Vampires of Eden (Alexander #2)

6. Daniel

CHAPTER 6

Daniel

H uh.

That is not what I was expecting.

“What was that? What just happened?” Kathryn’s face twists in confusion as I walk toward the table and pull out a chair. I plop down from exhaustion, but then lift my head, feeling the intense weight of Roland’s stare.

“What did you do?” he asks, narrowing his amber eyes.

I shrug. “I might have… expressed some strong opinions. As I’m known to do.” I didn’t think he’d shrink and run away like a wounded animal, though. That was a surprise.

“Aw Danny, you promised us that you’d behave yourself.” Kathryn’s disappointed expression almost makes me feel bad.

Almost.

“Why the hell is he here?” I ask. “We can all admit that it’s weird, right? This high-society royal Eden purebred spending his day sanding a bathroom wall? It’s fucking absurd. He does not belong here. Someone needed to say it.”

Eden purebreds don’t slum it with ranked vampires in their free time. They don’t do home improvement projects and they don’t insist that you drop honorifics .

They lie. They’re self-centered and they manipulate and bully vampires beneath them. They treat us like garbage.

“So that’s it then?” Roland says, laying his oven mitts on the counter and folding his arms. “We’re going to be as callous, rude and exclusive as the vampires who discard us? They’re ugly toward us, so we’ll be ugly toward them?” His voice, which is usually jovial and light, rings heavy as he speaks. Somber and too serious.

It’s unnerving.

Breaking his gaze, I exhale and fold my arms. I know that fighting fire with fire is not the answer, but the resentment inside of me screams, Yes, tear him to shreds. He deserves it. They all do .

Roland goes on in my contemplative silence. “Our intent with this project is to offer a safe house. Something that Eden desperately needs. If we’re going to be exclusive about who we offer safety to and who we don’t, we’re not any better than the vamps who lord over our aristocracy.”

“But he is one of those vamps,” I stress, “By title and definition?—”

“This house will be a refuge for anyone and everyone—for whatever reason. We don’t need to know why, Daniel. That’s the atmosphere we want to create.”

Roland shakes his head, then looks away as if he can’t stand the sight of me. “But you just snatched that safety from someone. I don’t think you have the right.”

The house settles and creaks around us in the deafening quiet. Roland unties the apron from around his waist and tosses it on the counter beside his cutesy oven mitts. “The croissants are done. Help yourself.” He stalks across the kitchen and through the large archway, leaving.

Alright. Fine.

I feel bad now.

“Did Alexander do something to you?” Kathryn asks. “What did you say to him? ”

I slouch in the seat, all my self-righteous indignation suddenly evaporated. Like a hot air balloon that’s lost its fire and gas.

I don’t know if Kathryn and Roland have been privy to the details as far as what happened between Oliver and Alexander. The only reason I know is because Oliver lived with us and told us. It’s not my business to repeat, really.

“You’re not going to tell me?” Kathryn asks.

“I’d rather not.”

She sighs. “Well, alright. This is disappointing, Daniel.”

“So, I’m a disappointment. Am I no longer welcome here?”

“You’re always welcome here. We just want our home to be a peaceful place and, well, we’re not off to a good start, are we?”

Kathryn stands and moves toward the counter. There, she investigates the tray of abandoned croissants. “I’ll try to fix this if I can. Frankly, Alexander being here is monumental for our cause. If the future King of Eden supports us, think of the good we could do? The change we could influence across the upper levels of society. Let’s keep him on our side as best we can and not kick him while he’s obviously down. Croissant?”

Is he on our side? What does that mean, and how can she be certain? There’s no reason for someone of his “pedigree” to be here. This is just a retreat for him. A temporary escape from his personal problems.

“Not yet,” I say, standing. “I’m going to find Roland and apologize. He was so excited about these goddamn croissants and now he’s abandoned them.”

Because of me.

Shit.

When Leoni needs the van, I have to take a local bus from the town near our cottage in the eastern mountains and into Nantshire. It takes an hour and a half, but I enjoy watching the landscape like a film reel of nature’s splendor. It clears my mind—even better than when I’m driving. I love honing in on the details.

