Waking Dreams (A Soul's Mark Novella) Read online

  Mitchell rolled his eyes. “Just answer the question, Son,” he said with exasperation.

  “Does the answer matter?” The question just flew out as if he had no filter. There was something about the way he had said son, almost gentle—tender—that made Eric furious. Rage grew inside him, simmering in his belly, and all he could see was red—literally. It was as if there was a film over his eyes tinting the world in scarlet. Fire licked up his throat, and his gums began to throb, pulsing in time with his racing heartbeat.

  “There’s no need to be frightened,” Mitchell said softly. He pushed off of the door and closed the distance between them in a few long strides, taking a seat at the end of the bed.

  “I’m not scared of you,” Eric spat. Each word he spoke irritated his throat more, and again, he rubbed it, trying to calm the burn.

  “Oh, no?” Mitchell chuckled and shook his head. His eyes fluttered shut, and his nostrils flared. When he turned back to Eric, two sharp fangs poked out from his lips. “I can smell it,” he said, and he ran his tongue along the tips of his pointed teeth.

  Eric stared at the teeth, sharp as knives, and he found them strangely intriguing. So many questions ran through his mind. Why fangs? Are they as sharp as they look? Did they hurt? But the question he asked was, “What are you?”

  The question earned Eric a toothy smile, and the frown lines on Mitchell’s forehead smoothed. “I’m the same as you.” He paused, collecting his thoughts, and his smile vanished, although Eric didn’t really consider that a bad thing. The fangs were fascinating, but they were also giving him the creeps, just a little. Mitchell sighed; then, and when, he looked at Eric, his eyes were pleading with him to understand. “Look, I didn’t mean for this to happen. You weren’t supposed to die. You weren’t even supposed to know I was there.”

  “Clearly, I did not die,” Eric said, and he was certain he was looking at the demon as if he was mad.

  “Well…” Mitchell started, and then he dropped his eyes to the wooden floor. He ran his hands through his thick hair, and sighed. “In a way, you did die, Son. Please understand I had no choice. Even if I had managed to get you to a doctor before you passed, you would never have lived through your injuries.”

  Suddenly, things started to click together. His injuries were gone, and he was alive. Anger quickly bubbled up inside him, and Eric demanded, “What have you done to me?”

  Mitchell looked up then, and his eyes washed red. “You are a vampire.”

  CHAPTER 3

  Vampire. That one word awoke something in Eric, and a skin tingling chill rolled over his shoulders. Vampire. The word sounded strange—fake. Eric laughed. He couldn’t stop it. It bubbled up and burst out of his mouth. But then something shifted in him, something dark, cold, and oddly exhilarating, and his laughter clogged in his throat. He jumped from the bed, landing nimbly on the balls of his feet, and ripped off his shirt, running his fingers over his hard abdomen, searching for any trace of damage.

  Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

  Impossible, a scared, little voice in his head whispered. All of this was impossible. He should be dead; Eric was certain of it. But as he examined his body, there wasn’t even a scratch from where Sterling had landed, and his muscles were firmer, and more defined. “I’m not a vampire,” Eric gaffed, still staring at his unmarked stomach. “They do not exist.”

  “They do and you are.” There was amusement in Mitchell’s deep voice as he spoke, but there was also an air of confidence. Eric couldn’t just hear it; he could smell it, thick in the air. It was cool and assured, and it made Eric feel like a mad man. He listened to the demon’s heartbeat, drumming in regular thumps; it did not quicken, and he was certain it would if Mitchell was lying.

  “Is this some kind of joke?” Eric questioned. His voice quivered slightly, and he wasn’t sure if it was from fear or blinding anger. Both emotions were swirling together, binding as one. He narrowed his eyes, his jaw twitched, and heat rushed up his neck and settled in his cheeks.

  “No,” Mitchell replied, simply, as if that was enough of an answer. He sat on the edge of the bed motionless, staring at him intently, with his hands folded in his lap.

  “The girl, Angelle, is she …?” Eric couldn’t finish the question, but the demon understood and nodded in confirmation. “Are there more?” he demanded, and Mitchell nodded again. The nods were maddening. Eric clenched his fists and began pacing the floor. The muscles along his neck and back went into a fit of spasms, rolling under his skin, and tensing as his anger rose to white-hot rage. “How long have I been sleeping?” Eric growled.

  “An hour,” he answered.

  Eric stopped pacing and spun towards Mitchell. “Why did you do this to me?” he shouted. He had never felt anger like this before. It raged through him, like an angry bull. It was terrifying and invigorating, and it consumed him.

  “I am not a monster, Mr. Carter,” Mitchell said tightly. His lips were thin and his eyes, hard. He sat up straighter, and he rolled his shoulders back, making them look even larger. “You were dying, and I did what I could to make sure that did not happen. And if you recall, you did tell me that you did not want to die.” He enunciated every syllable, with clipped precision, and the way he was looking at Eric was anything but amused.

  “But you … the myths … you drink …” his head felt as if it would explode. All the legends, all the tales, it was like waking from a dream only to find himself in a nightmare. And the persistent burning in his throat was driving him over the edge.

  “Blood,” Mitchell said with a nod, confirming the statement, and his features softened a little.

  Blood. The word made Eric’s heart skip a beat, and his throat constricted. His gums began to pulsate, and he felt a pinch, a small tearing sensation, at the top of his mouth. He felt something slide down and then poke at his bottom lip, and he raised his hand to his mouth. He gasped when his fingers found two sharp fangs protruding from his gums. They were smooth, pointed, and Eric was certain they looked exactly like Mitchell’s—deadly and intriguing.

  Eric shuddered, and dropped down on the bed in shock. “What were you doing in my field?” he whispered, even though he was sure he already knew the answer.

  Mitchell sighed, a gusty sound, and for a moment, Eric thought he wasn’t going to answer, but then Mitchell said softly, “Hunting.”

  “Me?” Eric asked.

  “Yes,” Mitchell replied directly and plainly.

  Eric looked at him then, searching his bright blue eyes for any hint of humanity. Mitchell’s one word answer sounded cold, and callous, as if it were fact, or common even, to hunt humans, and Eric couldn’t believe that anyone, demon or not, could be that cruel. But all he found in Mitchell’s expression was confirmation, and his blood boiled. “So you did plan on killing me,” Eric snarled savagely.

  “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.”

  CHAPTER 4

  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 h
er 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.”