Vincent grabbed a Jell-O shot from a blue-skinned fairy wafting by and handed it to me with a wide grin.
“Well, what do you think?” he shouted over the music.
I took the Jell-O shot, but didn’t down it. The memories of this morning were still too vivid.
“It’s awesome!” I yelled. I was beginning to wonder where Vincent got the money to throw a party of this magnitude. Fancy foreign cars, designer clothes, ridiculously cool parties had to mean he came from money. I was tempted to ask him about it, but my mom always said that asking people about money was rude. So instead I started to ask Vincent if he wanted to dance.
“Hey, do you want to—”
That’s when it happened. Something walking by us—something large and furry—suddenly turned and roared in my face, taking my shoulders and shaking me roughly. I screamed and threw my hands across my face, trying to protect myself from the thing’s bloody jaws.
But then, as quickly as it had happened, it was over. The thing released me—I thought I heard a hoarse chuckle—and wandered off to frighten some other unsuspecting girl. I held my hands to my throat, heart throbbing wildly.
I heard Vincent laughing and I turned to look up at him, eyes wide, too shocked to work up any anger yet.
“You should have seen your face,” he said with a gasp, laughing cruelly. “You almost wet yourself!”
I gulped and tried to slow my breathing.
“What the hell was that?” I breathed. I couldn’t hear myself over the music, but Vincent had no problem.
“I believe it was a worgen,” Vincent said, as he stopped laughing.
“A what?”
“Some sort of beast-creature—like a werewolf.” His eyes glittered mercilessly. “Did it scare you terribly?”
It would have been useless to lie. The whole barn had heard me scream. I just glared at Vincent’s shining, pale face and waited for him to take the hint and move on.
He did. He gave me an endearing smile and put his hand on my upper arm, stroking my skin gently with his gloved thumb. “You were asking me something?”
It took a moment for me to remember. “I wanted to dance,” I said dejectedly.
“And so we shall!” Vincent slung me into the throng of wildly flailing bodies and effectively distracted me from my scare. Just like the night before, he was a fabulous dancer.
Ages later, or so it seemed, I was sweating profusely and completely worn out. I brought Vincent’s face down to mine, noting enviously that he didn’t have a drop of sweat on him, and asked if we could go outside to get some air.
He agreed with a nod and pulled me through the crowd. As we weaved in between a drunken chain-saw murderer and Darth Vader, my eyes found a couple making out in a corner. Strobe lights started up and everything became choppy, like time had suddenly slowed down. The couple’s bodies writhed and struggled against each other. I wanted to look away, but as Vincent tugged me across the room, my eyes remained stuck to them as though I was hypnotized.
And then, without warning, the girl’s mouth slid to the guy’s neck and a spurt of dark liquid erupted from between her lips. Blood—dripping, gushing ... oozing down his chest. My heart sputtered to a stop as I stared, horrified. I wanted to call out, to tell Vincent what was happening, but my mouth didn’t seem to work. The strobe lights continued to illuminate the previously enshrouded couple as the guy stiffened and the girl’s body wrapped around him like fleshy tentacles. Was she . . . sucking on his neck? Sucking his blood? The smoke machines went wild again and the room became foggy. I couldn’t see them anymore, couldn’t see the blood. But I could swear I heard the guy’s ragged screams.
Or maybe that was someone else, scared by one of Vincent’s entertainers.
Without being able to see them, the whole thing seemed silly—impossible. Vincent pulled me past the bar and the couple vanished completely behind a gust of acid-green smoke. I shook myself. I was being dumb. They’d just been making out. There was no blood, no screaming. And if there had been, it was probably just a prop. Something to encourage the mood.
Still, it was freaky....
Vincent and I went out a back door behind the bar.
The cool air hit me like a bucket of ice to the face, calming my irrational thoughts. The sweat covering my body turned to frost and I was shivering immediately. Vincent placed his bare arm around me, but I jumped back as static electricity shocked me. A wave of excitement flushed through my veins, cold and greedy ... exhilarating . . . but wrong—like it didn’t belong there.
