Crimson: Secrets and Lies of a Living Vampire (Shades of Red Book 1)

by T L Christianson

  Then Owen said, “Are you a night owl, or just an insomniac?”

  My head popped up from the chair, and I looked at him and at the scrawny little boy wearing only superhero underwear.

  “I don’t know. I think both. I don’t need a lot of sleep, but I can’t always sleep when I want to.”

  “Yeah, I know the feeling.”

  “So, which one are you? Owl or insomniac?” I asked him.

  “I like the morning. I think if I could sleep, I’d be a morning person.”

  “Really?” Our eyes met, “why?”

  The corner of his mouth quirked up and as he spoke, his voice smooth like honey, with a hint of Texas. “I like it when the birds wake me up in the summer, and there’s that brief moment when the sun is coming up and the world is quiet. It’s like everything has stopped, and I’m there in the quiet.”

  I knew that sensation he spoke of and smiled as I thought of it. “I like that too. When the room’s just a little too cold from the night and the sky is still partly dark… yeah.”

  We stared into each other’s eyes for a long time. What secrets are you hiding in that head of yours?

  The hum of the fan made me sleepy and I leaned back into the cushion.

  Owen’s voice broke the silence, “How did you like Tech?”

  “What?”

  “Texas Tech. What’s it like? How’d you like it?”

  I nearly snorted, remembering Elizabeth had gone there before Columbia. My brain went through what I knew of the school, which was practically nothing. I didn’t hesitate though. “It was a good school. The people are nice.”

  “Your resume from the agency said that you were a native Texan, but you don’t have an accent.”

  “Oh, not everyone from Texas has an accent. That’s a stereotype.”

  Now, keep in mind, I was born in a little village outside London. I lived my entire human life in England. I’ve been in America for almost a century and have adapted quite a bit. Sometimes, if my guard is down, I do have a slight accent, but it’s not Texan.

  “Also, I thought you could speak Spanish.”

  I laughed a little uneasily. “It’s been a while since I’ve used it. I’m sure it’ll come back to me after being around it here.” I bit my lip and allowed a contrite smile to play on my mouth. I need to know more about Elizabeth.

  Note: Learn Spanish!

  I sucked in a breath through my nose. “What about you? Where did you go to school?”

  “Out east.”

  "Oh?" His vague answer made me purse my lips. "You're a doctor. Medical or Ph.D.?"

  “Both.” He smiled crookedly.

  I narrowed my eyes, and then his chest rumbled.

  “Are you laughing at me?” I asked him with a laugh of my own.

  “Yes, you’re trying to figure me out.”

  “Is that such a bad thing?” I tilted my head to the side. “Also, why is it so hot here? I thought the mountains were supposed to be nice and cool?”

  He nodded and laid Jack down on the couch beside his chair. “It is, but every year there’s a week or two when it’s hot like this. It doesn’t last long.”

  Jack turned in his sleep on the sofa, and Owen's golden eyes were full of love for his son. It made me sigh with admiration. If Dr. Bennett was such a good father, then why didn’t he allow the children to go to school like normal kids?

  My gaze caught his, and my breath caught. In the dim light, I could see tiny details like the blood flowing beneath his skin, and his eyes as they darted to my mouth and back a few times. His heartrate picked up, and I bit my bottom lip unconsciously. Neither of us seemed to want to break our connection until Jack murmured in his sleep.

  “Infectious Disease and Pharmaceutical research,” he finally murmured. I could see the slight blush of his cheeks and knew he must have felt awkward about our intense moment.

  “Oh? Right, that’s what you do?” I busied myself with the hem of my t-shirt.

  “But most of the time my research takes me to new places and subjects where there’s no previous knowledge.”

  “What exactly do you do?” Now that he was talking, I was determined to get some answers, attraction or no attraction.

  He pursed his lips. “Research and development mostly.”

  “So, what do you research and develop? New drugs?”

