I want to tell him I didn't die, but I don't know how to explain it without mentioning Jack.
“If you can handle the cold, so can I,” I retort defiantly instead. “It's all because of me that you have to go through this now.”
“What are a few days in the cold compared to an eternity with you?” His words touch my heart so deeply that for a moment I'm speechless.
“Is everything okay, Amy?”
“Can you understand that I still wish I was with you now?”
“Sure, I can.”
“The phone doesn't show the number you're calling from and it isn't yours, because that's lying here. So how can I send you a message?”
“You can't send me a message. I'll throw this phone in the river in a minute.” His voice suddenly sounds dark and somber.
“Why?” I ask hesitantly.
“Because I killed the owner.” He clears his throat. “The injuries and travelling here robbed me of a lot of energy. I couldn't even keep going to reach a more populated area here. The hunger was unbearable. I couldn't wait for someone to die in this wasteland, and there was this house—”
“Stop, Noah. You don't have to explain. Not to me,” I interrupt him. The tenderness I feel for him in this moment could hardly be any greater. Just like the strong feeling of attachment. A deep connection which fills me with gratitude. And in this instant I realize I would never change even the slightest thing about him. Not a thing.
33
Ramon
I had again killed a human, but on this night I wasn't sorry. Never again would this man be able to touch Emilia and violate her. When I returned to the hut, I lit a lamp and sat down at the table. There was perhaps an hour remaining before sunrise, and I still wasn't sure what to do with myself now. Probably it would have been most sensible if I had simply left, if I hadn't even returned to my lodgings at all and found a new place to hide. But something drove me to stay.
I could hear the girl moving around in the underground chamber, heard her lift the floorboards slightly and then carefully push them aside. Slowly she climbed out, came two steps toward me and then stood still. She looked so pale and fragile, I wished I could wrap my arms around her and hold her.
“Have a seat,” I told her instead and gestured to the stool on the opposite side of the table. After some initial hesitation, she finally did as bid. I saw her hands trembling, but her eyes sought out mine.
“Is he. . . is he dead?” Her voice trembled too.
“Yes,” I answered, and she sobbed out loud. Tears ran down her cheeks unchecked. I didn't want to invade her thoughts again, but it happened on its own, and I found that her feelings were fluctuating between relief and guilt. Feeling ashamed, I extracted myself from her head again. It felt like a sin to be moving around in her mind. I forbade myself to do it.
“He can't hurt you anymore. It's not your fault. You're free now.”
Her crying grew quieter.
“I don't know. . . where should I go now?” she asked quietly and wiped the tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand. Even crying couldn't detract from her beauty.
“I don't know, but you need to go now,” I told her, because I could feel the approaching sunrise breathing down my neck.
“Can't I perhaps stay here for a while?” She had no idea what agitation her words elicited in me, and I hid it as best I could.
“No, you can't.”
“Why would you save me and then send me away?” The melancholy tone and fragility in her voice almost melted my resolve.
“It's too complicated to explain.”
“Do you think I'm too simple to understand?” It sounded sad and reproachful at the same time.
“It would be difficult for anyone to understand. I'm different from the people you know.”
“You had the eyes and teeth of an animal before. Is that what you mean?”
I nodded silently. Her courage in openly saying these words to my face left me speechless. But even more I marveled at the fact that she did it without the slightest sign of fear on her face.
“Why do you sleep down there?”
“The sun would burn me,” I answered her, and marveled also at my honesty, because I knew how vulnerable it made me.
“Then you sleep down there during the day?” she asked and I nodded.
“You wouldn't hurt me, would you?”
“No.”
“Then let me stay. Just for a while.” The pleading in her eyes refused to yield.
“The sun will come up any moment. I have to go down now. If you like, we'll talk again after sunset. That way we both have time to think about it.”
She nodded and tried to smile, without much success.
As I listened to her leaving the hut, I knew I had put my life in her hands. If she didn't come back alone, the sun or a stake through the heart would end my existence. But in a funny way I didn't care. The recklessness of a tired fool, who is suddenly made aware that far more than only his human life was taken from him. In whose chest the hunger for love suddenly seems stronger than the will to live. Emilia had, without knowing it, planted a longing in me which filled me up almost to bursting.
Maybe she wouldn't come back. Maybe it would be better for her if she didn't, and for me. I wrestled with these thoughts till afternoon, when she came back to the hut. Alone. I didn't know whether I should feel relief or despair about her return.
Even when the sun went down, I didn't dare move. The battle within me wouldn't let go. To send her away, or go away myself was what my logic dictated, but the words my old heart whispered disarmed it anew, time and again.
“Ramon?” The sweetness with which she spoke my name made my heart skip a beat.
Then, when I stood before her, I could hardly believe my eyes. In the light of the oil lamp I saw that she had strung the walls of the hut with strips of fabric. On the table too lay a cotton tablecloth. Atop it she had placed a jar of flowers. Next to the table lay a large bundle I guessed contained clothing. She herself now wore a beautiful, sand-colored dress which highlighted her comeliness still more.