My mind went to the last time I’d felt this way—when Lucas’s skin had zapped me and the flash of senseless fear had momentarily consumed me.
And then—just as it happened last time—the feeling was gone, leaving only a tiny numb spot on my shoulder where the electricity had stung me. I let out a deep breath, feeling overwhelmed.
“Apologies,” Vincent said. “The air is so electric here. I am always getting zapped.” He let out a small smile and unwrapped the argyle cloak from around his shoulders, putting it on me instead.
“Thank you,” I murmured, still shaken by the incident—both inside the barn and out. I leaned against the moldy wooden wall and stared out at the vast field before me, trying to calm down. I could see the Rocky Mountains studding the horizon, darker than night. Pine trees stood in the distance, their innumerable needles tossed in the icy wind, dancing spookily. And above it all was the moon, close tonight and strangely yellow. Its eerie light touched the slim stalks of overgrown grass, making them look like hair blowing in a sea breeze. It reminded me of home. Of the beach and suntanned bodies glittering with sweat. Crystal sand sticking to bare legs. Derek and I walking in the surf, just after sunset, me dipping down occasionally to grab an interesting shell.
I missed it like crazy ... missed him like crazy.
“You’re sad again,” Vincent said, watching me intently as he leaned in close, his hand braced against the wall.
I looked away. I didn’t feel like talking about it—it was too heavy for a first date anyway. If this even was a date. It was more like an excuse to stop being me for a night.
“Won’t you please tell me why?” he asked gently.
“It’s just been lonely,” I said, thinking that that was exactly how I’d felt lately without Derek to keep me company.
Vincent nodded sympathetically. “Missing home?”
“Yes,” I said. “And no . . . that’s not it, really. I had a fight with my best friend and he hasn’t really spoken to me since.”
“What did you fight about?”
“He wants to date me,” I said dully. “And I just want to stay friends.”
“You hold no attraction to this ... ?”
“Derek,” I filled in. “And it’s not that. Attraction isn’t the problem. He’s pretty much perfect for me, to tell the truth.”
“Then what is the problem?”
“I can’t trust him.”
“Why not?” Vincent’s voice was smooth, like sand running between my fingers.
“He cheated on me in high school.” I looked up into his bittersweet eyes, trying to read what he was thinking.
He just nodded, waiting for me to continue.
Now that I was spilling, it was surprisingly easy to keep talking. Vincent just listened; if he was judging me, he never let it show. Not one flicker of skepticism crossed his eyes.
“He begged me for months to forgive him,” I said. “But I’d been let down by someone before . . .” I shuddered. “And I just couldn’t bring myself to take the chance. Pain like that ... you don’t forget it overnight.” I looked down at the fraying hem of my polyester cloak, tearing at it with shaking fingers. “But I didn’t want to be alone, so I said we could be friends. Selfish, I know ... but I need him.”
“And now?” Vincent asked. “What happened to make you fight now?”
“He tried again,” I said. “We went camping and he kissed me. I was so dumb, and I let him . . . I kissed him back. I
still care about him and a part of me wants to be with him. But I can’t trust him after what he did.”
“So you denied him again,” Vincent finished.
I sighed hugely. “Yep. Hence, the not talking.”
Vincent blinked and nodded like he understood.
“Believe it or not,” he said, leaning in closer. “I know how you are feeling.”
I eyed him skeptically. “I don’t think so. Most people have no problem falling in love. I don’t even know if I can love anymore. At least, not the way normal people love. Freely. Openly.”
Vincent’s voice was low and silky. “But, dear Faith, I also cannot feel love—true love, not lust or passion—for any person. Not even myself.”
My face fell into a sympathetic grimace. Even though I felt the same way he did—that I was broken when it came to love—it still sucked, and I felt very sorry for him.
Vincent must have seen the pity in my eyes because he backed up, folding his arms across his bare chest. His voice was defiant when he spoke.
