Waking Dreams (A Soul's Mark Novella) (3 page)

“No, I would only have taken what I needed
to survive,” Mitchell said.  He reached over and patted Eric’s knee.  “You were
not meant to die.”

Eric batted the hand away, cringing at
Mitchell’s touch. 
Not meant to die!
a voice in his head growled. 
Clearly, that was a lie.  The demon had just openly admitted to hunting him. 
And hunting resulted in death.  His skin buzzed, and his muscles coiled
tightly.  A growl, something savage and purely animalistic, rumbled in his
throat, and his jaw ached from clenching it.   Red flared all around him,
fogging his vision, and washing everything his eyes touched in scarlet. 
“Christ, what’s wrong with my eyes!” Eric shouted.  It wasn’t a question, but
Mitchell answered it anyway.

Mitchell smiled a little.  “Nothing is
wrong with them, Son.  It’s normal for them to change when you are angry.”  His
calm demeanor was infuriating, and Eric struggled to breathe through the
constricting wrath building within his chest.  “In time you will learn to
control it.”

“I’m not angry!” he shouted.  He didn’t
know why he said it.  Rage was coursing through him, smothering his senses, and
coating his brain in a red-hot fog.

“I’m not sure I believe that this is your
happy face,” Mitchell said with a chuckle, and his eyes danced with humor.

The laughter was maddening, mocking, and it
unlocked something in Eric.  Heat rushed to his face, and he snarled.  He
launched at Mitchell, with a power and speed that he had not known was
possible, and tackled him to the floor.  Mitchell laughed again.  It was a
burst of velvety sound that died as quickly as it came out when Eric landed a
punch squarely on his jaw.  He felt the bone snap under his fist.

Mitchell’s laughing eyes hardened, and
suddenly they were cold and dangerous.  With what seemed like nothing more than
a flick of the wrist, he flung Eric off of him, and before Eric could really
process what was happening, Mitchell’s big hand was wrapped around his throat,
pinning him against the wall.  “Lesson number one, the older you are, the
stronger you get,” Mitchell said with barely contained fury.  “Never pick a
fight with an older vampire, because you will not win.”

There were four of them—vampires—including
Mitchell.  Or five, Eric figured, now that he was one of them, too.  Lola was
definitely his favorite, not that he was about to admit that to anyone, but he
loved her spunk.  She looked so sweet and quiet, but her looks were deceiving. 
She was outspoken, abrupt; she never sugar coated anything, and Eric found it
refreshing.  Especially since, for the last two weeks, Mitchell had been trying
to hide all the downsides of being an immortal.

And there were downsides.

The first, and probably the hardest thing to
swallow, was leaving his ranch and his family.  The five of them had packed up and
left the night Eric had become a vampire.  Mitchell said it was better to just
disappear.  There was no point in drawing out the inevitable.  It would only
make it harder to let go in the end—and it would have to end.  Sooner or later,
his loved ones would notice that he did not age, and that would draw suspicion,
and that suspicion would turn into fear.  Eric wasn’t sure if he agreed, but
the truth was, he was also glad he hadn’t had to try to explain where he was
going and why he was leaving.  His mother would never accept it.

But Willowberg wasn’t so bad.  It was
bigger than he was used to, but not overwhelming, and the cool thing about Willowberg
was that Mitchell had decided not to hide their true nature here.  Turns out
after seven hundred and something years, Mitchell was sick of moving around. 
He had purchased all of the establishments and the land that Willowberg rested
on, offering the residents prices that they could not turn down.  It was really
a no brainer for the townspeople, because Mitchell didn’t want any of them to
move.  They would all still live in their houses, and continue on with their
work as they had before he had purchased everything.  And he wasn’t expecting
anything from them, well, at least nothing that they knew about yet.

As Eric strolled down the main street,
people stopped in their tracks to stare at him.  Not that that was really a new
thing; people, more precisely women, always stared at him.  After all, he had
been attractive before the change (not that he let that go to his head or
anything) but now, everything about him was more defined.  His muscles, his jaw,
his eyes, his height.  Except, Eric knew that wasn’t the only reason they were
staring.  They were curious about the family that had just bought their town.

