Chapter 30
I’m woken by someone banging on the door. Adrenaline sparks in my veins and I pull the covers to my chest as I stare towards it. The sky outside is dark now, no light seeping in around the edges of the blinds.
Is it Riley? The police? Something worse?
I want to escape, but I can’t. This flat only has one window—that’s why I bloody rented it—and that’s right by the front door. I’m stuck.
I tiptoe over to the door, then carefully look through the peephole and . . . just great. Just when I think things can’t get any worse.
Because it’s Oscar, his eyes glowing green and gold as he frowns at me through the peephole.
A heat boils within me. He is the reason Kenny is on that noticeboard. He is the reason Sally or Riley might get suspicious and figure out what I am. He is like a grenade that has rolled into my life and I can’t find the pin to put it back in.
I want to ignore him. Tell him to go away. But he’ll just open the door himself.
So I reach for the latch and pull open the door.
‘Aubrey, I don’t like waiting,’ he says, irritation in his voice as he looks me up and down. His gaze lands on my tangled hair and he frowns. ‘Were you still sleeping? It’s well past dusk. You really are lethargic, aren’t you?’ Then he pushes his way inside. ‘Come on. You need to pack some things.’
‘Wh-where are we going?’ I ask, my insides clenching as I throw a glance up the stairs to the road—no Riley. I close the door quickly.
‘My place in the countryside.’
Panic sparks in my veins. ‘What for?’
He shrugs. ‘You need a few nights without distraction to get well fed and focus. By the time you leave, you’ll be a real vampire.
Think of it as a wellness retreat,’ he gives another little smirk, like he’s amused by his own joke and I want to hit him.
‘Besides, it’s Christmas Eve. Do you want to be here, alone?
’ His eyes bore into me, my insides twist. ‘But hurry up. I’m having a little soiree tonight and we can’t be late. ’
I don’t want to go anywhere with him. Not now, when tomorrow is Christmas and Jonathan might find my earring and call, wanting me to go over there.
And especially not to some undisclosed location in the countryside.
What if he pushes me too far and I’m trapped there?
So I’m about to state all the reasons why I can’t go with him, sorry—work, Cat, life.
But then I stop myself.
Because I hate to admit it, but in this one instance Oscar might be right.
It doesn’t matter how much I try to ‘logic’ myself out of it, seeing Riley so close to my home earlier, has me spooked.
I could use a little space from it all. Then I can watch the VHC noticeboard from a distance while I try to glean how big my problems are.
So instead I say, ‘Okay, but I’m supposed to work on Boxing Day. I’ll have to call and—’
His expression shifts, like he’s pleased. Like he wasn’t expecting me to be so compliant.
‘I’ve already called them. They were very accommodating,’ he continues. Of course they were: Kenny, grief, counselling . . . Oscar’s hypnotic ways. ‘You’re off until January second. Now please, hurry, the traffic is going to be a nightmare.’
That’s just over a week. My stomach twists. But I don’t see any other choice right now.
So I nod and in a flat tone I say, ‘Okay, sure. But you can wait in the car. I need to change and pack.’
‘Suit yourself,’ he says, then he goes over to one of the walls, pulls open a ventilation duct and grabs a man’s wallet—Kenny’s?
Then to another duct, on the other side of the room, and pulls out a phone.
No wonder I didn’t know where the smell was coming from.
But as I watch him put them in his pocket, I wonder what he left in Daphne’s flat.
A driver’s licence? A few strands of Kenny’s hair? The knife?
‘I’ll get the rest from Daphne’s place when we’re done,’ he says. ‘But you might want to change your toothbrush head too, just to be safe.’
I feel myself gag and he smirks. ‘Just joking.’
Then he goes back outside, the door shutting behind him with a click.
I grab Es’s present from the coffee table, rush through to my bedroom and pull my suitcase out from under the bed and open it up. But before I pack, I rush back through to the kitchen.
First I grab a cooler bag and fill it with ice packs, and then I reach into that spinach box in my freezer, retrieve my final bag of blood, put it in the cooler and zip it up.
I don’t know how long it’ll last without proper refrigeration, but I can’t go into this with nothing.
I need a backup plan, just in case. I know I need to appease Oscar and appear to be compliant.
I know he’s going to make me feed off a human—he has said as much.
There’s nothing I can do to avoid that. But even so, I can’t allow myself to descend into the darkness, give in to the hunger, the desire, the way I have every other time I’ve fed off the vein.
I’m going to have to find a way to control myself, to stop.
Because I simply cannot kill anyone else.
So this bag of blood might be a flimsy backup plan, but it’s all I’ve got, and at least it’ll give me a chance—some way to pull myself back from the edge.
To regain my equilibrium. And as long as I don’t kill anyone, my soul can get through until the new year unscathed. At least, I think it can.