Waking Dreams (A Soul's Mark Novella) (4 page)

So instead of letting the words he wanted
to say come out, he shrugged and said, “Really, I’m fine.”

It was clear as crystal that Lola didn’t
believe him, not for a second, but she didn’t push the subject, and in Eric’s
opinion, she looked relieved to get out of the conversation.  “Fine, then get
your butt upstairs and get ready.  The townspeople will be arriving any minute
now.”

Angelle had outdone herself.  As Eric
walked through their colonial home, he hardly recognized it.  The wooden floors
gleamed with polish, and the Palladian windows were spotless.  Not that the
house had been dirty before, but it was extra-clean now.  She had scrubbed down
the wainscoting, the white looking brighter than before, and as he walked
through the great room, he saw that she had constructed a makeshift platform
with a podium, and before it were fifty or so chairs.  Where she had found so
many chairs so quickly, he couldn’t even begin to imagine.

Eric took his time washing up and dressing
for the meeting.   Someone, Angelle, he assumed, had lain out a pair of black
slacks and a white shirt for him on his bed.  He could hear people arriving,
chattering downstairs about the house, and curious murmurs about the sudden
town meeting, and he knew he should hurry, but he just wasn’t ready to face
anyone yet.  Although he was certain that Megan was just a figment of his
imagination, his imagination seemed so much better than his life at the moment.

When he finally emerged from his room, he
felt as if he had been beaten and drained, and for a split-second, he thought
about just turning around and staying in bed for the rest of the day.  The
image of Megan was fading more and more every second, now, just a foggy outline
in his memory, and all he wanted to do was to grip onto it—onto to her—and
never let it go.

As soon as he stepped into the hallway, a
caracole of scents bombarded him.  Blood.  So many different kinds of blood. 
Sweet, sour, tangy, spicy.  He had never been in such close quarters with so
many beating hearts before, and it made his throat burn.  A crimson haze spread
over his eyes, and the now familiar throb in his gums pulsated as his fangs
begged to be released.

Eric shut his eyes and held his breath.  He
was already certain that this little meeting was going to be a disaster and
showing up with blazing eyes and sharpened teeth would not help matters.  He
stood in the hallway, stiff as marble, as he attempted to get himself
together.  It was a task that was easier said than done.  He pushed Megan out
of his mind completely, focusing solely on not bursting downstairs and feasting
on the closest neck he could find.  After a long moment, the throbbing in his
gums dissipated to a soft ache, and when he opened his eyes, the red fog was
gone.

Eric sucked in a few breaths, testing his
control.  The delicious scents hit him again, and his heartbeat picked up, but
his eyesight stayed normal.  When he was certain that he could handle walking
into a room filled with mouthwatering, fresh blood, he started down the
hallway, with slow, small steps.  This time, it was Angelle’s voice that
stopped him, holding him in place only a few paces from his room.

“You need to tell him, Mitch,” Angelle’s
whispered voice floated around the corner of the hallway.  “He needs to know
what’s happening.”

“It may be just a dream, Angelle,” Mitchell
said, trying to sound casual, but Eric heard the strain in his voice.  His
curiosity peaked.  Most of the time, Mitchell seemed emotionless, always
wearing a mask, but with his tight voice … Eric couldn’t help it.  He stretched
his hearing, needing to know what could possibly ruffle Mitchell’s cool and
calm persona.

“It’s not,” Lola hissed.  “I’m sure of it. 
You didn’t see Eric.  You didn’t hear his heart or smell his desire.  He’s
found her.”  Her hasty tone was almost vicious.

Found who?
Eric’s heart stopped beating, and he strained his senses, anxious not to miss a
beat of their conversation.

“I doubt that,” Mitchell said.  “He’s only
two weeks old.”

“It could happen, and if he’s not ready …”
Angelle paused, and Eric could imagine the frown that marred her pretty little
face.  “He could make a mistake.  She must be close, Mitch.  If she wasn’t, the
dreams wouldn’t have started yet.”