Eric was pretty sure that in a few hours, their
curiosity would change to fear, and most likely, hatred.  Even if he relished
the idea of not hiding, he knew it probably wasn’t going to turn out the way
they hoped.  People feared what they didn’t understand.  It was a fact of
life.  And Eric, for one, thought Mitchell’s idea of living in peace with
humans was more of a dream than anything.  Eric was certain that as soon as the
townspeople found out that his new family survived on drinking human blood, the
town, and Mitchell’s dream, would go up in flames.

They were set to expose themselves in just
less than two hours.  Angelle had been busy all morning setting up for the town
meeting.  It was to be held in their new home, and the chaotic preparations,
well, more like the chaotic Angelle, had been so wired that Eric had needed to
get out.  She had more energy than any one person, vampire or not, should ever
have.  And she was driving him batty.  She had this overly positive outlook on
life, and most of the time, it was great, but right now … well, she was also a
bundle of nerves about the meeting, and that made her chipper attitude even
harder to handle.

Not ready to jump back into the pandemonium
at home, and getting sick of all the stares, Eric veered off the main street,
and took a small gravel path leading into the dense woodland surrounding
Willowberg.  He wasn’t sure how long he walked, enjoying the chirping of the
birds and the rustling of branches in the crisp breeze, when he stumbled upon a
small snow covered clearing.  Sunlight broke through the canopy of trees in
stripes of gold.

It was just a small grove, nestled in the
midst of a bunch of weeping willows, but to Eric, it felt like an oasis.  A
haven just for him.  And for a minute, he longed for the peaceful wilderness
that surrounded his ranch.

He ventured in, brushing aside the long,
flowing branches, and leaned against one of the willow tree trunks.  He closed
his eyes, taking in deep, fresh breaths of the winter air, clearing his mind,
and enjoyed the silence.

Fear.  Its tantalizing aroma teased his
nose and made his mouth water.  It was sweet and sour and salty.  His nostrils
flared, and he breathed it in with long deep breaths.  He opened his eyes
lazily, scanning the area for the source of the mouthwatering scent.

Eric was starving.  He was always starving. 
But with that scent wafting around him, he was extra-starving now.

“Who are you?” a girl’s voice demanded from
behind him, and the delicious scent increased.  “What do you want from me?”

The sound of her voice was just as alluring
as the scent of her fear.  It was like an exquisite melody, filled with an
intricate mix of chords, blending together perfectly.  It was soft, sweet, and
enchanting.  Eric’s heart raced, thumping loudly in his ears.  He spun around,
following the sound.

The girl stepped out from behind a tree,
wisps of golden light radiated from her skin; her fear pulsed into the air as
if it had its own heartbeat.  She looked up at him, her cheeks wet with tears,
and his breath caught in his throat.

She was beautiful.

Silky blood red ringlets cascaded over her
shoulders and her eyes … they were mesmerizing.  The exact emerald green
pigment of his own.  Her slight frame had subtle curves, and the freckles that
dotted the bridge of her nose were the cutest thing he had ever laid eyes on.

She made a sound.  It was soft and sounded
as if she gasped and moaned at the same time.  He watched as her eyes raked
over him, taking him in.  She tugged her bottom lip between her teeth, nibbling
on it lightly, and Eric heard her heartbeat pick up, drumming in time with his
own.

And then the oddest thing happened—he
moved.  But it wasn’t just that he moved, it was that he had absolutely no
control over the movement.  It was as if a rope was tied around him and he was
being dragged, and suddenly, he was standing in front of her.

“Where am I?” she asked meekly, casting her
eyes to the snow covered ground, and she took a small step back from him.

Eric ignored her question.  “What’s your
name?” he breathed, completely and utterly in awe.

She blushed, her cheeks turning an adorable
pink.  “Megan Caldwell, sir.”

