I groan, kicking my foot at the hardwood floors. I pace in circles, hating how lonely the manor feels.
The house is eerily silent, because I am the only one awake. The vampires will not venture out of their rooms until dusk, so I have far too many hours to kill.
My room is messy, and it reminds me of my room at Mamá’s house. I was forced out so quickly, I did not have time to clean up. When I returned, I noticed she kept my room exactly the same. It too was full of dust.
Piles of dirty clothes are strewn across my bedroom floor. I pick up each piece and place them in the hamper I keep in my closet. When I turn back around, the room does not seem any cleaner. I make my bed and straighten the makeup table, which has somehow become a catchall for everything unrelated to cosmetics. Since I do not wear much makeup, I had to find another use for the piece.
I sit and stare at my reflection in the mirror. When I woke, I dressed quickly, mindlessly choosing the day’s garments. I opted for my signature look: jeans, black boots, and a dark top. My jacket is hanging on the hook beside my door, and when the sun finally breaks free, penetrating the room, I can see the toll these past several months have had on my attire. During my time as a vampire, I have had to fix far too many ripped clothes. What hasn’t been salvageable was tossed along the way. Sadly, my favorite jacket has taken the brunt of the attacks and is looking weathered. I am not sure how many more assaults it can withstand. Maybe it is finally time we both retire.
When I have sat alone in my room long enough, I make my way into the hallway, closing my door behind me. The stairs to the main floor squeak as I descend into the sitting room. A chill works its way down my spine, and I shiver. The fire in the adjoining parlor has been reduced to embers.
I consider finding wood, a match, and some kindling, because without the heat, I am cold, but there is a part of me—no matter how small—that welcomes this feeling. Because while it might mean I am mortal, it also means I am alive. I survived the curse, and I escaped the witches.
Since that fateful spell, I feel almost completely devoid of emotion. I feel pain and discomfort, but I do not hear the calling of the moon. I do not taste the salty sea air. I cannot see past the sinking feeling in my gut. My fear is a noose, and my legs are weakening.
“Ava?” someone says, and I shriek, turning around so quickly, I lose my footing and grab on to the banister to keep myself from falling. My heart is racing, my mind spinning. I hate that it is so easy to sneak up on me now.
“I—I am sorry. I did not mean to frighten you,” Holland says. He holds his hands before him, reaching to steady me. His eyes are tired, but they are full of emotion. I envy him so much.
I clutch my chest, struggling to slow my rapid breathing, and shake my head.
“It’s—It’s okay. I am sorry. I am just…”
“You are just not used to being mortal,” he finishes with a soft smile. He is empathetic to my situation. He too is a mortal in the midst of vampires. It is not easy being…us.
I shrug. “I guess not. It is these moments that make me worry I may never get used to my dulled senses,” I admit.
“You will, but it will take time.”
I nod slowly. “Yeah, I suppose it will.”
But how much time do I really have?
“How about some breakfast?” Holland asks. “I bet you are starving.”
I perk up at the thought of eating. He is right. I am famished. “I could eat.”
He offers a wide, toothy grin and spins on his heels, guiding me through the dining room until we reach the kitchen.
The table has been adorned with a buffet of typical breakfast offerings. A jar of orange juice sits at its center, with two empty glasses beside it. Surrounding it is a box of donuts, another box of bagels, burned toast with a saucer of butter, a plate of pancakes, and another plate with eggs, crispy bacon, and sausage links. It is absolutely a feast for two.
Salivating, I take a seat. Completely mindless, like some wicked hungry zombie, I dive in. I shovel eggs into my mouth, humming with each bite. Nothing tastes the way I remember it—and if I am being honest, everything seems pretty bland—but my stomach welcomes each forkful. In my constant worry, I did not realize just how hungry I was. I feel like I could eat for days.
Between mouthfuls, I glance up at Holland. He is eating as well, but he is not quite as enthusiastic about it as I am. I smile, trying not to show any teeth, and I am certain I only succeed in looking like a chipmunk storing food in my cheeks for winter. But I do not care. With each swallow, the pain in my gut is subsiding.
“You might want to take it easy. We are not even sure you should be eating food,” Holland cautions.
I nearly choke on my bite. When I finally swallow it down, I stare at the smorgasbord before me. Absolutely anything here could be toxic. A vampire cannot digest human food, but blood makes me queasy. Aside from trial and error, what am I supposed to do?
“Just go slow,” Holland says, answering my internal question.
I push away my plate, stomach already in knots, and take a sip of orange juice. I scrunch my nose at its tartness, but I take another sip. So far, so good.
“Did you get all of this for me?” I ask. I tongue the crevices of my teeth as I wait for him to answer.
“Sort of,” he says, and he takes another hefty bite of pancakes.
“Sort of?” I ask.
“Well, I am hungry too, but I thought you might enjoy a welcome-home buffet,” Holland says.
I lick my lips, tasting the remains of salt and cheddar cheese, and I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand.
“Thanks, Holland,” I say sincerely.
He smiles softly and reaches for my hands. Between plates of waffles and bowls of fruit, he holds on to me. “I know it has been hard, Ava, but it will get easier. Just give it time.”
I sniffle and nod, glancing over his shoulder at the world beyond the manor. The sun has broken through the clouds. Shining down, it illuminates the remnants of a winter storm. Everything is white and icy, and it all sparkles. The window is frosted in the corners, and the world looks like a postcard.
The snow looks like a soft, wintery blanket, but beneath those depths, danger lurks. A mortal like me cannot patrol the woods the way I have been hunting. All at once, everything is dangerous. The predators that reside in the woods, the low temperatures, the hidden brush, the icy sea… Any of these things could seriously harm me. Or worse… I shake my head, trying to remove the images flashing behind my eyes.
“Are you okay, Ava?” Holland says, breaking my concentration.
I open my eyes to find him staring at me. He is frowning, his forehead creased by his concern.
I shrug and opt for honesty. “I have been better.”
“Do you want to talk about what happened?”
I shake my head, hoping to keep out the encroaching memories, but they flash before me nevertheless. I have never felt so out of control before. I cannot even keep my thoughts in check.
“I think it might help you, and maybe it will help me,” Holland adds.
I frown. “What do you mean? I thought you said this is unbreakable magic?”
“I—It… I mean,” Holland says with a sigh. “I am not going to lie to you, Ava. You are in a pretty serious predicament, but I also will admit that I am not a scholar on the black arts.”