There was a pause, and then Mitchell let
out a deep sigh.  “He knows the story.  If it was her, I’m sure he would have
put the pieces together.”

Eric crept closer, desperately trying to
keep quiet.  What mistake?  What do they know about the dream?  What story? 
Could Megan be more than a dream?  The questions burned through his mind, each
one fighting over the other to be answered.  And each one seemed ludicrous.

“Look, we don’t have time for this right
now,” Mitchell said.  “Everyone is waiting.”

Eric took another small step, hoping they
would keep talking.  A floorboard creaked under his foot.  He sucked in a
breath, holding it, and trying not to make a sound.

“Hello, Eric,” Mitchell called, his voice
booming and tinted with annoyance.

The air rushed from Eric’s lungs in a noisy
burst.  Why did he have to try and get closer?  He glanced over his shoulder at
his bedroom door hanging wide open, debated for a second about locking himself
in there, but then knowing that was pointless and wouldn’t hold against their
strength, he let out a longing sigh, and ventured down the hallway.

“Sir,” Eric said tightly and gave a small,
stiff nod as Mitchell came into view.  He was just around the corner, leaning
against the banister at the top of the staircase.  Angelle and Lola were in
front of him looking blameworthy, in Eric’s opinion.

Mitchell arched a brow, but he didn’t
comment on Eric’s formal greeting.  His eyes scanned over Eric intently.  “Are
you ready?” he asked.

“Sure, where’s Luke?”  Eric asked.  Angelle
looked a bit jittery and nervous, and Eric shot her a questioning look, but she
dropped her eyes and knotted her hands behind her back.

“He’s mingling downstairs,” Lola snapped,
eyeing Mitchell with barely controlled rage.

Mitchell ignored her, giving Eric another
hard look, and Eric was certain that Mitchell was assessing how much he had
heard of the conversation.  A pinprick of crimson began to spread over
Mitchell’s eyes, and his nostrils flared as he, Eric assumed, tried to get a
fix on his emotions.

Eric steeled himself, tamping down all the
questions and accusations that he wanted to let pour out of him.  There was
something about the way Mitchell was looking at him that made him sure that
overhearing probably wasn’t something he should admit to, at least not right now.

Mitchell must have bought his clueless act,
because right then, his eyes faded back to blue, and he cracked a smile. 
“Let’s get this over with.”

Luke wasn’t mingling.  Well, he was—kind
of.  He was milling about, talking to people, but when Eric saw his eyes, he
knew Luke was doing more than engaging in small talk with the locals.  His eyes
were milky and cloudy, and he was walking from person to person, reciting the
same speech over and over.  “You will not be frightened, and you will welcome
us.”  That’s it.  Just two simple commands, and then he would slip on to the
next person.

Luke was a tall man, and bulky like
Mitchell and himself.  But he was the least intimidating of the three of them. 
He had this fatherly look to him, even if he had only been twenty-three when he
had turned.  There was something about him, the way he looked at people with
his inquisitive hazel eyes that made people think he was wise beyond his years,
and it also made people … comfortable.   Yes, Eric figured that was the best
word to use.  Comfortable.  He had his shoulder length light brown hair tied at
the nape of his neck, and he was dressed like the rest of them in black slacks
and a white cotton shirt.   Eric bet that Angelle had handpicked each of their
attire for the meeting.

“That’s your plan?” Eric hissed, as Mitchell
ushered him to the platform.  “You’re just going to manipulate everyone.”

“If it means living without hiding, then
yes,” Mitchell replied, casting him a hard look.

Eric narrowed his eyes, but bit his tongue
on a bunch of nasty things he wanted to say.  Mitchell wasn’t a bad guy, and he
wasn’t usually this testy.  Not that Eric would admit it, but he actually kind
of liked Mitchell.  Aside from the know-it-all, always-right attitude, Mitchell
was a little awe-inspiring, and this little plan was sort of awe-inspiring,
too.  And it all bothered Eric.  It would have been a lot easier to hate the
man that had ended his life if he wasn’t so … so … perfect.