“At least you have the ability to love,” he said. “You do not know what a gift that is, what I would give to feel anything close to that.” Vincent’s eyes flashed beneath the moonlight, and in that moment, I saw rage . . . or perhaps resentment. I don’t know, but for that brief instant when his eyes darted to mine, I was scared of him.
He stepped toward me. “There are things in this world that can take away your ability to feel love and happiness. Things that will destroy everything that had meaning. They will take away your life and all that was in it. Those things . . . those evil beings are real. And once they’ve touched your life, they never go away. You never feel anything good again.”
His vibe had suddenly gone haywire along with his creepy speech. I tried to calm him down. “I sort of know what you mean,” I said. “Even though that’s really dark, I know what it’s like to have your life taken away. I’m sorry you had to go through it, too.”
Vincent sniffed and looked away.
“You know nothing of life,” he said sharply. “And you know nothing of what it feels to have it taken.”
I felt anger rush through my veins like acid. He thought I didn’t know what it felt like to lose someone I loved? He didn’t even know me. Was he really so arrogant?
“Now I can see why Lucas doesn’t like you,” I said venomously. “You think you’re the only one who’s ever felt the pain of losing someone? Well, you’re wrong.” I came away from the wall, closer to the edge of the barn. “There is pain in this world besides yours, Vincent. Pain and loss and grief. What Derek did to me in high school, what my stepfather did to my mom and me—those things ruined my heart. I lost who I was. So you might think you’re the only one who’s dealt with loss, but I’m living proof of the contrary.” I glared at him from the corner of the barn, ready to spin around and leave. Sure, it’d been fun to dance with him, to forget myself for a while, but now reality had come crashing down on top of me and I could see that Vincent wasn’t at all as nice as I had thought. He was a jerk.
“Take me home,” I demanded.
Vincent surveyed me from his spot, ten feet away. “What did you say?” he whispered. I barely heard him over the throbbing music.
“I said, take me home. Now.”
I began to walk away, but Vincent was at my side before I could blink. His gloved hand held onto my wrist, preventing me from moving away from him.
“Did you say Lucas?” he asked. “You can’t mean Lucas Whelan?” I tried to snatch my wrist away, but his grip was like an iron shackle.
“Let go,” I said, low and firm.
He released me, but his eyes were hard as onyx stones.
“What did he say to you?” he asked harshly. “What did Whelan say about me?”
“He said you were a jerk, which I now believe to be totally true.” I spun on my heel and began walking away again. I no longer even wanted a ride from him—all I wanted was to be back in my room. I’d walk there if I had to. But I made it only ten steps before Vincent was in front of me as though he’d materialized out of thin air.
I gasped and jumped back.
“Tell me what that mongrel said about me,” Vincent hissed. His face was glowing in the night, his eyes shining with hate.
It was clear that Lucas and Vincent had some sort of feud going on. They despised each other. Vincent had even used the same curious insult Mark had used about Lucas. I wondered for a moment if Mark was somehow involved in all of this as well, but then pressed it aside. If he was, all it meant was that Mark was a jerk, too. They all were. And I wanted nothing more to do with any of them.
I sidestepped Vincent and put my finger in his face. “Don’t follow me.”
Only two steps this time before Vincent was in front of me again. Only now his leather-bound hands were gripping my forearms like pincers.
“Whatever he said is a lie,” he snarled. “You cannot trust him. He is a villain.”
“A villain? What is this, a Spider-Man comic?” I tried to shake his hands off, but he squeezed tighter and I cried out in pain. “Let go,” I said, writhing in his grip. “I’m going to scream.”
“Then scream!”
Suddenly, Vincent tugged me against his body. All I could see was the pale, taut skin of his bare chest. I heard a rush of wind and then he threw me into something hard. I looked around. We were in the woods at the edge of the field—about six hundred feet from where we just were. Ancient pines and thick brush enshrouded us in fathomless shadows, blocking out the moonlight. Immediately, I tried to run, but Vincent pushed against my throat to hold me in place.
I started to choke.