He chuckled.  “Please, do not call me
sir.”  He wrinkled his nose, and she smiled a smile that lit up like sunshine. 
“It sounds so old.”  He extended his hand to her, and she laid her porcelain
one in his palm.  “I’m Eric.  Eric Carter.”

Suddenly there was a loud snap, and Eric
sprang forwards.  His head spun, and he felt slightly woozy.  He leaned back
against the willow, attempting to steady himself.  He blinked a few times,
focusing his double vision, and took in a deep, gusty breath.  That’s when he
realized that Megan’s soft hand was no longer clasped in his own.  He scanned
the clearing and took in deep breaths as he searched for her.  Nothing.

Megan was gone.

Eric scrubbed at his face, trying to clear
his head.  There was no way she could just vanish.  Not that quickly.  She was
just a human.  He had smelled her blood, sweet and fresh, and he had heard it pumping
through her veins.  As he raked his hands over his face, he felt a dribble of
wetness at the side of his mouth.  Drool. 
I dozed off,
he realized. 
It
was only a dream. 
And in that moment, his heart burst into millions of
sharp-edged pieces.

Eric stared blankly at the ground for some
time before he pulled himself up, and started aimlessly down the path towards
home.  The whole thing had seemed so real.  He could still smell Megan’s sweet
scent; still feel her fear clawing at his heart.  All of it was so real.  He
had never had a dream like this before, and when he did dream, he rarely
remembered a single detail once he woke up, but this was different.  He could
still feel her and see her, as if he was in two places at once.  In the back of
his mind, he could see her smile, hear her heartbeat …

“You’re late,” Lola said, as he walked
through the door, and honestly, Eric didn’t remember how he even got home. 
Lola stood in the kitchen, leaning against the icebox, with her arms crossed
over her chest.  She wore a soft pink cotton dress, and her thick blond hair flowed
over her shoulders.   She would have been gorgeous if it wasn’t for the dirty
look she was giving him right at that moment.  Okay, Eric had to admit, she was
still gorgeous with it, but it was really contradicting the sweet and innocent
look she was trying to portray.

He cracked a half grin, trying to shake the
bottomless feeling that had grown inside him.  “Don’t complain.  My being late
today will only make the times when I am early so much more special.”

She choked on a laugh.  “Oh, look at you. 
You think you are just so charming, don’t you?”

Eric winked.  “I don’t think, I know.”   Lola
laughed, grabbed a dishtowel from the counter, and threw it at him as he
strolled into the kitchen.  He caught it easily, dropping it on the table,
before plopping down in a chair.

He saw Lola watching him from the corner of
his eye, and after a moment, she blurted, “Are you okay?  You look a bit …” She
paused, and wrinkled her nose, before continuing, “Lost.”

Eric ran a hand through his hair, and then,
with a sigh, he glanced at her.  “I…” he started, but his voice sounded wrong. 
Empty and hoarse and rough.  He cleared his throat, ran his fingers through his
hair again, and plastered on a goofy smile that he hoped didn’t look as fake as
it felt.  “I’m good.”

Her blue eyes sparkled, and she arched a challenging
brow.  “You can talk to me, you know, ummm, if you want.”  It came out
awkwardly, and by the way she was shifting back and forth, from one foot to the
other, he was sure that she was probably regretting asking.  Lola wasn’t the
share
your feelings
type.

Eric grinned.  He couldn’t stop it.  He
felt his lips curve, and his heartbeat picked up, thrumming against his
ribcage.  Lola sat down beside him, waiting for him to start talking. 
Should
I tell her?
he wondered.  He wanted to.  Really wanted to.  Maybe if he
talked about it, it would help.

He met her eyes, and her awkward smile
widened to what he thought was supposed to be encouraging.  He opened his
mouth, the words on the tip of his tongue, but then panic gripped his chest, and
his throat closed up. 
What will she think of you?
a voice in the back
of his mind questioned.  He couldn’t let her know that he had found the girl of
his dreams—literally—in a dream.  Lola would think he had lost his mind.  He
was supposed to be a vampire, a demon, not a lovesick fool pinning over an
illusion.