Dark Diary (14 page)

I MASSAGED THE TIPS OF
my fingers against my temples and tried to remember what a headache felt like. It had been decades since I had befriended anyone and centuries since I had been called something so
condescending. In the darkness of my solitude, I had escaped that wicked
title by keeping to myself and drinking only the blood of animals. I had stopped killing and intended never to harm again.

I had not attacked her, but had I harmed Kathera by trying to help her?

As I sat pondering my actions, the gaze of another drew m
y attention. The painting above my fireplace mantel haunted
me every day of my immortal life—but I would never have dared to take it down. Kathryn was a part of my
past that would stay with me forever. The melody of her sweet voice had
become distorted over the years and the scent of her body even less familiar. The feminine curves of her face and the supple ivory skin of her neck and throat could not escape my
memory… as long as I kept her painting near.

A new voice was creeping into my ears—penetrating my restless sleep with new tragedy and need.

Kathera.

I refused to believe that she could invade my thoughts against my will, but it was happening. Slowly, my brain took what little memory I had left of my Kathryn and assimilated it with my newest acquaintance.

Perhaps it was the bright auburn fire peeking out from the roots of her rich, burgundy colored hair that lured my subconscious into such comparisons. Maybe it was her fair skin or her blue eyes that provoked it. Regardless of the external similarities, there was a dark maturity in Kathera, and the heavy burdens on her soul showed whether she knew it or not.

I had done what I could for her, but I could not save her from her fate—whatever it was—and that was part of the reason I could not bring myself to be patient with her.

My eyes met the terrace window and moonlight shimmered
across the balcony. It was a gentle reminder of the hour and
I felt compelled to see if Kathera would return to her mother’s
grave… or to see me at all.

I pushed my body up off the armchair I had been sitting in and decided to humor my concerns with some fresh air. I
locked the door behind me and tossed the keys into my pocket. I wasn’t very concerned about the possibility of thievery,
but I took minimum measures to safeguard the sanctity of Kathryn’s painting. No thief would get within yards of the place without leaving a strong scent in their wake. Evasion of my wrath would not be an option.

The rain had finally stopped and the ground had dried up enough to leave my shoes clean of mud. It was still soft
under my steps and I searched the ground for signs of recent
activity as I walked through the night. I had been around town many times, taking in the sights and sounds of the nightlife in the area.

I had seen Kathera’s shop and even watched her as she walked home from work once. It was a quiet town with law-abiding citizens who kept to themselves during daylight hours, but even the sweetest city has its sins. The darkness brings forth prowlers and demons, and I have witnessed their deeds too often to forfeit trust to the night.

It surprised me how brave Kathera was to make the perilous journey home every evening—alone. A young woman of her sense should have recognized the danger of it, but perhaps the fate that awaited her at home made the risk seem trivial.

My shoes clicked against the sidewalk as I strode, and I witnessed the city shutting down. Shop signs turned off, buildings went dark, and the parking lots emptied. People had places to be and families to tend to. People had lives to live.

Faint sounds of a female voice echoed in the distance and my ears immediately tuned into it.

Kathera?

The breathing was heavy and distressed and not too far off.

I picked up the pace and jogged ahead to the location of the voice. Instinct told me to stay away, but my conscience begged otherwise.

As I opened the cemetery gate, the squeal of a creaky hinge pierced my ears and I flinched. In a gesture of
invitation, the lock had been left open and lay neatly atop a nearby
pile of chains.

She was there; I felt it.

A split second and I lost her scent to a gust of frigid air.

“I’m sorry.” A small voice came from nearby. I turned
and saw Kathera standing a few feet away from me, her hands
at her sides and a frown tugging heavily at the edges of her quivering lip.

“I’m sorry, Matthaya, for what I said to you.” She stepped
closer and brought her hands together to her chest.

Relief filled me. She was not only out of harm’s way, but the mark on her face had healed without a trace.