  “Drugs, medicines, vaccines. I’m usually just part of a team.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Then… why are you out here? In the middle of…”

  “Nowhere?” A shadow seemed to pass over his countenance. “Most of my work is classified.” This was getting more interesting by the minute, but why did he seem troubled?

  My heart went out to him. “Don’t you like what you do? You must be saving lives? Right?”

  “Yeah, of course.” He shook his head and ran his hands through his hair. “It’s just hard when I can’t talk about it.”

  I wasn’t sure what to say after that, but at least I knew why he was so hedgy.

  The uncomfortable pause in the conversation had me talking to fill it this time. “Well, it’s good to know that if someone gets hurt, you can help. I think it would take an ambulance over an hour to get here.”

  Forcing a smile, Owen nodded. “Yeah, but I’m a bit rusty with my clinical skills. I’m used to being in a lab most of the time.” Irritation sounded in his voice, and I wondered if he thought he'd told me too much.

  I’d struck a nerve talking about what he did, but he hadn’t told me anything meaningful. What had I said that hit too close to home for him? Was he suspicious of me?

  Shifting, I made an excuse to leave. Dr. Bennett was even more of a mystery than I originally thought.

  Touching Jack's white-blond curls, I stood, and Owen caught my hand.

  “Look.” His face was full of regret. “I’m sorry. It’s not that I don’t want to talk to you. It’s that I can’t.” His thumb rubbed soft circles on my wrist.

  "It's okay, really. I was just curious. You don’t need to tell me anything." I couldn't help myself; I rambled to keep his hand on me. "I probably wouldn't know what you were talking about anyway, and you've got lots of important things to do with your time…"

  “Daddy?” The little boy mumbled.

  Owen’s hand slipped from mine.

  I smiled and walked to the screen door. “Goodnight, Owen.”

  “Goodnight, Elizabeth.”

  Walking back to my room, I determined that after this “life,” I would go back to college, get a degree, and go beyond that. Maybe I would go to medical school. It might be important.

  Owen’s education really put me to shame. I’d gotten a degree from UC Berkley about twenty-five years ago. I could’ve done so much more with my life. Here I had all this time, and I’d done so little. Dr. Bennett was helping people, saving lives, doing important, classified work. What have I really done?

  Nothing.

  I’ve just sat on my investments and only worked when I needed a distraction.

  Dang. Sitting here at my desk and thinking about how well Owen has lived his life made me determined to do better, to do more.

  I dreamed of the past again, of Alexander. I kept who I was from him for over twenty years. All I'd ever wanted to be was a mother, with children of my own. In the end, the man I loved despised me.

  I tried to make it work.

  I tried to tell him.

  Oh, Alex, I feel sick about how things ended.

  Even after everything he had done and said, in the end, he didn't deserve not knowing what happened to me.

  I still wonder when he died. Did he grow old alone? It was cruel of me. I knew then as I know today that I’m a monster.

  He’d be well over one hundred by now. How much pain had I put him through?

  This was why I needed to stay away from Dr. Bennett. What if I began to form an attachment to him?

  Owen should find someone who could grow old with him. Stay with him, be a mother to his children. Someone who woul
dn’t want to bite him and drink his blood — then make him forget. He didn't deserve that. Alex didn't deserve the damage I'd done and the years wasted expecting me to have a child. If I had only left him when I knew what I had become… I should have.

  I should have.

  There’s a mantra I’m supposed to say when I feel self-loathing. “I’m a good person. I bring good things to this world.”

  Tears filled my eyes. I should know better than to think of Alexander.

  I should know better than to think of Owen Bennett in such a way.

  If Isabel were here, she’d tell me to leave this place. Our friendship had lasted decades until she died. Isa was the one person who knew what I was and still loved me. Oh, Isa! I miss you so much.

  Owen poured his coffee and caught my eye. "I asked Flor to take you into town; she's leaving soon and can show you the shortcut."

  I hesitated. I'd be fine on my own, but I thought it rude to back out.