“I only picked up a few of my things, but I never want to go back there,” she told me, with a voice which sounded like it struggled to remain steady.
Suddenly I felt backed into a corner – at the mercy of my feelings. How on earth could this girl have such power over me?
“I told you you couldn't stay. So why all the fabric and flowers?”
My voice was gruffer than I meant it to be. I saw her fighting back tears.
“I thought. . . I only wanted to make it a little prettier, because today is. . . it's my birthday,” she stammered timidly, before putting on a defiant expression and starting to take the fabric back down from the walls.
“Wait.” I tried to stop her and held onto her right arm. She looked at me in fright and I let her go.
“You don't have to take them down.”
“But you don't like them. I don't want to upset you.”
“It's fine. Leave them up.” I had a grip on myself once more and my voice sounded warm and friendly.
“So today is your birthday.” My gaze fell once more on the colorful blooms she had placed in a little jar. “How old are you now?”
“Seventeen.”
“Listen, Emilia. You can stay for a few days. But we have to find another solution. A safe place for you.”
I saw the relief in her eyes, saw the little light flare up in them and couldn't believe that the prospect of being allowed to stay with me for a while in this tiny hut had elicited such a reaction.
“The other night you said I was safe here with you. I am, aren't I?”
“Yes, for a while,” I answered, realizing she wasn't only beautiful but also clever. She was using my words against me.
“The books you have, have you read them all?” She leafed through the pages with her fingers.
“Yes, do you know one of them?”
She shook her head.
“Do you want
to read them?”
Again she negated my question with a shake of the head. “I can't read. I mean, not really.” She seemed to be ashamed of that, because she lowered her head and didn't look at me.
“I could teach you, or read to you if you like.”
Her eyes lit up once more. “Would you read me something tonight? It would please me so.”
“Well, I certainly wish to please you.“ I sat down at the table and pointed to the two books which still lay there. “One of these two?”
“What kind of stories are they?”
“Well, roughly speaking, one is an adventure and the other a love story.”
“I can't decide.” Her face reddened slightly, and without reading her mind I knew she wanted to choose the love story, but was embarrassed to say.
“Then let's take this one,” I told her and reached for Romeo and Juliet by Shakespeare.
Back then, I didn't realize that it would be only the first of countless evenings spent reading to Emilia; that she would never grow tired of listening to me read aloud even though she learned to read herself very quickly and had mastered it within only a few weeks.
We never again talked about her having to leave me and the hut. It was as if we forgot it, as we read books together, played cards or took walks through the night. She would often pick fruit from the trees as we walked, or flowers from the fields, and she loved to lie on her back in the grass and look up at the heavens.
Little by little she told me about herself and her life. I found out that she had moved from the north with her mother to live with her stepfather only a year before, and had found it difficult to make friends in her new town. After her mother's death, her stepfather almost never let her out of the house anymore. She didn't say another word about what he did to her.
She much preferred telling me about her love of flowers and music. She confessed that she loved to dance, but only when no-one was watching. Also, that she was sure her mother was one of the many stars above in the night sky and that she sometimes stared up at them for hours on end looking for her. I took every detail of her life that she shared with me into my heart like a precious treasure.
I found it hard revealing things from my life, but after my initial hesitation, I was brutally open with her. Always expecting her to turn away from me in disgust. But the looks she gave me only held amazement, never aversion. That the truth about what I was didn't scare her and she seemed to have no fear was, and to this day still is, incomprehensible to me.
At first she tended to be tired already by just after midnight and slept then in my bed underground until morning broke. Then I took her place, but her scent on the fleeces in my den often kept me from rest. I continued desperately fighting my inner demons. Fighting the urge to drink her blood and the urge to bury my lust inside her. But the love I felt for Emilia was stronger than the night within me.
I don't exactly know how she did it, but she managed to bring the colors and lightness of summer days into the nights, into the little hut which she lovingly turned into a home. She got me to build shelves for the walls and a bed which she often continued sleeping on well into the day while I occupied the den below the hut, because she was staying up longer and longer during the nights to spend time with me.
I made carvings, which she sold in Bubión so she could buy food and other things she needed. Only once did she ask me to fetch a few things from her stepfather's house, which I did. She herself never set foot in that house again.
To start with some people from the village asked questions about her stepfather's whereabouts, but she told them he had moved up north to live with another woman and that seemed to satisfy their curiosity.
When summer was over and the nights grew colder, she crept down into my den one morning and lay right up close to me. I hardly dared breathe. She pulled my arm around her body and fell asleep a short while later. The inner battle I fought in those hours can hardly be put into words. It was torture, albeit the sweetest I'd ever suffered in my life till then. I thought I was going to lose my mind.
“You can't lie down with me,” I told her the next night without looking at her.
But when she didn't answer, I sought out her eyes. They met mine, sad and full of questions.
“I'm dangerous,” I tried to explain. But she shook her head in disbelief.