Jagged, snow-capped mountains line the horizon for some of the journey. Eventually, the hills soften into luscious, rolling curves that remind me of the female form. Valleys stretch vast and wide before we pass through the first of many towns lining the journey—Evanshire, Bruck, Seze and Hollywick. Each community stands clustered along the road, like remote islands littered amongst the wild fields.

Despite the distance between them, the aesthetic is almost always the same. Charming, squat houses and shops of weathered stone laden with leafy, possessive vines. Thatched roofs, wooden shutters and cobbled roads snaking through narrow streets.

Eden as an aristocracy has a lot of issues. And let me emphasize, a lot . I’ll be the first vampire to point them out to anyone who cares to listen. I practically live on that soapbox.

Despite its shortcomings and archaic ideals, it’s my home. I wouldn’t trade it for anywhere else in the world.

The sun has dipped below the mountains by the time I reach the vineyard. It’s cold today, and the winter light colors the sky in blended hues of indigo and purple. A few scattered clouds float listless in the impending nightfall.

Leoni is home, because the windows are alive with yellow lamp light as I walk up the steps. A gentle breeze shakes the dried brush in their many pots on the porch. The rocking chair creaks, as if an invisible guest resides within its seat.

Every time I approach this cottage—at nightfall, particularly—it feels like a warm hug. I don’t own it, but I’m grateful to be here.

“Hey.” I announce myself while stepping through the front door and into the heated ambiance of the living room. The fire burns and flickers in the hearth and it is immediately evident that Leoni has cooked dinner. Smells like corn chowder.

“Hola, cari?o. How was the day?” She faces the door, curled up in her favorite armchair and with a book settled on her thigh. She closes it to watch me as I hang up my parka.

“It was alright,” I admit. “And yours—how was the market? Sell any wine?”

She grins. “Fifteen bottles baby.”

“That’s fantastic. Bravo.”

“Thanks. I also talked to five vamps who are interested in helping us with pruning and barrel testing when the weather finally breaks. Three of them already have experience.”

After stepping out of my shoes, I stand behind the arm chair opposite her and closest to the door. If I sit down in these clothes, I’ll dirty up the furniture with sanding dust and grime.

“Did they work here in the past?”

“Two of them did,” she confirms. “But the third worked at the Smithson Clan’s vineyard. Since ours is being managed by me now and I’m not an insane hard ass, they said they’d come and help. God knows we need it.”

“Indeed, we do.”

“Maybe they’ll come regularly? Fingers crossed.”

Nodding, I walk toward the steps. “Fingers, toes, eyes, all of it. I’m in desperate need of a shower. Have you already eaten?”

She picks her book back up and casually opens it to where she left off. “I haven’t. I figured we could have dinner together and talk?”

“Sure,” I say, beginning the ascent to my room.

“Especially since Kathryn texted me. I figured you might want to, I dunno… get some things off your chest?”

I stop mid-step. “Ah, this is A Talk. With capital letters.”

“Yup.”

“Alright. Shower first.”

“By all means.”

Usually, after a productive day of work, a long, scenic bus ride and a hot shower, my mind and conscious are clear by the evening. My spirit is settled, I’m calm and I feel at peace with life and the world around me.

Not fucking today, though.

As the hot water pelts the skin of my face and trickles down my body, I’m stressed. My back and shoulders are tight, my skin is prickly and my nature is deeply unsettled.

This is the consequence of mouthing off and expressing strong opinions—of fighting fire with fire. I burn myself, and the healing and recovery process is painful. Slow and brutal.

Ever since Oliver and Alexander came recklessly barreling into our cottage, I’ve been thrown off balance. What I went through with Josefina… After her, my life was absolute hell. It was horrific, humiliating and it took months to claw my way back to some semblance of normalcy—let alone balance, functionality and peace .

Those two high-society purebred idiots showed up and I haven’t had any peace ever since. Not like before, when the only purebred in my space was Leoni. The singular purebred that I trust.

Still feeling drained and not refreshed at all, I step out of the shower and onto the bathmat. Steam billows all around, creating condensation on the shower curtain, counter and vanity mirror over the sink. With my hand, I wipe a messy arc against the slippery surface and stare at the vampire in the reflection.

A sharp angular face, too pale and framed by dark limp hair. The length of it pools and sticks to my shoulders like hungry leeches. Pale, cold eyes that radiate emptiness and sorrow.

Misery.

