Dark Diary (30 page)

Of course it hadn’t, but the truth would break her heart.

She frowned.

Too late
. She had already picked up on my thoughts.

“Well, it felt real to me,” she continued with a bashful shrug. “I only wish we could have experienced it together.”

“It felt the way you
wanted
it to feel—the way you had hoped it would. But, that wasn’t
real
.”

“How do you know?” Her tone had a bitter edge to it.

“The look in your eyes. The smell of your breath. The purity
in the taste of your blood. It wasn’t
that
difficult to tell that it was your first
experience
.” I took the nearby glass back into my fingers and had another sip. “Kathryn saved herself for me and… apparently, so did you.”

“Did you?” Kathera stared longingly at me.

“Did I what?”

“Did you…
wait
for her?”

I think she knew the answer to that question but wanted a reply nonetheless.

“Honestly, I didn’t have a choice,” I replied with a dry chuckle. “Not that I
would
have done anything differently if I had, but when I was still human, I swore myself to only Kathryn. Now it’s an impossibility altogether. Our kind do not require intercourse to procreate.”

I tipped the foot of my glass up and swallowed what remained of the blood. Then, I stepped across the kitchen to join Kathera.

She lowered her head. “So, it was all just for me, wasn’t it?”

Not all of it…

Her face came back up and her eyes narrowed. I swept my fingers across her jaw line.

“Savoring your blood was an erotic pleasure by itself,” I replied, wrapping an arm around her waist and tugging her nearer. “Never have I experienced such luscious purity.” I brushed a stray lock of hair over her shoulder and touched her neck lovingly. The bite mark had vanished long ago, but the memory of my sin remained embedded in my mind. “Draining it from your flesh, however, was a guilty and seductive pleasure that I will never forgive myself for.”

K
athera finally lifted the glass back to her lips and drank
the rest.

“You gave me what I asked for, Matthaya,” she said, calmly. “There is nothing to forgive.”

I SHOULD HAVE BEEN HAPPY.
I should have been fulfilled.

Should have.

I’d gained all I’d wanted but at a heavy sacrifice. I had thought having Matthaya would be all I would need to be complete, and that his presence would end my sadness.

I had been wrong.

Inside me now was new sorrow that plagued me with utter emptiness and a feeling of worthlessness. He had tried to warn me. He had tried to convince me that even as it strengthened us in some ways, the curse enfeebled us in
others, but I hadn’t
wanted to believe him. I had known I could overcome them—
that
we
would overcome them.

Pig blood was sufficient to curb the hunger pangs, but it tasted disgustingly thick and metallic. I couldn’t go back to killing humans, though, so I had to adjust. Matthaya told me it was addictive—human blood—but I was stronger than that. With him, I would be strong enough to fight it.

That’s what he had told me, at least.

As I stared up at him standing beside me in the kitchen, I noticed the familiar misery in his expression. It was the same grief that had filled his eyes before, only now it was darker
. There was guilt brewing in the shallow frown threatening his lips.

I
caressed his cheek with the back of my hand. He closed his eyes.

“I love you, Matthaya.”

His eyes opened and he smiled graciously. He was so beautiful to me and I wanted to love him like I had imag
ined I would. Those frivolous fantasies were out of the question
. It’s hard to understand how closely related our ability to show affection is to our ability to actually
feel it
.

“I know, Kathera,” he replied. With an abrupt clearing of his throat, he turned to me and grasped my hand.

“I’m sorry I didn’t say the words before all of this happened, but the thought
was
there, I swear it.” He squeezed my fingers. “I love you, Kathera. I’ll do
anything
for you.”

He reached into his pocket and there was a soft jingle of metal. “Which is why I…” He pressed a small set of keys into my open palm.

I was shocked to see the familiar-looking key ring.

“Keys to the shop?” I asked.

“You don’t have to do anything,” he added quickly, his voice apologetic as if he had offended me somehow. “I thought, perhaps, you might want something from it. You spent a lot of your time there, after all. I’m sure you have memories you want to preserve.” Matthaya’s eyes searched
mine for some gratitude and I knew he was desperately seeking approval.

I closed my fingers around the keys and thought about what he had said.

Yes, I did have many memories there: my art books, my drawings and sketches, not to mention the awards I had won for many of my pieces. Maybe there were some things there I wanted back,
if
I could stomach the emptiness of knowing that Derek wouldn’t be there anymore.

“I’ve paid for a 10-year lease so there’s no hurry to go back there if you’re not—”

I interrupted him with a trio of fingertips touched to his lips.

“It’s okay.” I forced a grateful smile. “Thank you, Matthaya.” I
brought my clenched hand to my heart and closed my eyes in remembrance. “It means a lot to me that you thought of doing this.” I glanced at him and saw the gloomy shadows of his eyes lighten. Witnessing the tiny spark of joy provoked me to throw my arms around his shoulders and embrace him tightly. He was, at first, surprised by my reaction, but then he pressed
c
loser to me and I sensed an air of contentment spread through
him.

His hair still felt soft in my fingers and his dark gray linen
shirt was clean and crisp as always. It was nice to still remember how he had felt when I had first embraced him, although memories of those precious sensations were fading fast.