“Lucas Whelan is a monster,” Vincent said in a low voice. “He is a murderer and a fiend. I am the good guy. He is the villain. Do you understand that, human?”
I nodded, unable to talk with his hand cutting off my air. He released my throat and I dropped to the ground, coughing and taking in ragged breaths.
Vincent stood above me. “How do you know Whelan?” he questioned. “Is he your lover? Is that why your little Derek broke up with you?”
I blanched. “No,” I said hoarsely. “Lucas is just my . . . he’s not even my friend; I just know him from class.”
“Liar!” Vincent yelled and dragged me up by my shoulders. His grip hurt so much it brought tears to my eyes. “You love him, don’t you? He’s your everything, your world, right?”
I shook my head, crying.
“Say it’s true!” Vincent roared.
“It’s true, it’s true.” I’d say anything to get him to leave me alone. What have I gotten myself involved in?
Vincent released me and I fell against the harsh bark. To my amazement, and disgust, he began chuckling. “Oh, how lovely,” he said to himself. “This is so perfect ... what an odd coincidence.” Then he straightened as if just realizing something. He turned and called out to the woods. “You’re here, aren’t you? Of course you are. You wouldn’t leave her to me.” He laughed, bouncing on his heels happily. “Why don’t you come out, puppy? Come show your lover what you really are!”
He started clucking and whistling like he was calling an animal. I stared. Confused. Scared. Almost too scared to move.
Almost.
I bolted. I ran toward the edge of the trees so fast I didn’t feel my feet didn’t touch the ground.
But Vincent was faster. He popped up in front of me and knocked me backward with both hands. I flew through the air and landed in a pile, right back where I started, except now blood trickled down my face.
My vision blurred for a moment and then I saw Vincent’s face above me. He was breathing hard, his mouth was open wide.... He had fangs.
I backed away into a tree behind me. I had to be dreaming. People didn’t have fangs. People couldn’t move at the speed of light. People didn’t have superstrength.
I had to be dreaming.
But I wasn’t.
Vincent took off his gloves with one swift movement and put his fin
gers on my cheek, wiping up the blood. Once more, a sudden wave of emotion hit me, and I realized that it was Vincent’s emotions I felt inside me. Greed, excitement, lust, and above all, hunger. The sensation made me gag. When it passed, I noticed groggily that Vincent’s hands bore no burn marks, no scars. They were smooth as the skin on his pale face.
He looked at the crimson liquid shining on his fingers and moved it around between them. He smiled and murmured, “So warm . . .” Then he brought his fingers to my lips and smeared the blood over them. I jerked my head away, and he laughed.
“Feisty,” he mocked. “I wonder if this will bring your puppy out of hiding.”
He grabbed my face and kissed me. His lips were like ice. Like hard, nasty blood-tasting ice. I almost retched. But I didn’t have time. I heard a savage growl from off to the side, and Vincent turned his head. He licked my blood from his lips and straightened.
“There you are, puppy. I have been searching for you.”
From within the shadows of the trees, a colossal black wolf materialized. Its hair was shaggy and matted, and it had teeth the size of my fingers. Silver eyes like cold metal glinted in the scant light. It came toward us, slowly, growling, snarling.
I pressed myself into the tree. I didn’t know who to be more frightened of—Vincent or the wolf. For as scared as I was, Vincent was just as calm. Like he skulked in the woods abusing young girls and talking to wolves every day.
“Hello, old friend,” he said to the wolf. “It did not take as long to find you as I would have thought. You are getting lazy . . . or stupid.”
The wolf gnashed its jaws and started forward.
I jumped and dug my nails into the bark of the tree at my back, concentrating on the solidness of it. The realness.
Vincent was talking to a wolf. Why doesn’t any of this make sense?
“Come on, puppy,” Vincent said, leering at the wolf. “I know you can’t hold your form for much longer, so what is it going to be? Will you fight me to save your human or will you wait until the change wears off so that she can see the monster you truly are.”
Blood on the Moon Page 10