His Captive Mortal (A Vampire Romance)

Hot anger makes me flex my fingers. Before I even form the thought, I trace away. When I rematerialize, I’m still in the house, standing in her kitchen. As if my body, or my subconscious, refused to leave her this time.

I hear a sob from the bedroom.

Aurelia.The stricken look on her face the moment before I traced burns in my mind. But she’s Anka. My heart feels leaden.

You always just disappear, and I’m left trying to figure out what I did wrong and how to fix it.

I draw a breath. Fuck. She at least deserves a goodbye.

I return to her bedroom.

She stands in the middle of the floor, looking lost.

I take hold of her shoulders. “I need to leave, Aurelia. I need to be alone.”

“Are you coming back?” she whispers.

I stare at her, my gut clenched like a fist. I can’t speak. “I don’t know,” I say at last. The pain in her eyes closes my throat. “I have to go.”

She nods mutely.

“Don’t follow me.”

Her eyes glitter with tears.

I stand there like an idiot. There’s nothing more to say. I can’t be here, and yet I can’t leave.

A tear slips down my cheek.

I close my eyes and trace to my place.

Fuck. I can’t be here, either.

I trace downtown, then to the top of a parking garage. I look out over the city, fighting the urge to hunt and kill like a newly turned vampire. I crave violence, the taste of blood taken without consent. I hold very still as the animal within me rages.

Charlie

In my bedroom, I open the safe in the wall and remove the wooden box I’ve kept since 1865. Inside lies the ruby necklace I bought for Anka, the one I’d meant to give her the night I found her with another man. I’ve kept it all these years—a symbol of why women can’t be trusted. Why no one should be trusted.

I take it out of the box, holding it up to the light. I remember how pleased with myself I was, knowing how much Anka loves jewels. I close my fist around the gemstones, the pain of her betrayal so fresh I still smell her scent, feel the satin of her bedding.

She can’t be Aurelia. She just can’t be. They have nothing in common, except for their power. Aurelia’s not driven by ambition or pride. She gives her heart openly. She gives without asking in return.

And yet...how can I be with her, knowing she was Anka? What if Anka speaks to me through her again? I can’t trust myself not to hurt her. My hand had twitched to reach for her throat and squeeze!

I’m free of the curse, I should be celebrating. What a bitter irony to be healed only to discover the one woman I wanted to make love to is my worst enemy.

No. I don’t see how I could ever be with her without hating her for what she did. For who she is.

Aurelia

I wander through the streets of downtown, a terrible anxiety twisting and churning inside me.

It’s been three days. Three forking days, and Charlie hasn’t returned.

I moved through my days numbly, trying not to think. Caught in a nameless hell of hope and mourning. I see Charlie everywhere I look: in my boarded up windows, the overturned dresser, the bed, the sofa, the kitchen.

At work, I remembered how he calmed Tommy. How I’d been wrong to mistrust him. I think of his cool stares, the sardonic twist of his lips, the arrogance which had been more an act than anything.

Anka doesn’t return, and yet something in me has changed. I seem to know French, for one thing. And I feel wiser, like I absorbed Anka’s life experience to become more of an “old soul”.

I read the rest of the books Charlie bought for me and found my magic has grown even more powerful, perhaps from Anka’s integration as well. I worked in my garden, using the light from my hands to support the growth of my new plants, and I watched them respond, doubling in size in just two days.

But I can’t keep waiting for Charlie.

I need to find him. I need to convince him Anka’s gone, that I’d never hurt him. I could not take it if Charlie never came back. I need to fight for him, even though I have no idea how I’d manage a relationship with a vampire.

I stake out Eclipse but see no sign of him or the other vampires. Just the big tattooed biker dudes—the shifters. And I doubt they’d care about a missing “leech.”

My only lead is his secret lair. The bunker at Sombrero Peak. I just need a ride.

With a sigh, I pull out my phone and dial Gwen.

“This is so exciting!” Gwen gushes.

I fiddle with the fake yellow daisy in the little holder on her VW Beetle’s dash and slump in my seat. I don’t need to respond to Gwen. She’s been making little exclamations this whole time. Apparently this is a “girl’s trip,” and we’re having an “adventure.” Gwen even packed a picnic basket and a white-and-red checkered blanket. Her whole life is Instagram worthy, but I don’t think it’s an act. I think she really is the sweetest person alive.