A red hue saturated the edges of her eyes and I could taste the tears she had yet to cry. Her agony captivated me.
An advantage of my
condition
was that I hadn’t many weaknesses
, but the tears of a girl in pain could still enslave me. I was miserably at her mercy now.

“I was scared,” she said, taking another step toward me. “And angry.” And another. “I’ve been hurt so many times that I didn’t know what to think. I shouldn’t have said those things to you, Matthaya. I’m sorry.” Her face fell and her eyes met the ground. Her burgundy tresses tumbled over her shoulders. “Can you ever forgive me?”

There was nothing to forgive. I
was
a monster and no amount of denial could change that fact, which I would live with for the rest of my days. It had hurt to hear it from her after what I had done to help, but what did she know? She didn’t know what I really was.

Her courage crumbled. She let out a muffled moan and then burst into tears.

In a final step, I closed the gap between us. I opened my
arms and offered a hand sympathetically out to her. I did not know how to soothe the pains beyond those I had caused.

Kathera leaned in cautiously, glancing at my hands and then back at me. I forced a grin in an attempt to assure her I had accepted her apology. She shuffled an inch closer and looked me in the eye, then she looked down and thrust herself into me, knocking me back a half step. She buried her face against my chest and her forearms close to my body and cried.

It wasn’t what I had planned, but I couldn’t push her away. She needed someone to comfort her—to hold her close
and tell her what she wanted to hear. Heeding the obligations of a “friend,” I closed an arm around her and my other hand came up behind her head, where I lightly stroked my fingers through her hair.

“You’re safe. You’re safe with me, Kathera.” Her silky strands tickled my fingertips. “I forgive you.”

Like a puppet with her strings freshly cut, she sunk into me, losing every thread of apprehension. She melted into my embrace as if she had believed my words to be true.

Surely, it wasn’t a lie, but…

The scent of her tears filled my nostrils with a unique, salty odor as they saturated a patch of my shirt. Her breathing was erratic and her body reverberated against me as she cried heavily in my arms. It was painful, in a way, to hold her close and know that she was depending on only my affections to ease her heart.

My fingers combed down through her locks and caressed
the back of her neck as I waited for her to regain her
composure. She was alone in her fight with her stepmother and the quarrels between them were something she would disclose to no one else.

Without an outlet for her frustrations, she risked isolation and depression. She found her release in
me
just then, and I found a small amount of relief in knowing that I was able to ease at least some part of her mortal pain.

In the minutes that passed, her breathing relaxed and her fingers loosened their grasp on the folds of my shirt.

“
Thank you,” she murmured, her face still pressed against
the damp fabric on my chest.

My fingers cupped the side of her neck. She felt overwhelmingly warm, flushed with the delicate heat that often accompanied human sorrow.

Kathera’s reddened eyes glanced up at me and she
sniffled before clearing her throat. My eyes traced hers. Mahogany
colored eye shadow had been smudged toward her hairline on both sides.

“I needed this,” she said with a congested cough. A small
smile emerged.

I had forgotten what a delicate balance existed between the emotions of joy and sadness. Something as simple as an embrace had rescued her from her misery, filling her fervent heart with a moment of sanctuary.

“I cannot keep you safe forever,” I said, my fingers unconsciously brushing against her chin.

“Could you?” Her azure eyes glittered. “If you wanted to?”

No. I simply couldn’t. She knew nothing of how the disease worked, or what I was for that matter. The sheer thought of taking her away from mortality and into the hell that was vampirism left me sickened. Even if it
were
possible.

“No.” I shook my head. “I can—”

Her hands clasped my face and I froze. The pulse of her heart vibrated through her fingers. A skip in its beat diverted my senses, and before I could stop her, she lifted herself the inch necessary to press a kiss against my lips.

It was brief, and she soon sunk back down to her feet, taking a moment to savor the prize she had stolen from me. There was a flutter in her chest as she anticipated a reply, but I said nothing.

The kiss had had no effect on me.

