Love of A Dragon (Exalted Dragons Book 1)

by K. T. Stryker

  “How many came with you to the city?”

  “Six, including me; no, seven. I forgot David, our supplier.”

  Winnie had a ledger out and was counting names. She scribbled David’s name in an empty space under Landon’s family and added the date they had moved next to it.

  “That’s everyone?” she asked Peter with a frown.

  “Yeah,” he replied.

  Winnie scratched her nose with the end of her pencil. “We’re still short one. Would’ve come in around Christmas.”

  As a sentinel, Winnie had a preternatural sense for vampires. She was like a radar pinging their approximate locations within a certain radius. Apparently, there was a new vampire in town and she was trying to get a fix on it.

  “You forgot Mark,” Peter said.

  “No, counted him. Plus he’s not in town. He comes and goes as he pleases. This signal’s far too strong and consistent to be coming from someone outside the city.”

  Peter wracked his brain, but couldn’t come up with anything. “Then who could it be?” he asked.

  “That’s what I need you to find out.”

  “Does this happen often?” Peter said. “Don’t you have a system for things like this, a protocol? I doubt Landon was out here doing your legwork for you before I came along.”

  Winnie shook her grayed head and the string of beads holding her glasses around her neck clacked softly. “It rarely happens like this, not so suddenly. They usually seek me out after a while, like you did. But with this one there’s a… pulling away. It’s like he’s trying to run away while staying planted in the same spot. I can’t explain it any better than that.”

  “He?” Peter asked. “You know it’s a man?”

  “Or a woman,” Winnie replied.

  Peter remembered Ashe’s bite and irrational dread started to well up inside his chest. She couldn’t be. He had checked her after that night and plenty of times since then. She was eating regular food and had none of the other signs. Whenever he held her she was warm and full of life. He could remember the beat of her heart in her chest and the soft sigh of her breath against his cheek the last time they were together. She wasn’t one of them.

  “I know what you’re thinking, and it’s not her,” Winnie said with a wry smile. “You need to stop worrying so much. She’s a strong girl. She wouldn’t have been turned so easily.”

  Peter really wanted to help Winnie find the new vampire in town, but he was far too busy. He didn’t have time for this, not until Landon’s family was reduced to a heap of dust. Even then, he would have to go on the run and the city’s problems would no longer be his own. He was already struggling to find time for Ashe as it was. “I can’t help you,” he replied. “I have to take care of Landon’s clan first.”

  Winnie snapped the ledger book shut. “I don’t like not knowing who’s in my city; it gives me a wooly feeling in my bones. Something’s wrong. I’d go out and investigate myself, but this body of mine isn’t what it used to be. The eons have been kind, but I’m on my way out. Another few hundred years and—” she made a short, sharp whistling noise to indicate her meaning.

  “Stop being so dramatic, Winnie. I promise I’ll get to it when I can. It’s not like the vampire’s out killing people on the street. But if you’re worried, I’ll ask one of my sisters to look into it for now.” Winnie was acting like Peter’s father, relegating pointless tasks to him just because he was still able to move relatively freely during daylight hours. Any of the others could have done it easily. After all, David often braved cloudy days with the help of his coat and hat. Peter didn't expect the town to be getting any real sun until spring.

  “I tell you, something bad is brewing,” Winnie said in a dark voice.

  Peter ignored her and left the shop, his mind on far more important problems.

  CHAPTER 4

  Ashe was curled up next to Peter on a sofa in the student center. Thick flurries of snow danced outside the window and the sky was heavy with grey clouds. Ashe thought she could feel a charge in the air, like before a thunderstorm. The weather reports had been warning of a blizzard and it looked like it was finally on its way.

  Peter’s phone went off at the same time as Ashe’s, making her jump. Both their screens lit up with the same alert. The message from administration was brief, almost cryptic. Ashe read it aloud while Peter continued making notes in the margins of the book he was reading.

  “We would like to inform students about a severe weather warning for the state, beginning at 3:00pm this afternoon. As of now, cancellation of afternoon classes are still at the discretion of the professors, but it is highly advised that students refrain from attending classes if they live off campus. We will update the student body as more information comes in from the national weather service.”

  Peter closed his book. “Don’t you have Sharp’s class this afternoon?” he asked.

  Professor Sharp’s class or Professor Wheatley’s class; Ashe wasn’t sure. She hoped it was the former. “Yeah,” she replied. “But it ends at 3:00 so I’ll be fine.”

  Peter’s brows furrowed in that worried way Ashe had seen all too often lately. “I think you should take the afternoon off. Even if the blizzard hasn’t blown in by then, the snow’s already coming down pretty heavily. We can go now, since I don’t have any more classes.”

  Ashe shook her head. “I don’t know if Professor Wheatley will be teaching, but if he is I can’t afford to be absent. He already hates me enough as it is and there’s no doubt he’ll notice I’m gone. It would be the perfect opportunity for him to give a pop quiz.”

  “What will you do if you get snowed in here?” Peter asked.