I wasn’t like this before. In the past, I could properly gain weight. I wasn’t stripped down to this nearly emaciated frame. There was a softness to my jawline and cheeks. Definition lining the muscles of my arms, shoulders, back and torso. Warmth and passion in my lilac eyes.

All of that is gone. This is my reality now and I accept it. I accept myself. There’s no use whining over what’s been lost. Or the choices I’ve made.

Concentrating, I close my eyes to focus on the here and now. To my utter shock, a different pair of irises flash behind the darkness of my lids. Vibrant honey-brown and shimmering with flecks of golden light.

Alarmed, my pulse thumps in my throat as I jerk backward, blinking. “What the hell was that?” I stare at myself in the re-fogged mirror, analyzing. Bizarre.

This is because I feel guilty. Because of Roland.

Inhaling, then exhaling a deep breath, I shake it off and grab my towel. I take my sweet time because I’m not looking forward to this conversation with Leoni that I can no longer avoid. Even though I’ve been avoiding it for months. Ever since Oliver showed up on our doorstep.

In a surprise twist, Leoni doesn’t grill and skewer me over dinner. Instead, she tells me about the wine orders and other local markets she’s planning to attend in the coming months to sell off some of our inventory.

“The Hollywick locals were wary at first, but now they’re warming up to me,” she says, gripping the large crock pot and looking for a space to stash it in the fridge.

At the counter, I grin while pre-rinsing and loading our dishes into the washer. “Now that they know you’re not there to throw your weight around, impose new rules or raise the land taxes.”

“Right. I just smiiile and smiiile and eventually, they lower their guard. I’m building trust in the community, in my own small way. You should come with me to Seze when I go.”

I shake my head as I finish my task. “Nope. I’ll only make it worse. I can barely lift the wine cases to help you. Plus, nobody can sense my presence, so vamps are always jumpy around me. They won’t want to buy anything from an emaciated ghoul. ”

“Danny, that’s not true,” she says, closing the refrigerator door. “You don’t have any issues when you go into Hollywick.”

“Not anymore. It took the farmers and shop owners months to get used to the sight of me. I won’t be a good addition for your goodwill publicity and marketing campaign, trust me.”

Drying my hands, I casually think back to those early days when we first moved here and I’d go into town for groceries. The perplexed stares and indiscreet whispers. Everyone constantly asking, “Are you alright? Are you alright?”

As Leoni walks past, she throws a glance over her shoulder. “Fine. Are we ready to talk about what happened today with Alexander?” She heads into the living room, leaving me alone in the kitchen. It feels like I’ve been punched in the gut.

“What did Kathryn tell you?” I ask, trailing behind her. Already, she’s seated by the fire and back in her armchair.

“In so many words? That you were an asshole toward Puercoespín. You said something rude enough to make him leave the house, like, immediately.”

Taking the armchair across from her, I shrug. “That’s the gist of it. Nothing more to discuss, really. Good talk.” I meet her steely gaze in a silent stand-off. We are two vampires rooted in our opposing views.

Breaking the silence, she sighs. “You shouldn’t be like this.”

“Why shouldn’t I?”

“Because it’s bad for you. It doesn’t help your situation. Can’t you see that?”

“My situation is what it is. There’s no changing it.”

“Estás equivocado, querido amigo.”

She stares at me once more, as if my stance on this topic physically hurts her. As if I’m breaking her heart.

You’re wrong, my friend .

I wish she would let this go. Once upon a time, it was painful for me, too. But now? I feel nothing. I’m practically dead. Inside and out.

“You once told me that you think Oliver and these other purebreds who are leaving Eden are cowards,” Leoni goes on. “That they’re running away from their problems.”

“They are. They flee our aristocracy because they acknowledge that the rules and culture here are outdated and wrong—but they don’t do anything about it. They only look after themselves. The rest of us are stuck here with no true agents for change.”

Every time we hear about some new Eden purebred who’s run off to Italy or France, I’m annoyed. They flee to destinations across the world in search of a better quality of life. Good for them, but what about the rest of us? What about those of us who can’t leave because of passport and border restrictions?

Leoni shifts to the edge of her seat and leans with her elbows on her knees. “Alright. How are you any different?”

I draw back from the blatant absurdity of this question. “What?”