  Flor smiled at me, so I nodded and grabbed my bag.

  Following the older woman out to a rusted-out pickup truck, I sat in the passenger seat.

  “So, how long have you been the Bennetts' housekeeper?” I asked.

  She paused. “My English no good.” Shaking her head, she smiled. “Hablas español?"

  “No.” I sighed, pursing my lips. “Français?”

  “No.”

  “Hmm.” We sat in silence, listening to the tires on the gravel and her occasional turn signal. Both kids and Owen spoke Spanish. I should've learned it long ago.

  I shook my head and allowed my eyes to roam over buildings as we entered town. Most were from the turn of the century, sporting a large glass first floor and made of brick.

  My mind wandered back to Owen and the company he worked for. I’d been so preoccupied buying curriculum and setting up the classroom that I hadn’t learned a thing about either.

  Thinking of everything, I knew I needed to find some answers. Just then, Flor came to a stop in the parking lot of a grocery store.

  “Here, aquí.” She wrote, 2:30 p.m. on a piece of paper. I nodded and knew she would want to leave then.

  After gathering my bearings, I walked to the emergency hospital across the street to get some fresh blood. I didn’t always drink human blood, but I felt like I deserved a little treat after all my hard work getting everything up and running to teach my kids.

  As I entered the office, the cool conditioned air greeted me. Behind the receptionist desk sat a blonde woman in scrubs, who looked up at me.

  If someone looks me in the eye, sometimes—it doesn’t always work—I can force my will on them. I just say what I want from them while putting intention behind my words.

  Standing at the counter, I pinned her with my gaze and spoke in a low voice so that I wouldn’t be overheard. “You will give me three packets of blood. Fill out the paperwork so that everything is in order, and then you will forget I was here.”

  Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn't. The receptionist was sleepy, and it worked well on her.

  When she returned with the blood, I slipped them into an insulated pocket in my purse and left.

  I wound my way to the liquor store and purchased two bottles of wine. After paying, I walked behind the building, which was secluded and backed into a hill. I was sure no one saw me. I dumped out the wine, then opened the blood packets, carefully pouring them into the green bottles. When I finished, I pressed the corks in and put them back into the paper sack.

  The blood bags already had preservatives and anti-coagulant, so I never needed to worry about that.

  Two Weeks Later

  I’ve been able to stay away from Owen for the past few weeks. In fact, I haven't even seen him. I think my strange mood and desires were because I was blood deprived.

  The older the blood, the more I need.

  Why do vampires need blood? I’ve wondered about it, and I know there must be a scientific explanation.

  Drinking a fresh cup when I got home from Durango, I felt so much better, but I couldn’t tell you why.

  I didn’t understand why it worked; I just knew it did.

  When I was first changed, I ate raw meat and would drink the blood from my plate with a spoon. I hadn’t understood what my body needed.

  It would’ve been child's play today to figure out what happened to me. But back then, doctors couldn’t find anything wrong and attributed my symptoms to the frail “female constitution.” They couldn’t have known; after all, I had a pulse and body heat. I hadn’t died.

  I spent hours rifling through dusty card files, stacks of books, and dusty library basements. I went to magic shops and strange places that no one would choose to go to voluntarily because I wanted answers.

  Ironically, I didn’t connect what I had become to those things called vampires from Stoker’s book, Dracula, until much later on in my life.

  But, I vowed to myself to never become like that thing that turned me, forcing me to search out people as my prey. I wouldn’t do it. I couldn’t live with myself and hurt people the way he hurt me.

  I did have a soul.

  I would not become like him.

  I refused.

  Chapter Three

  After being in Durango a little over a month, I found myself getting used to my new routine.

  Grabbing notebooks from the schoolroom, I danced down to the kitchen and began pulling out items for a picnic lunch.

  As I stood there rifling the fridge, Owen entered the kitchen behind me, and I called, “Hello.”

  “You guys can do school in the kitchen or dining room if you want.”

