Dark Diary (13 page)

“I had to stay late for a special client tonight,” I defended, realizing how wrong that must have sounded to her presumptuous
mind. “I’ve worked at the tattoo shop downtown for years.”

“It’s a front. You disappear every single night. And just now, some stranger drops you off at the house and—”

“That was my boss, damn it!”

“You’re a whore, and you can’t hide it from me anymore.”
She raised her free hand to point a craggy finger at my nose. “Your father would be disgusted to hear about this.”

“Leave my father out of this!” I lunged at her in an attempt to tear the gun from her wavering grip.

It was a stupid mistake.

She switched hands and jerked the gun from my reach, so her stiff fingers were free to come down across my face.

A yelp of pain burst from my lips and I plunged down against the staircase, banging my knees hard against the steps.

“I’ll bring my
husband
into this if I want to!”

I held my face in my hands and cowered beneath her.

“If you know what’s good for
him
, you’ll keep this to yourself.” She bent over me and nudged my thigh with the tip of her shoe. “Get out of my face.
Whore
.”

I wiped my fingers across my cheek and they turned bright red. A trail of blood oozed from my cheek. I wanted to scream. I wanted to strike back, but there was no use. She could kill me or, worse, my dad. I conceded and rushed upstairs to my room, slamming the door behind me. I locked the door tightly for good measure as my stomach churned with rage.

“
Damn it!” I smashed my fists onto the marble countertop
of my bathroom sink. The bathroom mirror eventually lured my eyes up and I whined at the sight of my reflection.

My face!

She’d narrowly missed my eye, but her nails had grazed my left cheek, leaving a gruesome gash.

I dug around in the bathroom cabinet until I found a bottle of peroxide. It stung like hell as it fizzed and bubbled up in the wound, but I wouldn’t risk infection from her filthy nails.

I crumpled a blood-soaked tissue into a ball and tossed it into the toilet. The blood began to seep from the edges and cloud the toilet bowl with crimson. A second glance at the mirror left me fuming. The mark would leave a scar. There was no doubt about that. Right there on my face—a nasty, blatant scar.

I couldn’t let anyone know the truth about how I had gotten the wound. I wouldn’t risk letting anything happen to my father. Aldréa was vile. I didn’t know what she was capable of—or how violently she would react if I were to go to someone for help. Figuring out how I would hide the mark from my father, who was
conveniently
attending a medical meeting out of the state for the next week, was one thing, but hiding it from Derek… or Matthaya… would be impossible.

I quickly made up my mind not to go to work tomorrow.

My eyes were bloodshot now, and I was beginning to feel lightheaded anyway. I patted another tissue against my face to dab up the blood that was still weeping from the cut. I spread some ointment over my cheek, removed some
bandages from my medicine drawer, and placed them strategically
over the wound to prevent it from rubbing against anything overnight.

The bathroom door unlocked with a click and I took a few shaky steps to get to my bed. I collapsed and saturated my pillow with more than just one night’s worth of pain and tears.

Matthaya…

I wanted him—whoever he was.
Whatever
he was. Only God knows why, but I wanted him. And I soon drifted into a delusion that he could somehow help me, that he was there sitting beside me, his cool touch massaging a trail down the back of my neck.

I had slept for much longer than I had thought I would and awoke sometime mid-afternoon. I checked my phone and read a text from Derek confirming that my tardiness would be excused and telling me to take it easy for the rest of the day.

If only he knew the truth.

A brief trip to the bathroom confirmed my nightmare was, in fact, real, and I still had the wound to show for it, though it was now scabbed over with an unsightly layer of crusted blood. I took a few moments to reapply a fresh bandage and put a game plan together in my head for the day. I needed to get out of the house.

My stomach grumbled. There was no way in hell I was going downstairs for something to eat.

I changed out of my bloodstained shirt and put on a light jacket before prying open my window and climbing out onto the roof. I braced myself and dropped down to the ground. The overgrown grass in the backyard softened the fall. There was a high picket fence surrounding our property that, if I were careful enough, I could vault over to reach the neighbors’ open yard and then the sidewalk. My fingers stretched warily over the tips of the fence posts and I pulled myself up and over, careful to avoid scuffing my arms as I landed.

I’d overslept by so many hours that by the time I had gotten myself something to eat dusk was already on my heels. My heart was set on seeing my mother that night. Only she
could help me let go of the hatred and anxiety pulsing through me
. I would have given anything to see my mother again—to feel her arms wrapping around me as gently and sweetly as any mother could ever embrace her child.

I would have given the world to have her in my life and to rid myself of that she-devil, Aldréa. I would even risk confronting Matthaya just to feel the presence of the sleeping soul beneath her weathered headstone. Even
he
couldn’t stop me.

“What are you doing here?” a stern voice prompted me from behind.

“Leave me alone.” My face was cupped in my hands and my reply nearly inaudible.

“Where were you last night?” He sounded disappointed. Soft footsteps made their way closer and closer to me, followed by a faint scoff and then a snarl. “What happened to you?” He remained behind me to avoid my gaze. “Why are you bleeding?”

