Chapter 18: Hunted (part 1)

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  Barely has the sun kissed the horizon when Chiselle leaves the mansion with a sizable backpack on her shoulders and a murderous glower on her face. Without a word, I observe her loud departure from the top of the staircase. In the wake of the slamming front door, a strange silence blooms.

  Five to six days, I remind myself and drape the silver chain around my neck. I will be alright.

  With the whitethorn amulet serving as a source of courage, I proceed downstairs to the kitchen, but quickly find that my nerves are overruling my appetite. I decide to postpone breakfast until after my morning lesson. Perhaps, if I see for myself that Seth has no nefarious agenda, I might relax enough to actually get food down.

  Breathing deeply three times, I knock on the library door.

  “Come in,” the vampire’s muffled voice calls from the other side.

  I enter - and immediately stop dead in my tracks, my eyes growing wide.

  In the opposite end of the room, the door to Seth’s bedchamber is open, and in the middle of the doorway hangs the master of the mansion with his unclothed back turned to me. Grasping the head jamb tightly, he lifts and lowers himself slowly, rhythmically, using only the strength of his arms. At no point do his feet touch the floor.

  “I’ll be… with you… shortly,” he says between pull-ups.

  Utterly transfixed, I cannot help but let my gaze follow the shape of his protruding shoulder blades and the muscles subtly rippling under the pale skin of his back. His loosely braided hair swings softly from side to side from the momentum of his movements, the silver strands gleaming in the firelight just like the beads of sweat running down along his spine and disappearing against the waist of his trousers.

  My mouth must be agape because my throat goes dry in an instant.

  Fully distracted by the unexpected sight, my arms fall slack by my sides, and I accidentally drop my notebook. It thumps dully to the floor, startling me. “Shit,” I curse under my breath as I scramble to pick it up.

  Finishing up his exercise, Seth drops to his feet and turns to me, casually rolling his shoulders as he heads for the desk between us. “Good morning, Kia,” he greets me and proceeds to pick up the drying cloth slung across the backrest of one of the chairs. “You arrive forty minutes earlier than expected.”

  My brain fails to form any kind of reply as he starts dabbing his glistening face with the cloth, leaving his torso exposed and unguarded. Not even for one meager moment do my eyes hesitate to explore the forbidden land that is his abdomen - to Hell with propriety.

  Like with his back and shoulders, the planes of his stomach and chest are lightly sculpted, attesting to a hidden strength, and he moves with a certain confidence despite his faintly visible ribs and hip bones. He is rather lean compared to a man of his age, as I initially noted him to be, but his body does not give me the sole impression of sickness and malnourishment - of fragility and weakness. In fact, he looks surprisingly good for someone in his situation.

  As the linen cloth travels downward to dry the moist off his smooth chest, my attention is prompted to move southward with it. I don’t even realize the danger of such an action until my gaze passes over his navel and falls on the sparse line of hair growing just below it, a trail of dark leading beneath the dipping fabric of his trousers and directly to–

  “May I continue?” Seth’s voice suddenly interrupts me. “Or are you enjoying the show too much?”

  Blinking back to my senses, I snap my face away from him. “I certainly was not,” I blurt out, feeling the heat pump to my cheeks.

  He chuckles. “If you say so.”

  In the awkward silence that settles between us, I stare down at my fingers keeping busy with the strap of the notebook - if not to distract myself from ogling him, then at least to allow him privacy to do his thing.

  “Do you, uh…” I begin, not sure where I am going with it, or why it matters. “Do you work out every morning before our lesson?”

  The rustling of fabric tells me he’s still at it, and I do everything I can think of to drown out the images forming in my mind. When boring my nails into the flesh of my palms doesn’t work, I wrap the strap tightly around the tip of my finger until it hurts and throbs.

  “Yes,” he says. “But are you truly interested in my morning routine, or are you simply trying to hide behind idle conversation?”

  Huffing, I strangle another finger, still not looking at him. “How rude of you to assume I am faking interest.”

  “Kia.” My name is wrapped in soft reproach on this tongue. “You need not pretend with me. While you may be averting your gaze, I see you clearly. Your discomfort is more than evident; I can hardly tell if someone turned you inside out, as crimson as you are.”

