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Billy shrugged. “Ah, it was just a kid thing. We were young.” His words were casual, but I could see the pain in his dark eyes.
He walked toward the opening in the trees, toward the trailer park. “Don’t stay out long, Nicky.” His eyes glittered up to the trees, as if he knew she was there, too. “And don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, little non-virgin.”
Then he was gone.
And she was with me.
When I was sure Billy was out of earshot, I shot a look in the direction I’d last heard noise. “Hear all that?” I asked, walking to the edge of the woods that separated the cemetery from her lawn. Sorina followed out of the dark, a black dress dragging the dirt behind her. She’d changed out of the clothes I’d taken off her earlier. She was how she was in my dreams. The sheer black, the lace, the red. She was how she’d been on the hill, before the screams and the Deacon’s scent. I could smell it again now.
Sorina’s voice was measured when she answered, “Momo, vampires, werewolves, and your Jesus king.”
“What was that up on the hill?” I asked, walking out of the woods.
Sorina was suddenly in front of me, hands on her hips. “Where are you going, Nicky?” she tried on Billy’s nickname, and I turned to her.
“You don’t call me that.”
“You let him call you that.”
“Maybe I need some more friends besides Kyrie and … whatever we are.”
“You could do worse than Billy Clement.”
“Glad you approve.” I walked past her.
“Where are you going, Nicholas?” My name sounded like a caress when she said it, and I could feel it everywhere.
“Your house. That alright?”
“But I didn’t invite you,” she said, beating me to the front door. I noticed then that the windows reminded me of the church on the hill.Vampire King resides high on the hill.
“Stop me,” I dared. Something about the night was frightening and arousing. The figure that lived in the dreams, that had haunted me for years before she existed in my reality was influential and old. The version of her that walked in the night looked like her now, in the flesh, but different, darker, a humming around the form when I was lost in the nightmare world. I remembered the blood dripping from her mouth, the way it made me want to wake—to reject my want for her.
I reminded myself that the only vampires that existed were in stories, fairytales, and horror novels.
In Markus’s mind.
And why would a vampire want to dominate a small town like this one? With all that power, wouldn’t you want to devour the world?
Sorina reached for her doorknob, turned it, swinging the grand door wide.
The house didn’t look like it belonged here; it was old and beautiful, not old and worn down like many homes here. Time was clear in the style but not the condition, and when I stepped in I determined the house looked like her—ivory, red, black, ornate gold fixtures. Down the hallway, I could see a glittering chandelier. I walked toward it, hearing the front door shut. The last time I’d been in her home, I was nervous, missing the intricate details of her space as I took the stairs. I wanted to take my time. I felt bigger than my body, stretched at the seams. I was in the beast’s den, the haunting nightmare of my dreams. Of my fantasies. But I felt like the beast.
“Nicholas Hemming, don’t get caught up in the regret of a lovesick teenager who lost his little girlfriend.”
I stepped into the kitchen, black cabinets stretching to the ceiling, a small window above the sink. A mahogany kitchen table was in the center of the room, with four chairs surrounding it.
Everything looked … unused. Like the house was ready to be sold or photographed.Staged.
I ignored her, walking out of the room into what looked like a sitting area. I could sense Sorina following me but couldn’t hear her. Eventually, I found the staircase I knew led up to her room. I took each step slowly, the wood creaking beneath my footsteps. Again, Sorina followed, but the floor made no sound beneath her.
She probably weighed around a hundred pounds, if I had to guess. The outline of her ribs could be seen beneath her dress when she moved the right way.
I walked to her bedroom door and opened it wide. Lace curtains, red accents, and the small vanity in the corner where she’d brushed her wet hair. I stared at the large four-post bed, the covers perfectly in place. When I laid there the other night, it felt unused. She’d joined me, but how often did she sleep in the bed? My mind was racing, making up stories and stringing together poetry.
“Would you say this your room?” I asked, staring her in the eye.
“You could say that.”
