On The Run With A Vampire

3. Lucien

CHAPTER 3

LUCIEN

It’s barely a scratch, but it’s enough. Bloodlust fills my dried veins, and I can’t help but inhale, taking in the delicious metallic tang that hangs thick in the air.

It seems I’ve made a mistake. Wouldn’t be the first—the stake still lodged in my back can attest to that—though this does seem to be the biggest one I’ve made in quite a while.

Because, up until all of ten seconds ago, I’d been operating under the assumption that Ms. Raven Hartley and I were of the same kind. That both our hearts had stopped beating decades ago and the blood in our veins had long since dried up and evaporated.

Her chest heaves as she lets out a shaky breath and mutters, “ What the fuck is happening?”

Breath being the operative word here. Now that I’m paying attention, it’s clear that she is taking actual, necessary breaths. She’s not just going through the motions, her body instinctively repeating the action that hasn’t been strictly necessary for years the way I often do.

She’s actually breathing.

And if she’s breathing, that must mean she has a?—

I frown and take a step closer towards her. She presses herself up against the tiles of her bathtub, panic clear as day flashing through her eyes.

Fear radiates off her in waves, her eyes wide with a mixture of terror and confusion. Her brows pinch in the middle and her mouth forms the shape of several extremely angry letters as she hurls what I’m sure is abuse at me. I’m not listening, though.

Not to her words anyway.

It takes a few seconds, but then I hear it. A faint, barely there, but surprisingly steady rhythm I don’t know how I could have missed before. How I was able to mistake the subtle cadence of her heartbeat for silence.

Yet another entry to add to my list of things Blaine is absolutely never to find out about.

Getting caught and maimed by the S.B.E.F is one thing; mistaking a human for a vampire is something else entirely.

I’ll never live it down.

“Who the hell are you?” Ms. Hartley croaks out. She’s still cowering on the ground, but the healthy amount of fear in her dark brown eyes has lessened slightly, replaced by something I think is tentative curiosity. “And how did you get in?”

Despite everything, I can’t help but laugh. “You invited me. You humans get a lot of things wrong when it comes to my kind, but I’m fairly certain giving a vampire permission to enter your home is common knowledge.”

A beat of silence passes between us.

Then Ms. Hartley bursts into laughter. The sound of it doesn’t quite align with the situation we’re currently in. It’s borderline hysterical, more akin to the sound of a hyena’s cackle than the laughter of someone who’s genuinely found something funny.

Each burst of laughter seems to be pulled from her with force, as if she’s desperately trying to expel something other than amusement from within her. It’s disconcerting to say the least.

I crouch down in front of her and try to school my expression into something pleasant. “Are you… alright ?”

Her laughter continues as if I haven’t asked anything. To use another human expression, I do believe this is the kind of laugh that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. The kind that sends a shiver down your spine. It just doesn’t sound natural.

I watch her closely, trying to discern if this is some sort of modern human reaction I’ve never encountered before, or if Ms. Hartley is just veritably insane.

Her laughter gradually subsides as she shakes her head and stares at me in disbelief. “The man who broke into my home, thinks he’s a vampire, and apparently has never heard of sarcasm before is looking at me like I’ve got two heads and asking if I’m alright . What do you think?”

Well. When she puts it like that, I suppose her reaction makes a little more sense. We’re still not exactly on the same page, though.

“I don’t think I’m a vampire, Ms. Hartley.” I extend a hand towards her, and she stares at it blankly for a few seconds before reluctantly grabbing onto it and allowing me to pull her up. “I am a vampire.”

She huffs out a derisive snort. “You’re insane. That’s what you are.” As soon as she’s fully upright, she jerks away from me and presses her back up against the nearest wall.

It’s been a while since I last revealed myself to a human. A human I wasn’t planning on devouring, I mean. At least 120 years. It didn’t go well then, and I’m sensing it’s not about to go well now. But needs must, as the humans like to say.

“Look in the mirror, Ms. Hartley.”

She hesitates for a long second, and then turns slowly to look in the mirror hanging over her partly destroyed sink.

Some humans believe vampires are able to read minds. We can’t, of course—it’s just another ridiculous rumour—but I can’t deny that the ability right now would be very, very useful. Because the expression on Ms. Hartley’s face is unreadable.

She’s staring at her reflection with a mixture of shock and disbelief, her eyes widening as she takes in the sight in front of her—or lack thereof.

Her hand reaches upwards tentatively, fingers grazing against the bottom of her shoulder-length dark curls, as if she’s trying to confirm that what she’s seeing is real. The Ms. Hartley in the mirror mimics her movements, but the realisation doesn’t seem to bring her any joy.

Because I’m standing directly behind her, and I’m nowhere to be seen in the mirror.

She inhales a deep, sharp breath and turns back to me. The expression on her face is a storm of emotions: fear, disbelief, and a hint of something else.

Something I can’t quite place.

“You…” Her voice is barely a whisper. “You’re?—”

I resist the urge to roll my eyes and instead nod solemnly. “Yes, Ms. Hartley. I’m a vampire.”