  Ashe looked out the window. The snow didn’t seem to be getting any worse and there wasn’t even the hint of wind to indicate the coming storm. She figured she had at least a few hours before the roads became too dangerous to get home on. “I won’t,” she reassured him.

  “I’ll wait for you right here,” Peter said, looking like he wanted to protest her decision, but having enough respect for her not to.

  Ashe leaned over and gave him a peck on the cheek. “I promise I’ll come back here right after class,” she replied.

  Peter gave her another look of worry, but didn’t say anything further. Ashe settled back into the crook of his arm and he took up his book once again. The inconsistency of having a class taught by two professors was making Ashe uncomfortable about her grade. She understood that Peter was worried about the weather, but she needed to do everything she could to ensure that she would be able to graduate in the spring. If the snow really did become a problem, the administration would cancel classes, but until then Ashe would stay on campus. She would not be scared off by a little snow.

  Attendance was the worst it had been since the start of the semester. Ashe was among a small handful of students who hadn’t taken the weather warning as an excuse to skip classes. The snow was coming down in sheets now and beyond the auditorium windows Ashe could only see white. Professor Wheatley was droning on about folk beliefs in the early American colonies, every once in a while turning laboriously to the chalkboard behind him to write out a term that Ashe knew wouldn’t be on any test. It was almost as if the professor was purposely trying to mislead the students, just so he could berate them when they failed to meet his expectations. Ashe had to remind herself that this was still Professor Sharp’s class and ultimately it would be his decision who passed and who failed.

  The lights flickered and a murmur passed among the students through the lecture hall. A few stopped taking notes and looked around, as if wondering whether or not to take the momentary loss of power as a sign that class was cancelled. Professor Wheatley only paused for a moment to look up at the lights, and when they didn’t flicker again, he resumed his lecture as if nothing had happened. Ashe wondered if the power had faltered at the student center as well and if Peter was now sitting there worried about Ashe being able to get back home in time. She looked at the clock. There were o
nly fifteen minutes of class left. As long as she hurried, she would be just fine.

  Class ended with no further incident and it seemed that even Professor Wheatley was eager to get out of the building as he did not bother to give them so much as a reading assignment for the next class. Maybe it was the lack of attendance that had him apathetic or the growing ridge of snow along the window sills outside, but he swiftly packed up his things as the auditorium emptied. Ashe hurried too, she was glad to have escaped another dreaded pop quiz.

  As Ashe was getting up from her seat, Professor Sharp poked his head inside the open door. He looked haggard and anxious about something. The dark circles had returned with a vengeance and there was an odd mania to his eyes that indicated to Ashe he hadn’t been sleeping again. He gave a curt greeting to Professor Wheatley.

  To Ashe, he said, “Miss Linfield, can I see you in my office for a minute?”

  Ashe glanced out the windows then back at the professor. She knew she should be getting home, but the look in the professor’s eyes made her wonder if something was wrong. “Yeah,” she replied. “As long as it is quick; I need to get home before the storm hits.”

  “I promise it will only be a few minutes,” Professor Sharp hurriedly reassured her.

  “I think the storm is already here,” Professor Wheatley said in a grave voice. He stepped almost menacingly toward Professor Sharp, as if to shoo him out of the classroom. Ashe wondered if Professor Wheatley harbored resentment against the man he was forced to substitute for. After all, it was pretty clear which of the two the students favored. “Whatever you need can wait, professor. This young lady should be heading home.”

  “No, it’s okay,” Ashe said skirting past Professor Wheatley and joining Professor Sharp at the door. “I’ll hurry home right afterwards.”

  She spared a look back at Professor Wheatley as she followed the other down the hall. His mouth and brow were set into hard lines that made Ashe think of the depictions of witch hunts he had shown in his lectures. He was one of the townspeople casting the finger of suspicion towards his neighbor, condemning them to burn at the stake. It was an odd image, but one Ashe couldn’t shake no matter how hard she tried. Even stranger, Ashe was almost certain that the look had been meant not for her, but for Professor Sharp.

  The inside of Professor Sharp’s office was even messier than before. Papers and books were now strewn across the floor as well as the desk and Ashe had to be careful where she stepped on her way to her seat. Professor Sharp ignored the mess around himself, stepping on the open spines of books as if they hadn’t been there at all.

  “Is this about my grades?” Ashe said, trying to ignore the oddness of the professor’s behavior.

  Professor Sharp sat at his desk wringing his hands. His eyes kept darting from book to book, but didn’t seem to be really seeing them. “No, I mean yes. I wanted to talk about your performance in my class this semester. Professor Wheatley is worried as well, and I’m thinking that maybe—”

  The lights flickered again, this time going out fully for a pregnant second before coming back on with the hum of reawakening electronics.

  “I almost forgot; do you want some tea?” the professor asked suddenly.

  Ashe had promised Peter she would meet him right after class. It was already ten past three. He would be starting to worry.

  “No thank you,” she replied. “I really do have to go soon. What did you want to say about my grades?”

  “Oh it’s no bother. I’ve already prepared the pot. Let me go get it from the lounge.”

  Ashe tried to protest, but Professor Sharp was already out the door with a speed that Ashe hadn’t thought he was capable of, owing to his haggard appearance.

