Newborn

PART SIXTEEN

We left the cemetery quickly after that.

Rosalyn had chosen to come with us, which meant that I was the third wheel in the backseat as we drove. Darien had the radio on but chose to keep it down low, despite the fact that none of us were speaking. The mood in the car was grim. And I stared outside the window, replaying the horrific scene inside my head—my Maker yanking me toward him, out of the way, moments before a wolf dove at Spencer and bit him. I grimaced at the memory as I realised the cold reality. If Darien hadn't of pulled me out of harm's way, it would have been me dead on the ground.

My gaze lifted toward Darien, watching quietly as he drove. His dark eyes were focused on the road, both hands on the wheel, and he seemed to be deep in thought. I recalled how he had murdered that innocent woman in the alleyway, but with how he kept saving my life, it was really hard to continue to view him as the villain. In fact, part of me almost believed that he was heroic.

It was around midnight when we arrived at the old house that I had woken up in this morning. Now, as I got out of Darien's black Mustang, I got a better look at the place. It was beautiful. An elaborate white and red rose garden led to a set of cement stairs, which supported the veranda and a white and green railing. A few fairy lights lined the garden, and the house itself was magnificent. It was white weatherboard and the windows were lined a soft, tea green that complimented the garden. The house was three stories, with a tall, light grey roof that was styled to mirror the image of a castle, particularly around the front room where they'd clearly extended the home. Then there were the modern white pillars, and the tinted glass on the top windows that I knew marked Darien's attic-like bedroom. But that wasn't the best part. It was the location. The house was a few miles away from any real civilisation, hidden deep within the woodlands on the outskirts of Sydney, up toward Newcastle. I figured that the privacy was due to us being vampires, but out here, we didn't really have to hide. It felt like a sanctuary.

Rosalyn was awe-struck too, and I took her distraction of the house as an opportunity to talk to Darien. I approached him slowly as he smoked on the front veranda, standing near the loveseat of the white swinging chair. As I got closer, he gave me a sidelong glance, and a sheet of smoke covered his masculine face.

"You didn't have to do what you did back there," I told him.

"I know," he replied, his words laced in the sweet allure of his accent.

"Then why did you do it?" My gaze moved questioningly between his. "Why do you keep saving my life?"

He breathed out curls of smoke, which rolled up the shadowed side of his face. "Most people just say thank you."

"Well, I'm not most people," I replied, holding his gaze. "I don't believe that strangers just do nice things out of the kindness of their heart, especially murderous strangers, like yourself. You kill an innocent woman, but you keep protecting me. Why?"

His eyes strayed from mine, as he took a long drag from his cigarette, and then flicked it across the lawn. "You remind me of someone I used to know."

I was just about to ask who I reminded him of, but then I heard footsteps approach. I presumed it was going to be Rosalyn, but instead, I glanced over to see a stream of pale blonde hair and the pretty face of Roxanne Turner.

Her lean arms were folded; her nose wrinkled and she leered at Darien.

"What's she doing here?" she asked. I thought the 'she' was referring to Rosalyn, so I was surprised when Darien glanced over toward me.

"Helena is staying with us for a week," he told her.

"This place is my home—it's Oliver's home," she said sternly. "I let you and Noah stay here whenever you need. I even allow you to bring home as many one-night stands as your heart desires, with the one simple rule: you need to watch them."