Waking Dreams

And then he saw her—the angel with the musical voice.



Stunning. Her auburn locks cascaded over her shoulders in a waterfall of silk. His eyes trailed over her, taking in her lean body, her ample chest, and the way her woolen slacks hugged her curvy hips and long legs. Her face looked as if it had been sculpted from delicate clay, with doll lips and high cheekbones, and her eyes, big and chocolaty, were smiling at him.



“Who are you?” he whispered, his heart skipping a beat. “Am I dead?” I must be, he thought, because angels like this do not exist in life.



“No silly, you’re not dead,” she said with a giggle. “My name is Angelle.” She sat down, perching on the edge of the bed, and smiled. Then she glanced towards the door. Eric followed her gaze, and his jaw dropped when his eyes found what she was looking at—the demon. “He’s very handsome, Mitchell,” she said excitedly. “I’ve never seen eyes like his before. They are so green, almost like grass in the springtime. We must keep him.”



He didn’t kill me. Panic clenched Eric’s stomach, and he felt hot and cold and sick. His mind spun with questions. Why? Why was he here? And where was here? A pinprick of red burned in Mitchell’s eyes as he watched Eric, closely, and thoroughly. What does the demon want? Eric did not know, but he also did not want to find out. His imagination ran wild with possibilities, torture being the one thing that his mind reached at the end of each avenue. He wanted to run, and he thought about it, but his legs wouldn’t listen. He scrambled back, pressing himself against the wall, and he gripped at the blankets.



“Angelle, he’s not a pet,” the demon—Mitchell—said with a chuckle. “He may stay if he wishes, but he’s not yours to keep.” The way he spoke to her, it was as if he was speaking to a child, teaching her and guiding her.



Stay? Why would I want to stay with a demon? A soft thump, thump, thump, filled Eric’s ears as the demon chuckled again, and for a moment, Eric’s eyes locked onto his neck, where a throbbing vein pulsed rhythmically. The memory of the demon’s tangy, sweet blood hit him, and his mouth watered. He kept his eyes fixed on the pulsing vein, unable to look away, and a thought dawned on him; Eric could see the demon’s heartbeat in his throat, and he yearned for the blood that flowed through that vein. The hair on the back of his neck rose, and a rolling shiver prickled over Eric’s shoulders. His eyes darted back and forth between the two strangers, and that’s when he realized something else. There was no pain. His stomach felt … fine. Better than fine, actually. He dropped the blankets, pulled up his thin cotton shirt, and gasped. Not even a bruise.



“What have you done to me?” Eric breathed with a mix of wonder and fear in his voice.



Mitchell did not answer. He shifted uneasily, and for a split second, Eric thought the demon looked nervous. It seemed … odd, unreal, and it passed quickly, so quickly that Eric wasn’t even sure that he had seen it.



A soft intake of breath that sounded like a sob brought Eric’s attention back to Angelle. Her bottom lip jutted out, and her big brown eyes widened and drooped. It was so heartbreaking to see, that Eric couldn’t stop himself. It was as if in that moment, all reason flew away, and as he looked at her, he forgot his fear, and he forgot that he should be dead. “Don’t cry,” he whispered. “Please don’t.”



“Promise you’ll stay,” she murmured, gazing at him through hooded eyes. “No matter what?”



Eric chuckled, mesmerized by the creature, and the burning in his throat grew. He knew he should be terrified, but oddly, he wasn’t. He felt strong, stronger than he had ever felt before; his muscles vibrated with energy. The words slipped out without thought. “I promise,” he said in a raspy voice. He brought a hand to his neck, rubbing down the center, trying to ease the blistering heat.



She tilted her head from side to side, searching his face for what, he did not know, but then, after a moment, her eyes lit up and she said, “Oh, you’re hungry.”



“Angelle,” Mitchell snapped. He cut her a look of warning, and she shuddered slightly under his stare.



“I’m sorry,” she whispered shyly, and in an incredibly quick motion, she was off the bed and standing before him. She kept her eyes cast down, as if she couldn’t bear to look at the demon, and the way she trembled, Eric was certain she was frightened.



But the demon … he smiled. It was a kind of adorning smile, one that a parent would give a child, and after a long minute, he said, “Go.” Just that, one simple word. And in a blink, she was gone, and Eric was suddenly alone with the monster.



Mitchell closed the door with a soft click and leaned against it. His smile was gone; his lips drawn thin, in a straight white line, and he crossed his arms over his chest. Eric tried to keep calm, but in that moment, his heart was pounding into his throat. Eric did not consider himself a small man by any means, but near Mitchell, he felt it. There was something about Mitchell that commanded fear and intimidation. His presence filled the room like a thick fog, sucking out all rational sense.



“How are you feeling?” Mitchell asked, after staring at him for an excruciating and nerve racking long minute.



His deep, soothing voice calmed Eric’s thumping heart. “What are you going to do with me?” he countered, unnerved by the bitterness that coated his tone, but he couldn’t hold it back. This was cruel. All of it. Why hadn’t the monster just killed him already? Or left him to die in the field? And more importantly, why didn’t the idea of his impending death bother him?



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.