  I bet Chiselle wishes she had before her departure. In this particular moment, even I can see the allure of the notion. Maybe it would’ve prevented me from imagining what kind of appendage the vampire by my side is hiding beneath those stupid, loose trousers of his, at the end of the delicate trail.

  When I don’t immediately answer him, Seth continues: “Perhaps you should take a moment to cool down outside before we initiate today’s studies. Your mind needs to be clear and sharp.”

  ‘- and not in the gutter’ is the part he so graciously omits.

  He is right.

  “Let’s skip the first lesson altogether,” I finally say, rubbing my now cold fingers. “I am not sure I will be able to concentrate until later, anyway.”

  Seth hums. “Should I take it as a compliment that the mere sight of my perspiring self has rattled you this much?”

  I roll my eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

  “Too late,” he says.

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  With a resigned shake of my head, I begin to move for the door.

  “Are you not forgetting something?” he calls after me.

  Stopping, I dare myself another look at him. Still partially bare, he has now draped the drying cloth around his neck, essentially framing his firm chest. His hands are shoved in his pockets, head cocked and eyes glittering.

  “What?” I snap at him without meaning to.

  Paying no attention to my tone, he indicates towards the notebook in my hand. No words are needed to convey his message.

  “Oh, right.”

  Careful not to touch him by accident, I hand over the dark leather tome. But instead of just taking it, he pauses, trapping the book between us for a moment.

  “Much obliged,” he says, a grin growing on his face. “I shall now retire to my bedchamber and pretend that you served me breakfast in bed, fresh from the vein, like some dutiful servant.”

  Feeling myself blanch instantly, I let go of the notebook as if scalded by its cover. “Enjoy,” I sputter and take a step back. “Or have fun. Whichever you prefer.”

  Seth tilts his head back and laughs heartily as I rush for the entrance hall. Only when I’ve closed the door behind me do I take a shaky breath. “Prick,” I whisper to the air around me. Still, a small smile creeps into the corners of my lips.

  His comment served merely to provoke a reaction in me - a jest utilizing the fact that I was already flustered and embarrassed by the situation. He did not mean it. At least I don’t think so.

  He doesn’t regard me in such a way. Right?

  Forcefully pushing the thought aside, I return to the kitchen. I should try to eat something before tending to my housekeeper duties. After all, I have been promoted to the source of my own headache for the next five to six days, and I cannot order myself around for hours on an empty stomach.

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  Nineteen traps and snares in total, expertly crafted and neatly scattered about the mansion grounds and nearest forest area - and all of them empty again today.

  For four days in a row, not one God-damned critter has walked into its purposeful death. If this continues, as I fear it might, Seth will have to make do with the seven drops of blood I provide him with daily, at least until Chiselle returns with a solution. Or until he manages to find a way around the amulet’s protection and decides to take matters into his own hands.

  I wonder how long a vampire can survive on so little - mentally as well as physically. What happens if he snaps? And, more importantly: If he does, and the amulet somehow fails, how much blood can a human like me even survive losing?

  Around me, the trees are wrapped in thick mist, the moisture clinging to my skin and clothes in thousands of tiny pearls. Save for the sound of my boots, the forest lies undisturbed. Tranquil. It is almost like another world, vast and yet enclosed.

  The humid air feels crisp and earthy in my lungs, and I inhale so deeply that it stings in my chest. Eventually, my newfound state of calm overrules my worries, and my fear quietens for a blessed hour. Being out here is almost like therapy.

  When I arrived at the mansion three weeks ago, the predominant silence was driving me mad. Now I finally see the beauty of it. Some part of me will miss this when I go home to Trefield. Possibly Seth as well, even with his mercurial nature and impeccable ability for getting under my skin at times.

  Wet, needly pine branches tickle my face and fingers as I trek back toward the familiar meadow shortly before nightfall. I am in the middle of spelling the names of everyone I can think of when a sudden movement in the undergrowth before me catches my attention. Stopping in my tracks, I listen closely - and gasp in surprise as a fully grown hare darts out and into the open. It must have sensed me, for it flees in terror.