“You look down on them, but how are you better?” she asks again, examining me. “Instead of facing their situation head on, they avoid conflict. The environment stays the same because they run away. They protect themselves?—”

“This is utterly ridiculous?—”

“You’re exactly the same, Danny. You walk around here, spouting on about your healing and acceptance. You do your knitting and your yoga?—”

“Crocheting,” I correct her. “I crochet. How many times do I?—”

“Fine. You keep yourself busy with all these projects. But you still avoid the piano, and as soon as you’re forced to interact with a purebred who isn’t me, you lose your shit. You unravel because your sacred purebred-free world is disrupted. Look at the way you avoided Oliver like he was a literal disease!”

“I did not . I talked to him a little bit more before he left—and what piano would I even be fucking playing around here?” I ask, frenzied. “The invisible one in the non-existent ballroom?”

“That’s not the point, smartass. ”

“Isn’t it?” Indignation floods my chest and every inch of my body tenses. How can she say that I’m the same as these arrogant purebreds? These cowardly fugitives.

“When I heard about how you treated Alexander today,” Leoni continues, her voice calm and level. “I remembered something—a quote from that book you told me to read last year. I’m paraphrasing, but it went something like, ‘The thing that you most detest in others is almost certainly inside of you.’ It’s like holding up a mirror and being angry at the reflection.”

I scoff, folding my arms, because she’s effectively using my own tools for healing against me. For the second time today, the wall of my righteous indignation is being assaulted. Broken down and called into question.

When she pushes me to acknowledge these blind spots in the journey of my emotional healing, it’s embarrassing and vexing in ways I can’t easily express.

I know that growth and self-reflection are like this. A process. Like dough being pounded, rolled and kneaded before it’s able to rise.

Taking a moment, I focus on my breathing to calm myself. To ease the pressure in my head and heart. Above all, I resist the very real urge to scream and argue with her.

My voice comes out strained, as if I’m gritting the words through my teeth. “What should I be doing then, Leoni? Nothing will change if I start being nicer to purebreds. You say that I’m like them. I understand your point, and yet, I disagree, because I don’t have the influence that they do. I can’t change a damn thing about Eden.”

She leans back, easing up on her defensive seating position. “You don’t know that, cari?o. Kindness can go a long way.”

I laugh. “That’s excessively optimistic.”

“Listen—It’s obvious that underneath all your Zen ethos and what not, you’re still very bitter. You’re angry and you have a right to be. My sister… my entire family put you through hell. It’s hard, bu t like I told you when Oliver showed up, this is good for you and your healing journey. It’s a sign! I really believe it.”

Again, my own words are being used against me.

I believe in signs and I do try to be Zen… when I’m not detonating and clearing everything in my path like a rage grenade.

Sighing and slouching against the cushions, I cover my face with my hands. I’m tired. I don’t want to fight anymore. “Alright, alright. I’ll try to do better. All I can do is try.”

“That’s a start,” she says. “Anyway, you don’t need to worry about it for now. Kathryn said she’s going to have Alexander come on days when you’re not there.”

I drop my hands, smirking. “Seriously? Are we children that need to be separated?”

Leoni shrugs. “Apparently? Unless… you want to apologize to him?”

At this, I snort. “Me? Apologize to a purebred?” I cross my ankle over my knee in my awkward, slumped position and glance toward the fire. My posture is the answer to, “Tell me what’s not going to happen without telling me what’s not going to happen.”

“See?” She points, making a circle to indicate my entire body. “That right there? Arrogance. The same quality that you allegedly hate about purebreds.”

“Alright that’s enough, goddammit.”

Leoni laughs. I don’t, but I stifle a grin and stare into the burning, lively embers of the fire as they dance and spark. When I close my eyes and breathe again, the warmth is like a soft caress to the exposed skin of my face and hands.

“Be nice to Puercoespín,” she says softly against the crackle of the fire. “I think he’s really sad right now, even if he doesn’t let it show.”

Behind the dark infinity of my lids, those same intensely golden-brown irises flash once more—the same vision I saw in my bathroom earlier.

Shaking my head, I take a breath, then settle even deeper into my seat to squash the unwelcome and random imagery. “Whatever,” I tell her, yawning and letting the weight of exhaustion rest upon my shoulders. “Who isn’t sad and hiding it? Welcome to the club.”