But, as I lingered a moment in thought, a remarkable sensation penetrated my lips from the minute trace of saliva
that remained. I moistened them with the
ridge
of my tongue… and…

Kathryn’s fair ivory skirt danced in the wind as she twirled
about in the grass. A scent of fresh breeze teased my nostrils with hints of orchid and honeysuckle. Her face turned toward mine and the sunlight brought to life the radiance of her skin, accentuating the roundness of her cheeks and the stunning blue sparkle of her eyes. She hiked up her dress and jaunted toward me…

“Matthaya?” Kathera swallowed hard and a somber
expression swept across her face. She tangled her hands together
and took a step back, embarrassed. “That was stupid. I’m sorry, Matthaya. I-I shouldn’t have…”

The urge to taste her again possessed me and our eyes locked. The scent of her soft, anxious breaths drew me in.

“Matthaya?”

I grasped her shoulders, cleared my head of discretions, and pulled her to me. The careful tug knocked a faint gasp from her lungs, but her heartbeat raced excitedly. My face tilted and Kathera closed her eyes, relaxing into my hands as I took back what she had stolen from my lips.

Curls of copper fire shimmered beneath the sun.

I closed my eyes to the darkness and let the kiss take over.

Kathryn?

I caressed gentle folds of mossy-green satin. Morning light warmed my skin, and the lush fragrance of grassy Irish hills roused me.

Her delicate hands inched up my chest where they grazed
the buttons of my shirt and then grasped firmly onto my collar.

A restrained grunt of pain escaped her lips and she flinched, withdrawing partially and then kissing me again without hesitation. I disregarded it, too, as she weaved her
fingers affectionately through my hair and sent another wave of
Kathryn’s essence crashing through me.

“
Matthaya?” She took a breath and slid her cheek to mine, her lips resting just at my jaw line. Her fingers slipped
toward the gap of exposed flesh at the opening of my shirt collar and she traced over the thin gold chain that hung from my neck. “What is this?”

“Wh-what?” Sunlight stung my eyes a moment longer before reality returned and the shadows enveloped us once more.

Kathera tried to decipher the tiny cross.

Kathryn’s necklace.

I backed away and covered it protectively with my hand.

“It’s nothing. I-I…” I stammered, at a loss for words.

“It’s alright.” She took up my hand and smiled assuredly
. “It doesn’t matter right now.”

But it did.

Kathera had put her trust in me and, as a friend, I was obligated to share the truth with her. But… I wasn’t ready to share the long, painful memory of Kathryn’s story with her yet.

The heat and light pressure from her hands clutching mine convinced me she was willing to wait for it.

We took a walk away from the cemetery and through the sleeping streets of the city. I kept pace with Kathera and she
lingered beside me close enough to latch her arm around mine. It was nostalgic—having her there. She had put so much
faith in me even when I had told her so little about myself. Walking with her made me feel at ease and… human. Feeling her warm fingers cupped affectionately around my arm lifted my spirits and made me want to tell her so much more.

“Matthaya?” Kathera stopped abruptly and grabbed the cuff of my sleeve. “What do you see in me?” she asked, peering deeply into my eyes. There was hunger in them that I knew would only be satisfied by, well, by
me
.

“Answer me, Matthaya.” She tugged again, more firmly. It was a question I couldn’t answer with the truth.

An artificial cough grazed my throat. “I don’t know,” I lied.

She was a smart girl, as cunning as Kathryn, but with the insatiable darkness of the new century coursing through her spirited veins.

“You don’t know,” she repeated, “or you don’t want to tell me?” Kathera stared hard into my eyes in search of one of the
real
answers. “You act like you don’t care about me, but you came to me tonight when you thought I needed you. What does
that
mean?”

“Whatever you want it to,” I replied in a sorry attempt to fend off her inquiry. I wanted to tell her the truth. Everything. I wanted to pretend she was Kathryn and free myself from the burdens of my secret past.