grab Dom’s hand and pull him to the front patio.
“That . . . was amazing. How did you know what to do?”
He clasps my hands in his. “I could hear his heartbeat had slowed. The way he was sweating and with what Lydia said, he asked about his eyes being dilated; the light from the window must have gotten bright. Being around a surgeon my whole life, you learn a thing or two about blood pressure.”
“And what about your blood helping him?”
“My dad has been studying our blood for centuries. We are still unsure how many things it can cure. Still, because of our rapid healing ability, it has healing agents, unlike human blood. We learned long ago that people heal by feeding someone our blood.”
“Will he turn into a vampire?”
“If he dies in the next twenty-four hours. Just keep a close watch on him. I veilweaved them to forget I fed him blood or that they saw that part at all, but they will still have a memory of him having an episode.”
“Can your blood cure cancer?” I can feel the question burning all over my face .
“No,” he answers quickly, letting go of my hand to stroke my face. “My dad, being a surgeon and all, does things when he has to while at work. A few of those things have been tried on cancer patients. Let’s say that it didn’t go at all how he was hoping it would.”
“How can your dad stand being a trauma surgeon?”
Dom contemplates the question, and I don’t know if he’s finally tiring of my inquiries. “He made a choice when he had Scarlet turn him—him and my mom—that they would not be monsters. He was going to help people, to atone for what he does when he needs to feed. But working at a hospital also gets him unlimited access to blood. So, because of that, he and my mom don’t have to feed on people that often. Once or twice a year, if that.”
“Oh, well, that makes sense.” My heart swells for him and the relentless beauty of his face—this tragically dark and brooding hero. “Thank you for saving my dad, Dom. I—I don’t know what I would do if I lost him, too.”
Although the vampire in him hinders him from having an easy grace, he’s still as soft and delicate as dusted soot. I feel him beginning to take up residence in my brain and bones and base of my spine and thread through me like nerves. Looking deeply into his hazel eyes, I lean my forehead against his and whisper, “I love you, Dom.”
His eyes narrow on mine, and it looks like he’s letting go of fighting something, sharing bits and pieces of his protected softness. “I love you too, Sayah.” He sighs. “More than I have ever loved anyone.”
He lowers his lips to mine and unglues something within me. Whatever wall I had been holding up for him came undone, and now this love for him is like a deluge through my soul.
“We should get back in,” he says, letting me go. “I want to make sure everyone is doing okay.”
I nod and let him pull me from the porch.
As we enter the house, my dad sits on the couch with his beer in a koozie, watching golf, his cheeks the perfect pale peach they were before the incident. He smiles at us as we pass by, nodding to Dom as we approach the kitchen .
Lydia’s busily cooking at the stove, listening to one of her podcasts. Hilda and Maggie are flicking through something on their Kindles at the table.
“Oh, good, you’re back!” Hilda exclaims, setting her Kindle down. “You have to finish telling us about your haunted house experience.”
And it seems all is forgotten. My dad had been healed.
By vampire blood.
A s I drift off to sleep later that night, I think of all that has happened in the last few months.
Losing my parents, meeting my love, and learning his secret. Sometimes, I feel overwhelmed by what I’m doing with my magick. But what tugs me into sleep tonight is not Dom, the celebration, or anything else that happened today.
It’s Sebastian.
I see him as clearly as if he’s in my room at the foot of my bed with an announced purpose.
I sit straight up.
He’s wearing all black, and there’s no light in my room except for the tiny nightlight in my bathroom.
His blue eyes, haunting in the darkness, filled with sweltering passion and intense longing, hold me transfixed and stop my breathing until I force myself to take in the air.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, clutching the sheets up to my chest, aware that I’m only wearing a thin tank top and no bra.
“I don’t know,” he answers, his voice sexy and deep. “I haven’t seen you in my dreams lately. I guess I missed you.”
“What is it that you want from me? Every time you visit my dreams, you kill me, or both of us. I don’t know what this dream is trying to tell me.”
“I don’t have any answers for you.” He steps toward me, and the urge to run screams at me. “All I know is that when I dream of you, I breathe a little easier the next day, the burden a little lighter. Your light feeds me, and every time I breathe you, living is simpler and a little less painful the next day.”
“Well, every time I dream of you, I wake up confused as hell,” I spit out, my voice querulous and demanding.
The all-consuming passion and love for him is dwindling, and I wonder if that has anything to do with the fact that I have now found love.
He takes another step toward me, and as soon as he does, something about his gaze disassembles me. It divests that wall that had started to build up, and again, I feel immured by him like I need him to live. As he grows closer, my limbs weaken, and that hot rush tingles in my toes.
He’s at my bedside within a second, and his gaze is greedy; those eyes are burning into me.
His angry mouth, which seems like it has turned cruel at my words, softens, and I need it on mine. I want his fire. I need it.
His rough hands suddenly brace the back of my neck and pull me up to him, his lips careening against mine as though one more second without them would indeed rip him apart. I feel his tongue, the fire begins, and the invisible agony of burning starts at my toes.
The surrendering sanctity of my neck is under his fangs again, and the sound of the flames engulfing us both is all I hear, along with the feeling of that extemporaneous fire.
When I open my eyes, I swear there’s smoke swirling in the sunlight.
The fact that the dream has returned puts me on edge and makes me curious as to why this strange man is revisiting my dreams.
I know he’s a vampire.
Playing with the thought of if I should tell Dom catches in my mind a few times, but there’s a lingering feeling of guilt as if I’d cheated on him.
I’m an honest and sincere person. I have no need to dissemble.
But even though it was just a dream—I couldn’t have cheated on him—the feelings that arise whenever Sebastian enters my world make my feelings for Dom pale in comparison. I wish that I had those feelings for him.
Feelings that the world stops moving and changes its rotation to pull the two of us together. A force of nature that’s incomprehensible but tangible and real and downright impossible to ignore.
I remember the way I first felt those feelings for him fading, not as intense as my first couple of dreams. But then, as he got closer, I felt them come flooding back.
This scares me because it tells me that this vampire is real and is infecting my dreams and making me feel real feelings. He can control my emotions and the Earth he stands on.
Last night's dream might have been real; he could have been in my room with me and then veilweaved me to make me think it was a dream.
It was too real.
There was smoke.
But then why am I not burnt?
Laying in bed still, I extend my arms to check for burns, and nothing is there.
Not a hair singed, not a parcel of skin burned. There’s no need to tell Dom about the dream.
Right?