  Only for a heartbeat am I immobile - then pure instinct sets in, and I follow the animal like a wild beast hunting its prey.

  I need it. For him.

  With no regard to my bodily limitations, I tear through the clumps of evergreens and jump over fallen trunks and branches, tracing the erratic movement pattern of the bolting rodent, my hands flexing and ready to capture. Behind me, twigs pull and nibble at the hem of the travelling cloak Chiselle has lent me, but I care not as my focus is locked onto the rare, long-eared opportunity that has presented itself.

  Despite my desperate attempt, I quickly find that the hare is much faster than I am, and I conclude that I cannot outrun it. However, I might be able to steer it in the direction of a snare and let the wire do the work. It’s no shame utilizing what is already there.

  Keeping left, I try to urge the animal in a different direction. The effect is questionable; while I can hardly claim to have been a herding dog in a former life, the animal does change its path, though. And I follow, foolish hope sprouting in me.

  Utterly consumed by the chase, I lose track of both time and place.

  By the time the hare eventually slips out of my sight and disappears, I find myself in an unfamiliar part of the forest. Above me, the sky has darkened, another frigid and starless night blooming. And in the deafening silence, I pant miserably, every heaving breath like a dagger between my ribs as white puffs deploy from my parted lips.

  I look around, unable to spot any landmarks or man-made paths, and the danger of my situation dawns upon me: I don’t know if I can find my way back, and I might not survive an entire night outside. Not with these temperatures.

  Shit, is all I can think. Shit shit shit.

  Fear and panic and shame mingle merrily inside of me, threatening to render me wholly frozen and useless. But as I am about to sit down and bury my face in my hands, I catch the faint trickling of water nearby. Running water means a sense of direction, at least. I can work from there.

  Tugging my cloak tighter around me, I force myself onward. With the adrenaline of the hunt slowly ebbing out of my system, I become aware of the strain I’ve put on my foot. A twinge shoots along my shinbone for every step I take, and I wince in painful regret.

  Why on Earth did I think that sprinting through the forest was a good idea? The outcome of last time should have taught me a valuable lesson. And yet, I insisted on putting myself at risk for Seth’s sake. I truly am an idiot.

  Why do I even care whether or not he eats enough? He has been starving for two decades; a few days more or less won’t make a difference to him. Or me, for that matter. Despite what I tell myself, I cannot buy protection from him with animal blood. My catching a hare for him wouldn’t change his mind if he indeed did plan to assault me.

  And what good is security anyway if I end up getting hurt or killed in the attempt at gaining it?

  Listening closely, I manage to locate a brook behind a particularly dense section of trees. There is a considerable chance that it’s connected to the stream that Chiselle showed me on our first expedition together - and if that is the case, I can find my way back to the mansion from there.

  But first I need to drink. My throat feels raw from exertion; swallowing like consuming fine gravel. So I fall to my knees by the bank, my dress meeting mud without hesitation. The water wraps my fingers in agonizing cold as I cup a mouthful.

  When I bring my hands to my mouth, I spot a strange, red swirl in the otherwise clear liquid. A lurch of unease rushes through my stomach. I have a fairly good idea what that is…

  Before I can investigate to confirm my suspicion, however, I hear a deep, guttural rumble close to me. Alarmingly close.

  Mustering more courage than I actually possess, I lift my gaze ever-so-slowly and look to my right. Only a few strides upstream, perching over a bleeding lump of fur on the opposite bank, a hunched figure watches me with deadly calm, its eyes faintly glowing crimson like tiny, bloody moons in the twilight.

  A twisted amalgamation of man and beast, the creature sits on its haunches, its bodily proportions eerily akin to a human’s, but in an ape-like fashion it uses its clawed hands for support like a pair of front legs. Unnatural, a perversion - like it was not meant to be like this. Or even exist.

  And in this very moment, I truly, desperately wish it didn’t.

  Like petrified, I remain on my knees, my trembling hands fighting to keep the water from running down my arms - as if my lack of movement will make it lose interest in me. But as the nightmarish being suddenly discards whatever unfortunate animal it had decided to rip apart and then begins to creep towards me on all four, I fail miserably. A broken sob escapes my throat, and I shoot to my feet.

  And run for my life.