He Took Me in the Night

Chapter VIII: Helped

“My only doubt was as to whether any dream could be more terrible than the unnatural, horrible net of gloom and mystery which seemed closing around me.” -Bram Stoker, Dracula

Chapter VIII: Helped

I wake up to the sound of a soothing lullaby. The beautiful deep voice seems to float around me and I sigh deeply. It doesn’t belong to my father, but somehow it manages to fill me with an overwhelming sense of security as if it really is him singing to me.

The words are quite and gentle, coaxing me into falling back into a peaceful sleep. There’s nothing I’d like more than to drift away, and dream about life back home with my family, but the pain darting across my body makes this impossible.

“Good afternoon sleeping beauty,” Heath says softly.

My lashes flutter hesitantly and then I completely open my eyes. I turn my head to the side- my neck aching in protest- and my gaze falls to Heath sitting beside me on a wooden chair. He’s leaning forward, with one of my hands in his and smiling at me tenderly. He brushes a stray strand of hair away from my sweaty forehead and his fingers linger on my swollen cheek. His eyes soften as he catches me grimace in pain.

“Was that you singing to me just now?” I ask.

Heath looks slightly abashed as he nods his head. His lips twitch into a sheepish smile and he shrugs his shoulders. I find myself offering him a small smile in return. Somehow I know that his intentions are honorable, that he genuinely wants to comfort me. It almost feels natural to be content with this placid vampire.  

“You have a wonderful voice,” I tell him truthfully.

Heath smiles shyly and squeezes my hand. I feel my muscles relax, my shoulders slump and the creases between my eyebrows flatten out. Heath almost looks human with the sunlight breaking through the window curtains bathing the right side of his face in rays.

There’s just something childish about his features. His chocolate brown hair is messy like a little boy would after playing in his back yard; his diffident demeanor makes him seem less intimidating and the half moons on each side of his face makes me want to pinch his cheeks. His red eyes are the only facets constantly reminding me to be careful.

“Did you sleep well?” Heath asks.

“Yes I did thank you. How long have I been out?” I ask.

“Twelve hours. Don’t worry, you’re safe with me.”

“Where am I?”

“The infirmary,” he replies, as he reaches over to the bedside table and picks up a delicate, yellow teacup. He offers it to me and I peer down into its contents. The steaming, hot liquid appears innocent enough so I sip it slowly. It tastes very sweet, almost like the tea is laced with syrup.

“It’s delicious,” I say.

Heath just nods his head and rubs the skin between his temples, the very place I receive headaches myself. He sighs, closes his eyes and lets his head fall back. He has always looked tired to me- mainly because of the milky haze casted over his brilliant eyes- but today he looks exhausted. His skin is sickly pale and he’s very frail. He looks ill. Can vampires even get ill?

I take another sip of the tea before a question dawns on my lips, “Why don’t you burst into flames under the sunlight?”

“This ring protects me,” he says, sounding bored as he refers to the ancient-looking band around his middle finger. It has a jet-black symbol in the centre and I recognise it as the Immortal’s coat of arms. It’s beautiful in a creepy way.