His arms released me and lowered back down to his sides.
It was then that I noticed a yellow glint of light reflecting
from his wrist. There was a pair of cufflinks at each of them
—one silver and one gold. They had been deliberately placed that way, as the pairs were mismatched on both sleeves. I hadn’t seen them before, but then, I had never seen him without his beloved coat either, which I had noticed earlier was hanging in the foyer.

“What are these?” I asked, lifting one of his wrists to eye level and examining the intricate metal work of the two very
different cufflinks. The simplistic-looking gold one was diamond shaped, while the silver one was round and accented
with tiny carved details that appeared to be Asian in origin.

“The gold ones were a gift,” he answered. “From a friend,
long ago. I bought the silver ones myself, back during one of my travels.”

I had already forgotten he wasn’t the same age as me.

I’m sure he had a million stories to tell me and I could only hope he would trust me with his every secret someday.

“I’d love to learn everything about you, Matthaya.” I grinned and, oddly enough, he did the same.

“You will,” he replied softly. His attention returned to the bottle on the opposite counter and he took a few steps to retrieve it. “I need to put this away.” I gestured for him to go ahead, and he left the kitchen with the black bottle in hand.

While waiting for him to return, I decided to have a look around and see what else he had inside the house. It was a spacious place with several rooms on the first floor and a few on the second. Large hallways. Open floor plan. Vaulted
ceilings. It was quite apparent he didn’t like cramped spaces.
To my disappointment, however, there were very few items around that seemed to be there for a reason. Abstractly
colored dishes and vases were arranged here and there on shelves
and tabletops, but none of them looked personal or his; they had likely come with the place when he had purchased it.

The walls were mostly bare, with few embellishments besides a couple of stock images in small picture frames hanging
in odd places along the stairwell leading to the second floor.

One step after the other, the stairs were creaky and the
layer of dust on the banister was an indication that they hadn’t been used in years. There were three rooms upstairs: a small bathroom, a cheaply furnished guest room—not of his doing, as he had better taste than that—and a small library with several dozen books stacked up along the walls. Some new, some old
. The incredible scent of aging paper filled the room.

The carpet was thick and plush on the second floor and felt more inviting to my bare feet than the hardwood finish on the main floor. Matthaya’s room was downstairs, however, and he’d more than invited me to stay with him there.

But, upstairs, the carpet was wonderfully soft.

I jogged back down the staircase and a brief look toward the patio windows revealed a soft, amber-haloed moon.

I smiled.

Harvest moons were rare and the sight of them had always made me feel good. The warm sun-kissed orange color was…
magical
.

Speaking of
magic
…

I wanted to make him happy. Somehow.

It seemed like once I had changed, he had forgotten every
last subtlety of mortality. The consuming lack of warmth and emotion had now choked what little passion he had had left from his veins. There had to be a way to make him feel something again.

Then I remembered the kiss from earlier and how Matthaya
had been awkward and uncomfortable—two things that shouldn’t characterize an exchange between lovers. A kiss was supposed to be passionate and soothing, and each accompanying breath instinctual and reactive to the next.

A single breath alone was meaningful.

Habitual.

Now, b
reathing came only from will alone as it was no
longer necessary to survive. Sighs and scoffs were forced and calculated. They had to be relearned, and the subtle nuance
of a single breath was out of reach and distant—soon to be forgotten even by me.

I had a strong enough grasp on my memories to recall the intricacies of what he had long since forgotten. It might be a leap of faith, but I would try to help him remember what it meant to take an unnecessary breath…

Wrapping my mind around my idea, I walked down toward the large master bedroom at the end of the hall and entered quietly. It was the only room in the house pleasant in its own way. The colors were deep and welcoming, the fabrics intricate and soft, and the heavy carved-wood bed frame added a touch of grandeur.

Matthaya sat stretched out on the bed, his legs relaxed straight out before him, his back propped up against the elegant headboard, and a copy of a book by Hemingway cracked open between his hands. A whiff of sulfur tickled my nose. A recently-lit candle flickered on the dresser beside him, and the golden light refracted off his eyes when he glanced at me.

We didn’t need to exchange words much anymore, now that our minds were linked. It felt right just to be near him. I stepped closer and he lowered the book into his lap. I climbed up onto the mattress and moved toward him. My fingers pinched the book by the cover, pulled it from his hands, and then laid it off to the side. His eyebrows furrowed at my actions and his lips moved as if they were deciding whether or not to question me.

I raised a knee up over his legs, inched closer to him, and
then sat back against his knees. I took one of his hands and lifted it to my chest, placing it just above my sternum and pressing it there.

My hands took their places, one on each side of his face, and the delicate touch of my thumbs against his cheeks silenced him.

I closed my eyes.

I concentrated and remembered.

How it felt to love… and be loved.

How fulfilled it made me feel to sit with him each night near my mother’s grave and do nothing more than talk of simple things.

The beauty of his eyes.

The sweet comfort of his company.

I tried hard to remember it all, but then the memories resurrected something else, too.

My lips tightened in an effort to disguise a muffled groan
as visions of Derek invaded my thoughts and I fought to keep them from reaching Matthaya.

He didn’t need to know about my mistakes.

I regretted it, but there had been times I had felt Matthaya when Derek had
held me in his arms. And there had been other times when I had tasted Matthaya when Derek had kissed me. Maybe it had been a terrible thing to do, but I hadn’t been able to help it at the time.