Save Me From The Dark

Chapter Two

I stop as if I've just hit a wall and stare, slack jawed, at the figure sitting at the table.

The dark-haired man lifts his head from the book he’s reading, and his eyes meet mine. They are black from side to side. No iris, no whites. It’s as if his pupil has dilated to the point of filling the whole socket. His mouth is a thin, strained line, and he isn’t showing his teeth, but I don’t need to see them. I know what he is, as surely and instinctively as I know that strawberries are red and alcohol is evil. 

Vampire.

Without turning my back and without breaking eye-contact, I start to retreat out of the room.

“Don’t be afraid,” he says, closing the book with a dry snap that causes me to jump. His voice is smooth, like the edge of a knife that has been so thoroughly polished that you don’t notice it cut you until you see the blood start flowing. “I won’t bite.”

He smiles, and this time his teeth show. His canines stick out, long and shaped like fangs, sharp enough to slice paper with the barest of touches. They share his mouth with twin rows of triangular teeth that would look harmless enough, if I didn’t happen to know they are just as suited for tearing flesh as the larger ones. 

“I’m glad to hear it,” I reply, in my best cheerful tone, and prepare myself for what I know comes next.

His nostrils have already started flaring, hunting for my scent - almost imperceptibly, although I notice it because I was counting on it happening. His eyebrows knit themselves together with entirely expected befuddlement, and the look he gives me turns interested instead of contemptuous.

He titls his head, places a hand over his unbeating heart and makes a slicing motion. I return the greeting before I can help myself. It’s a reaction that’s too ingrained in what I know to be good manners to be avoided. Trouble is, it’s also likely to give him the wrong idea.

“I’m Bryce Crowe,” he says. “Bloodworth Clan.”

I nod, but refrain from introducing myself in turn. Much as I loathe to admit it, Ezra Finch has a bit of a point about names. They may not possess proven magical properties, but they do have some power.

Namely, the power of allowing others to ask about you and potentially finding out where you live.

So I keep silent, and think instead of what I know about the Bloodworth Clan.

The answer is, unfortunately, not much. Mother and Father aren’t socially inclined, and never went to great lengths to know who is who in the vampire world and tell me about it. They cared about the handful of people they knew and about those who ventured into their territory to hunt or cause excessive mayhem, but that was that.

“I’m not one of yours,” I say. It’s better to get it out of the way at once.

Bryce Crowe closes his mouth and seems to spend a moment rethinking whatever he was about to say next.

“Why do you smell like it, then?” 

I sigh.

“That’s a personal matter, if you don’t mind.”

“I mind. What are you?” His tone is clipped, almost petulant.

I seethe. I tell myself that at least he hasn’t come at me and grabbed me yet. The last one who asked did. Father had to break his arm to make him let go, which had the unfortunate side-effect of twisting mine into a pretzel.

“Female Homo sapiens sapiens,” I snap, because what the hell even.

I’m not strict when it comes to how others interact with me. I dislike that they do it to begin with, but I’m well aware that I myself have a lot to learn when it comes to being pleasant or gracious. Therefore, I do not demand perfect civility from anyone else.