  Lining the juice boxes up on the counter along with Elaine’s prepared sandwiches, I nodded. “Okay, we may do that sometime.” There was a large whiteboard in the school room with a table, desks, and my teacher’s desk, so I made no commitments about moving.

  Dr. Bennett waited for me to move around the kitchen island and pack up the lunches before he came around to pour another cup of coffee.

  “So, picnic today?” He looked over my selection of food for the children. “Near the creek is a nice place for that. We're on a lot of acres here. Keep to the path, so you don't get lost." I felt his eyes follow my movements as I packed my backpack.

  “Okay.” I didn’t get lost… except when following terrible directions. I smiled to myself and when I looked up, I caught Owen’s gaze still on me. I tried to tune out the alluring woodsy scent of his skin, but my canines ached, and it took a great deal of willpower to keep my distance.

  Why were attraction and thirst so bound up together? Couldn't I find a man sexy without wanting to drink his blood? For once? This was another reason why I didn't have relationships.

  The children led me down a dirt path toward a creek that ran through the property. I soaked in the beauty of the thick scrub oak bushes and tall pines.

  When we stumbled across small leafy trees with clusters of red berries, I handed out the kids’ notebooks.

  “This is a chokecherry tree.” I plucked a strand of red berries and held them out to show them. “These are edible, but most red berries aren’t.” I closed my fingers around the berries.

  Watching as they tentatively ate the sour fruit, I smiled and popped one in my mouth. “Can you draw the leaves from this tree and its berries?”

  Nodding, they began inspecting the tree and picking more fruit. I set the box of crayons and colored pencils on a flat stump nearby. There were rosehips and ferns, and other plants that I knew would be wildflowers in the spring.

  Becca wasn't my artist; she made a simple outline drawing and quickly colored. Jack took his time, detailing the veins in the leaves and the large seed of the small berries.

  I told them to pick what they wanted to draw, and along the way, they sketched pine cones, aspen trees, and scrub oak leaves. Jack drew ferns and some wildflowers that grew in the sparse patches of meadow.

  When we finally made it to the creek, I laid down on a blanket and listened to the sound of t
he stream as it tumbled over rocks and fallen trees covered in moss. I’m not sure if the stream had a name as it made its way toward the Animas River in town. I’ve heard that Rio de Animas means the river of lost souls. I found that fitting for me, and somewhat comforting. Am I lost? I feel lost most of the time.

  I let the children play in the water, splashing and pointing out tadpoles. Finally giving in, I rolled down my socks and put them in my shoes before dipping my feet in the ice-cold stream as well.

  It seemed magical in this forest.

  Becca took my hand in her little one. She was so full of life. It made me wonder why Owen had kept these children isolated like this. In the forest, alone, with only servants. It reminded me a lot of my own childhood, brought up by servants in an isolated manor in the English countryside.

  I wondered if he kept the children close because of what happened to his wife. Why were there no pictures of her in the house anywhere? Where was she? I got the sense that she was dead. How did she die? Was she murdered, or something horrible like that? I needed to find more answers.

  Then there was Jack, the baby. Oh, I loved him so much already. I was laying on the blanket, pine needles crunching beneath me, when he wandered over. Covered in dirt and leaves and forest, he stood looking at me, wide-eyed.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Can I lay down with you?” he asked.

  I held my hands out to him, and this little bundle of warm boy curled up in my arms and fell asleep. My heart nearly burst with deep comfortable contentment. Jack smelled like the outdoors and pine sap and yes, baby. I wanted to hold him and keep him forever at that moment.

  Then he stirred, and his dirty bare foot made a long mud print down the side of my shorts and leg.

  Becca had found a frog and was making it a home out of mud, rocks, and sticks.

  We’d been next to the stream for several hours, our lunch long gone when Jack moaned, “I’m hungry.”

  We packed up and headed back to the house. Its granite block facade peeked out from behind the trees like a beacon, leading us home.