According to Mitchell, the awe-inspiring,
perfect thoughts thing was normal.  A part of the change.  It was common for
new vampires to become a bit obsessed with their makers.  It had something to
do with them being made from the same blood, or was it that Mitchell was now
his vampire father and family was important?  Eric couldn’t remember, and as he
thought about it, he was pretty sure that Angelle had walked in during that lesson,
and he had spent most of it admiring her silky auburn hair.  But, whatever it
was that made him feel like Mitchell was the most perfect person ever, it was definitely
annoying.

Angelle and Lola glided into the crowd,
helping Luke with the last few stragglers who had yet to be persuaded.  Eric
watched, amazed, as the two gorgeous creatures made mind control look like a
dance.  They spun gracefully from person to person, batting their eyes, giving
men delicate, flirty touches.  It was mesmerizing to watch.  Before long, the
girls and Luke took their places beside Eric, standing just behind Mitchell at
the podium.

The meeting went off without a hitch.  Eric
stood behind Mitchell with his mouth hanging open the entire time.  Mitchell
explained to the townspeople how the new “tax” system would work.  Basically,
the humans were to willingly give their blood, and in return, Mitchell would
allow them to stay in their homes and protect them as if they were his family. 
And each one of them thanked him.  Actually thanked him for the opportunity he
was providing.  To Eric, it didn’t seem like much of an
opportunity
. 
They were being forced to become walking meals.  Eric didn’t know whether to be
sick or amazed at the whole thing.

After Mitchell finished his speech, his
family left the platform and joined the humans for a reception.  But Eric
wasn’t in the mood to chat.  All he could think about was his bed, sleep, and
Megan.  So when no one was looking, he slipped out of the great room and went
straight for his bed.

Sleep eluded him that night.  Eric lay in
bed, his eyes tightly shut, but yet, his brain would not rest.  Megan’s green
eyes danced through his head, smiling at him and calling to him, but no matter
how hard he tried, her eyes were the only thing that his brain would conjure.

He sifted through his memories, trying to
recall what story Mitchell could have been referring to earlier as he spoke to
Lola and Angelle.  In the last two weeks since Eric had become a vampire, he
had heard countless “stories.”  Mitchell called them
lessons
, except to
Eric, they were more like boring and pointless rules.  And since Eric had never
really been a rules kind of person, he had promptly ignored them.

Now though, he wished he had listened.

Eric couldn’t say how long he had lain there,
when he heard the knock at his door.  “Eric?” Mitchell called from behind his
bedroom door.  Eric groaned, and the door slid open.  “I heard that,” his
father said with a chuckle.

Eric sat up in bed and scrubbed at his
face.  “I was sleeping,” he said, trying to sound groggy and hoping Mitchell
would just go away.

He didn’t.  Mitchell closed the door with a
soft click and crossed the room, sitting down in the armchair beside the
window.  He leaned forwards, resting his elbows on his knees, and his chin in
his hands.  “Was it her?” he asked elusively, his voice a confusing mix of pain
and happiness.

“What are you talking about?”  Eric was
sure he was looking at Mitchell as if he was a mad man.  He was really starting
to think that he would never get used to Mitchell’s direct and slightly elusive
attitude.  The way he spoke, even when asking a question, was as if everything
was a secret.  Except this time, Eric knew exactly what Mitchell was asking,
but his gut was telling him to keep his mouth shut and play dumb.

“Did she have the mark?”  Mitchell asked,
his eyes boring into Eric so intently that he felt as if Mitchell was actually
seeing into his brain.

“You know I was just sleeping, right?” Eric
asked.  He didn’t understand why, but he didn’t want to share Megan.  He just
didn’t.  Not with anyone.  At this point, he was certain that they were all
just speculating, at what, he really wasn’t sure, but they didn’t really know
anything—yet.

“Oh, give it up, Eric,” Mitchell said. 
“You weren’t sleeping.  Did she have the mark on her neck?”

Eric threw up his hands, exasperated, this
time really having no idea what Mitchell was asking.  “What mark?”