  As she waited for him to return, Ashe set to work clearing a path of empty carpet from the door to the desk. She didn’t want the professor tripping over his books and spilling hot tea all over the place. She made herself busy stacking up books and copied pages of library documents in neat piles on the empty spaces on his bookshelves. One that caught her eye was a scanned page about folk remedies similar to the ones she had seen in his office before. On it, written in the professor’s familiar scrawl, were the words: A cure? The highlighted section detailed a recipe for ridding the body of the vampire’s curse. Ashe stood up slowly, carefully pushing the papers onto the desk as if scared they would explode in her hands.

  The door opened and the professor returned, carrying an old-fashioned silver tea tray. He set it on the desk and poured a cup of steaming tea for each of them. Ashe watched his movements carefully: the odd grace of his fingers as he stirred in the sugar and the effort it took him to blow on the surface of the tea to cool it. He gestured towards the remaining teacup, offering it to Ashe.

  “Uh, professor?” she said taking the cup timidly as if it might bite her. “I think I should be going now. The snow’s getting pretty bad outside.”

  The professor slowly lowered his cup without taking a sip. “It’s been hard, you know, without her. I find I don’t have anyone to talk to these days. Even mundane things like sharing a cup of tea are easy to take for granted until they’re gone.”

  Ashe felt a pang of sympathy at the mention of Professor Sharp’s late wife. Things had been hard for him lately. Maybe he was going a little crazy over the grief and maybe she was reading too far into the paper she had found on his floor. Professor Wheatley had warned her about taking everything too literally. Professor Sharp’s note could have meant anything. It didn’t have to mean he was a vampire.

  “Sometimes I wish she would have died sooner,” the professor continued. “Now; even more so, it would have spared her so much pain. You have no idea what chemotherapy can do to a person. It’s almost as bad as what happened after.”

  The professor’s voice had gained a hard edge that frightened Ashe. She knew she should leave, but something told her that if she tried to, the professor would stop her.

  “She had wanted to go out into the country to spend a peaceful last few weeks before the end. But those demons found us instead. They took her and turned me, made me into a monster. They’re keeping her from me; she’s alive, but only barely. They can’t drink her poisoned blood, but they know how to make her hurt, and you’re the key to making all of it stop.”

  A cold sweat prickled across Ashe’s brow. She had to get out of here and back to Peter. She had to tell him what Professor Sharp truly was.

  “Professor? I’m going to be leaving now,” Ashe croaked, half-rising from her chair.

  “Sit down and drink your tea,” he snapped suddenly, pounding his fist on his desk.

  Ashe nearly cried out but caught herself just in time. She didn’t want to provoke him further. Her hand shook as she brought the cup to her lips. The tea had a sickly sweet smell to it, like the professor had been heavy-handed with the sugar to mask something bitter underneath.

  At that moment the lights cut out, sending the whole room into darkness. Ashe threw the still-steaming cup of tea into the professor’s face and ran for the door. The professor roared in rage as the tea blinded him. She turned the handle but the door wouldn’t budge. The professor had locked it behind him when Ashe wasn’t paying attention. She fumbled with the lock and got it open just in time to narrowly miss the professor’s hand grabbing for the back of her sweater. She yanked the door shut behind her and sprinted down the hallway, not caring where she went, only that she got away.

  Snow that was almost like hail pounded against the windows as the blizzard outside whipped the wind up into a frenzy. Ashe took turns at random, knowing that the professor was only yards behind her. She was no match for his speed or his ability to smell the pumping blood in her veins. No matter where she went, he would find her.

  She turned a blind corner and smashed right into something solid but with a little give. The wind was knocked out of her and she tumbled to the floor. She rolled over in pain and saw the stern face of Professor Wheatley staring down at her.

  “Get up,” he said. “
We have to go.”

  He grabbed her hand and yanked her up with a strength she had not thought possible for a man of his age. But to her relief, his palm was warm in hers. He was not one of them.

  He pulled her into a nearby classroom and closed the door behind them.

  “We can’t stay here,” Ashe whispered through heaving breaths. “He can smell us. He’ll find us.”

  Professor Wheatley put a finger to his lips and took something out of his pocket that looked like a small square of burlap tied into a bundle. He handed it to Ashe, telling her, “Keep this in your pocket. It's nothing special, just a strong mix of herbs. It’ll mask your smell long enough to get us away from here.”

  “You knew what he was,” Ashe panted.

  The professor shook his head. “I had my theories, but we can talk about it later. Right now we need to get you somewhere safe.”

  He moved over to one of the classroom windows and lifted it open. A blast of cold wind blew into the classroom, along with a flurry of snow. Ashe could barely see anything beyond the open window through the snow. She didn’t want to imagine what Peter was thinking right now; he was likely worrying himself sick if he wasn’t out braving the blizzard trying to look for her.

  As the professor clumsily climbed out the window, Ashe took out her phone. She wanted to send Peter a message telling him she was okay and that she would be home soon, but she saw with disappointment that she had no signal. The blizzard must have knocked out power citywide, if not further.