He couldn’t have seen the bandage yet…

“It was an accident,” I lied. The quiver in my voice probably
gave me away.

His steps were silent and he soon stood looming over me with an open hand near my face.

“Let me see it.”

His request was more of a demand than a plea; he lifted
his other hand toward me, threatening to pry my hands away if I didn’t remove them from my face voluntarily. “Please
,” he added, looking me in the eye. I was surprised to hear that part.

The bandage tugged at my skin as I peeled it back. Without meeting his eyes, I could sense his shock and disgust. His fingers came to my chin and he tipped my face toward his.

“Who did this to you, Kathera?” he asked, kneeling
beside me. Matthaya’s usual coldness faded as his thumb pressed firmly against my chin and he further
investigated
the scratch on my face.

His eyes narrowed. “Your stepmother…”

KATHERA DID NOT VERBALLY
confirm the accuracy of my assessment, but her expression twisted with intrigue.

It was more obvious than she knew.

“Human nail marks,” I divulged. “The essence of aged skin…
clearly
not yours. A trace of the oils of dark hair radiates from it. She was very angry with you at the time. The sweat of rage still lingers around the wound.”

“You can tell all of that by—”

“Scent.” I touched the peels of skin edging the scratch and she pulled away with a sharp breath. I had forgotten what pain felt like.

I had previously picked up the smell of her stepmother in a foul mood, but tonight it was stronger than ever. There had also been a more potent human aura present on her.
He
didn’t seem to be a threat, however.

“There was another,” I added, and her eyes met mine as my fingers released her chin. “The owner of the shop.”

I could sense him all over her; there was a deep, musky
richness in the male pheromones saturating her skin. You’ve
heard the expression “I can smell your fear.” It’s true. And I can smell your happiness, your anger, and… your desire.

“He is
very
attracted to you.”

“I kind of figured that out already.” She crossed her arms. “Did your supernatural nose tell you that?”

Her words brought the slightest grin to my lips.

“The pheromones of attraction infuse every breath that flows from your body. I can sense every bit of lust and fear that courses through your veins. You cannot hide your feelings from me…
Any of them
.”

Scattered shadows between patches of moonlight masked
the brief flush of color in her cheeks, but I noticed it
nonetheless. The rosy pink hue complimented her porcelain skin.

I stood and turned away from her. It was possible for me to help rid her of the wound, but it would require a great deal of trust in me—trust I had likely shattered with my seemingly weak understanding of courtesy.

Pity hadn’t come easily to me in the past few centuries, and I shouldn’t have cared enough to offer her my help, but I had believed she was too beautiful a young woman to be tarnished by such cruelty. Fear lingered within her for the life of her father and this kept her from standing up against the torture she endured at home.

“I can help you,” I said. “If you allow me to.”

“Help me what?” She rolled her eyes and huffed. “Kill Aldréa and bring my mother back to life?”

“Yes or no?” I asked firmly, gazing into her eyes.

She straightened up. “I’m sorry. I’m just angry and…” She sighed. “Yes,” she said, shifting in place.

I lowered myself onto one knee again and leaned closer to her.

“What are you going to do?” Her eyes widened.

Vampires have little interest in old blood—the stale wound and dirty blood that traced her cheek was rather tasteless in comparison to blood that comes directly from the heart. I had no desire for it whatsoever.

“Close your eyes,” I ordered, hoping she would squirm less. I really didn’t know how she would react.

My lips parted and I brought my index and middle finger to my mouth, saturating them with a thin layer of saliva from my tongue. I wiped the fluid across her cheek, painting the wound. Kathera’s breath fluttered and I pulled my hand away.

Her eyes opened. “What did you do to me?” she asked, her pulse racing. She came to her feet. “What… did you do to me… Matthaya?” Her breath quickened.

“Kathera, calm down. It will help—”

“Oh, God!” She doubled over. “What’s happening?” Her voice rose fiercely and she cupped her face with her hands. The flesh of the wound sizzled, reacting to the enzymes in my saliva. “It’s burning!”

She brought her face up and glared at me spitefully. “There’s so… much… pain! First Aldréa and then you! What did I ever do to you!?”

I reached out a hand to touch her shoulder, but she pulled away with a quick shrug backward.

“Don’t touch me, you-you
monster
!”

“Kathera, please.”

“Leave me alone.” She turned away and took off running in the other direction.

“Be careful!”

I would have followed, but I knew such a pursuit would be in vain. She would understand soon, and then, surely she would forgive me.

If only things had been easier for her at home. Aldréa was an increasing threat and who knew what she was capable of?

It was inevitable my saliva would make the wound heal, but the exact time frame in which that would occur was unclear. I wished she had given me a moment to clarify what I had done, but it was too late for that.

I shouldn’t have treated her the way I had and I felt like
a fool for starting the conversation with such malice. Kathera
had promised me her friendship in exchange for a companion
. It was a promise I had accepted with questionable judgment and I suddenly found myself missing her company—even regretting the way I had neglected her fragile heart.

She was gone now and I had nothing to do but feel sorry for myself for being so inconsiderate. The most I could do was wish Kathera the best through the night and hope her stepmother kept her distance while the wound healed.