The words hang heavy in the air between us, the truth of them undeniable now that she’s seen it with her own eyes. She takes a step back, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps. I can practically see the gears turning in her mind as she tries to process the impossible reality before her.

She regards me with scepticism, but then her gaze flickers down to the stake still protruding from my back. “If you’re a vampire, why haven’t you healed?”

If? She’s still saying if even with the evidence right in front of her?

I glance back at the offending stake and grimace. “It’s complicated,” I admit. “But suffice to say, I’ve had a run of bad luck recently.”

“A string of bad luck that’s led you straight to me.”

“Exactly,” I say brightly, glad we’re finally on the same page.

“Oh God,” she whimpers, and my smile drops. “You’re going to kill me, aren’t you?”

I do roll my eyes this time. Have humans always been this self-absorbed? “Don’t flatter yourself, Ms. Hartley.”

She coughs out a sound that’s halfway between a laugh and another whimper. “You’re a vampire. You’ve broken into my home?—”

“Once again, you technically invited me in.”

“What else am I supposed to think?”

“I—” My half-baked retort dies on my tongue. I suppose I have to concede that she does have a point there. “I’m not here to harm you,” I say firmly.

Honestly . Like I said, I’ve got self-control. For another five days at least.

Something hardens in her gaze. “Then what are you here for?”

If blood could rush to my cheeks, it would most certainly be doing so right now. “I made an error in judgement,” I grit out, embarrassment flooding every one of my senses. “And mistook you for a vampire.”

She stares at me, eyes wide, cheeks flushed, full lips slightly parted. “You mistook me for a what ?”

“A vampire,” I repeat. “Two years ago, when we first met.”

“Halloween,” she says with a nod.

I decide not to dwell on the tiny pinprick of pleasure I feel upon realising that she does remember me. “When I boarded that train carriage, I was able to sense a number of beating, human hearts. But when I looked in your direction, I didn’t sense anything.”

“Ah,” she says.

“Ah,” I parrot dryly, an eyebrow raised. “But now…” I inch closer to her and press two fingers just above where her heart sits. I tap my fingers against her towel in time with her heartbeat.

Tap.

…

…

…

…

…

Tap.

“Your heartbeat is remarkably slow, Ms. Hartley,” I murmur. “So slow, I was certain you were of the walking dead when I first came across you.”

She’s stiffened beneath me and is holding her breath. Her gaze doesn’t leave mine.

“I have an arrhythmia,” she murmurs. “It’s pretty rare.”

“Mm,” I hum, my fingers still resting over her heart. “Rare indeed.” I step away, letting my hand drop back to my side, and she exhales a soft sigh of relief. Her breath floats towards me like a whisper in the silent room.

Her eyes are still locked on mine, searching. Questioning. “You’re a vampire,” she says again. There’s not even a hint of scepticism in her tone this time. It’s almost as if she’s forcing herself to state it aloud in an attempt to solidify the truth of it.

“I am.”

She swallows. “And you’re not here to kill me.”

“I am not.”

“You came to me because you thought I could help you with…” She gestures awkwardly to the stake that is still— still! —sticking out of my back. “With that?”

“In part.”

For a moment, it’s as if Ms. Hartley forgets that she’s supposed to be terrified of me. Her lips twist into a scowl; she puts both hands on her hips and then glares up at me without even a hint of fear.

“ In part, ” she repeats, clearly unimpressed. “Vampire or not, you don’t just get to break into my home?—”

“For the last time! I was invited !”

“—and make demands,” Ms. Hartley finishes. She takes several quick steps towards me, extends a hand, and then prods me sharply in the chest with her forefinger. “And you haven’t even said please .”

A wry smile tugs at my lips. It seems Ms. Hartley has a bit of a bite to her when she’s no longer fearing for her life. “You’re quite right,” I say smoothly. “Ms. Hartley, would you kindly do me the pleasure of removing this stake from my back, please ?” I finish the request by baring my teeth, and to Ms. Hartley’s credit, she doesn’t flinch at the sight of my fangs.

She holds my gaze and, once again, I find myself wishing I had that helpful fictional ability to read minds. Alas.

“Alright,” she says, giving me a sharp nod before she takes two steps back and puts some distance between us again. “I’ll help you out with your little—” She gestures towards my back. “Stake problem. And then you’ll leave me alone. Deal?”

There is still the matter of me needing a safe space to recuperate and lie low from S.B.E.F, but given the fact Ms. Hartley isn’t what I thought she was, it seems I’ll need to come up with an alternative plan.

Damn it all, I’m going to need to call Blaine, aren’t I?

“Deal,” I say with only a hint of a pout and stretch out my hand.

Ms. Hartley eyes it warily for a second or two before gingerly grasping it in her own. “Okay. Give me five minutes to get dressed and then we can get started.”

I almost protest the five-minute delay, but it seems Ms. Hartley can sense my displeasure, and the look stops me in my tracks before I can get a word out.

“Is there a problem?” she asks, one clearly unamused brow arched.

“No,” I say, forcing a polite smile. “Please, take your time.”

It’s not like I’m in agony here or anything.