So I grabbed her by the shoulders. “Look at me. See this? The teeth and eyes of an animal, remember? Never forget what I am!” My voice sounded shaky and hoarse. It was awful, showing myself to her like that, but it had to be done. I couldn't read her expression, but I heard her heart start to race and felt her body tremble.
“I'm dangerous, Emilia. . . and I'm a man.”
With those words, I left her alone that night. I needed time to myself. Time to calm down and to once more banish the thoughts which shouldn't have been in my head.
The following days and nights were rainy. Clouds and gusts of mist lent a mystical mood to the Alpujarra. The incident seemed to be quickly forgotten. The atmosphere between Emilia and me was as harmonious as in the weeks before. The nights were full of stories, the games we played, the jokes we made and the walks together from which even the colder night temperatures couldn't deter her. I only left her alone when I was hungry and went hunting for animals. I made sure I drank blood regularly, to minimize the danger to Emilia.
I didn't fail to notice she was emphasizing her femininity more and more, and brushing her long, blonde hair almost lasciviously in my presence. I ignored it as best I could and was sure my secret longing was causing me to misinterpret it.
“Do you find me beautiful?” she asked me once, on one of our night-time strolls, and I couldn't but nod truthfully.
“More beautiful than any rose.”
She blushed in embarrassment and gave me an enchanting smile. A smile which, like a spark, set my desire ablaze. A lump formed in my throat and I turned away from her abruptly.
“It's time to go back. It's going to rain again soon,” I said without looking at her, and she followed me in silence.
It was the day before Christmas Eve when Emilia suddenly lay down with me again, dressed only in a nightshirt, and looked at me in the faint light of the lamp with wide eyes. The sensual look she gave me was provocative and left me speechless, as did the scent of her skin and the sight of her half-exposed bosom.
“Why are you doing this?” I struggled to get the words out.
“Because I love who you are. . . and because I'm a woman.”
As if to press home her point, she touched my chest with her hand and I knew it was too late to turn back. It was as if she had opened Pandora's box.
The first kiss was no cautious exploration. It was a falling, letting go, becoming one. . . and of an intensity not to be outdone. In spite of my efforts to love her gently, I was like a force of nature. Like a storm, sweeping over a sleepy land and causing damage, even though her breathing, her sighs and groans told me something else and she clung tight to me with her hands. She didn't even avert her eyes when my features distorted and my fangs broke forth. She gave herself to me with an unconditionality that swelled in my heart and what I felt for her was almost unbearable.
“Ramon. . .” When she moaned my name and threw her head back, my self-control could no longer find anything to hold on to. In endless, liberating thrusts I poured myself into her and allowed myself to fall, because she was holding me.
Later, when she lay asleep in my arms, breathing quietly, I knew the enticing scent of her blood would never be stronger than the boundless love I feel for her.
34
Amkaya
I pretend to be asleep, but I'm more awake than I've been in a long time. Noah has been back for 24 hours and for 24 hours I've sensed it will never be the same between us again and I alone am to blame.
Even our first embrace on his return felt weird, almost like we were strangers. He looked stunning, but exhausted, when he stood before me once more on the morning of the 4th of November. Neve
rtheless, his eyes shone with joy at seeing me. Meanwhile, my joy was held back by a strange feeling when he wrapped his arms around me. I could hardly bear him touching me. It was unpleasant and this unexpected feeling hasn't left me since. I try not to show it, but I'm sure it's no secret to Noah. As much as one part of me longs voraciously to be near him, another part of me seems to want to avoid just that. It's totally contradictory and feels a bit schizophrenic.
In my desperation, I lied and told him I wasn't feeling well, to explain my reservedness. But doesn't that lie also contain some truth? Something really does seem to be wrong with me.
A painful soberness has spread through my veins like thousands of tiny ice crystals and is freezing me from the inside. With Noah's return from the coldest place on earth, a coldness has taken up residence within me which I still can't come to grips with.
His breathing beside me is quiet and regular, but I know he isn't sleeping either. During the days he was gone, I longed for nothing more than to have him back by my side, and nothing surprises me more than this palpable change between us.
“Are you feeling any better?” His voice cuts through the silence.
“I'm not sure. I don't think so.” I hope he can't see the color of my face in the semi-darkness, because I feel the heat in my cheeks. He rolls a little closer to me, and I automatically roll away a bit.
“What's wrong, Amy? I know there's something. Won't you talk to me about it?”
He sits up and looks at me. The sight of his naked torso makes my heart race uneasily.
“Are you afraid? Afraid of hurting me again? You don't have to be. We'll be more careful.” He lays his hand lovingly on mine.
“I don't know what's wrong with me. I'm so confused.” To get away from him, I climb out of bed and walk across the room tensely.
“Maybe I really am afraid.”
Yes. Maybe subconsciously I actually am afraid of hurting him again. Can that be the reason for my ridiculous behavior? And also the reason my crazy dreams have become more frequent and alarming recently?
The Night Within Us: Dark Vampire Romance Page 23