Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 112849 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 451(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112849 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 451(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
I glance at him. “Do you have river otters in Venice?”
He shakes his head. “No.”
“But you do have dolphins. Maybe seals?”
He seems to think that over, then looks up and around us, as if gauging something in the air, his nostrils flaring. “Perhaps.”
He looks on edge, which makes me further on edge. All I can think about is what Livia thought she saw come out of the water. It also makes me think about what I thought I saw earlier in the week, this shape on the dock below my window. If these are in fact monsters that have come from an opened portal, why would Valtu look so concerned?
Unless he has no idea.
“We should get going,” he says uneasily, his hand guiding me again over the bridge and then I’m heading right toward the apartments. We walk past a few buildings and crumbling old walls that seem to hide trees and gardens behind them, their autumn-kissed leaves looking pale in the moonlight, and then we’re in front of my building.
“I can’t believe you live here,” he says looking the building over.
“It’s all I can afford,” I tell him, feeling defensive, even though I shouldn’t be because the guild is paying for it after all.
“I don’t mean that,” he says. “This is one of the most haunted spots in the city.”
“As I said, I don’t believe in ghosts,” I tell him.
“Or creatures in the water, it seems. So very pragmatic.”
I give him a bit of a shrug. It’s dimly lit in this corner and most of the windows in the building are dark, giving it a feeling of being abandoned. The lone light above the front door is weak and flickers like crazy, no doubt affected by the vampire’s presence. It casts moving shadows across his face, his eyes seeming to glow, his cheekbones more pronounced.
Remember what he is and what you are, I remind myself. He is your enemy. This is only a play.
“Well, I better get inside,” I tell him, and this thick cord of tension suddenly wraps around me. I can almost see a silver line of electricity flowing from his body to mine. We’re a couple of feet apart and yet I feel a tug, as if it wants us to be closer.
He gives me a soft smile, something dark and dangerous glimmering in his eyes as they flicker in and out of shadow. “Thank you for letting me walk you home. I enjoyed getting to know you better, Dahlia Abernathy.”
“Thanks for volunteering,” I tell him, though my words come out in a whisper.
He takes a step forward and I instinctively want to take one back, feeling his predator instincts taking over. For a panicked moment I fear he may try and bite me…or kiss me. I can’t make heads or tails of his energy.
But then he reaches down for my hand, raises it to his mouth, and kisses the back of it, his eyes never leaving mine.
And just like that, the world flashes and brightens and changes and suddenly…
I’m inside what looks like a museum.
There are people around me dressed like they’re from the Victorian age, and Valtu is standing in front of me, holding my hand in this same way. He too is wearing a dapper waistcoat, a top hat upon his head.
“Pleasure to meet you, Lucille,” he says in an English accent, staring at me with what can only be described as love.
And then suddenly the image fades and we’re back in the dark outside my building.
What the fuck?
“I’ll see you on Monday,” Valtu says to me. “Good night.”
Then he drops my hand and turns, walking off into the night.
And I’m left wondering what the hell just happened.
Chapter 6
Valtu
It has been years since I have last attempted to write in this journal. It keeps disappearing on me for years at a time, then popping up on a bookshelf or at the bottom of a chest I swore was empty. Perhaps this book is cursed just as my memories are. Perhaps it’s controlled by a demon who enjoys fucking with me, letting me live my life with all the pain behind me before making me face it all over again.
I’ve read the book. The Un-Dead, which Mr. Stoker decided to call Dracula in the end. A silly name. He told me he thinks it means “the Devil” in Romanian, but having lived in Romania for years, he is completely wrong. Not that he ever sought my opinion after he published the book. He met with me but once, this time when I happened to be in Dublin. We had a night together and then parted ways. He didn’t ask me any more questions about being a vampire, and I didn’t ask him about the book. It was better that way. I never saw him again.