IT TAKES A LONG TIME for Ian to settle down enough to go to bed. He rushes into the house about every ten minutes to check on Elle. He takes his medic bag every single time. But she’s going to be okay and everything is quiet.
“You should get some sleep,” I tell him when it gets close to midnight.
“Yeah,” he says in a scoff. “Someone attacked my family and I’m going to sleep tonight.”
A yawn starts to take over and I stretch my arms over my head. “Either you try or I’m going to drug you. I’m exhausted, but you’re keeping me all keyed up.”
“Look, you don’t have to stay up with me,” he says, looking out the window again. “I’ll be fine. Just go in the bedroom, shut the door, and pretend I’m not out here.”
I take a step toward him and place a hand on his forearm. “Ian, everything’s okay now. They’re long gone, they got what they wanted. So calm down.”
His eyes flicker to mine and they burn with intensity. Relaxing is something Ian never does. He’s a born fighter with plenty of fuel to keep him burning hot for a long time. But there is exhaustion in his eyes.
“Okay,” he says quietly.
So, as we’ve been doing for the past seven days, we quietly get ready for bed. We both stand at the sink brushing our teeth, and I can feel the tension and anxious anger rolling off of Ian in waves. I want to reach over and smooth out all of his angry wrinkles. I want to pull him into my arms for a minute and force him to relax. But I just keep stealing glances at him in the mirror.
We change into sleeping clothes. And at 12:31, we say goodnight.
My dreams are scattered and many. At one point my mom and I are taking a walk through the park by our old house. But then something jumps out of the shadows and she’s gone. And then there is a red queen with a giant bear beside her, making demands of me that I can’t understand. And there is Ian, always in the shadows, along with the hint of a man named Henry. But Henry has no face.
I roll in my sleep, tossing and turning and never at peace.
As something jumps at my face with fangs and blood, my eyes fly open.
The bedroom is dim, and it seems fuzzy and unreal as my heart pounds in my chest. The blankets are tangled around my feet, making me feel imprisoned. Sweat coats my skin, the humidity and my nightmares combining. I kick the covers off, lying exposed on the bed staring at the ceiling.
A soft snore all too close pulls my eyes to the corner.
Ian sleeps in a camping chair in the corner of the bedroom. His legs are stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankle. A shotgun rests in his arms, pointing at the ceiling. I can see a stake poking out of his pocket.
Last I saw him, he was heading to bed on the couch.
But at some point, he snuck back in here without me hearing him. He stood guard. With a gun. Over me, not his sister or grandmother. Through another intended sleepless night.
I lie back down, my cheek on the pillow. I study Ian’s face. The scruff that’s always on his chin. His dark, heavy brows. The tight lines that are already forming around his eyes from the constant worry. His thin lips pressed together tightly, even in sleep.
The heart is a complicated thing. Ian’s. Mine.
I stare at him until I fall back asleep.
I’M BOTH RELIEVED AND ANXIOUS when Ian drives me back to the Estate Wednesday morning. It looks exactly the same as it did when we left, but darker somehow, full of secrets.
Ian insists on carrying my bag up to the door, where Rath takes it. He was waiting for us.
“I work the next two days,” Ian says. He lingers on the porch after Rath has taken my bag into the house. “But maybe I could come by Saturday evening and we can do some more work.”
I’ve never been a good liar, so I do my best. I look Ian in the eye and try to breathe normal and slow. “I actually have something I need to take care of Saturday. What about Sunday?”
There’s a flicker in Ian’s eyes, and I already feel like I’ve been caught in the act. But he just nods. “Everyone will be at church Sunday morning, so we’ll have the run of town to ourselves.”
“You mean you’re not a church goer?” I tease with the hint of a smile.
“Hey, I’ve got nothing against any higher power. My perspective on the big picture is just a little different than a chapel.” He smiles, too. A full one that makes those smile lines form in his cheeks.
And as we say goodbye and he walks back to his van, I realize where the source of my anxiety is coming from.
It’s a separation issue.
I’M ABOUT TO HEAD TO bed that night when Rath knocks on my door.
“Yeah,” I call as I pull my hair up into a knot on the top of my head.
Rath opens the door just slightly and doesn’t look in my direction. “There’s someone here to talk to you, Miss Ryan.”
“Who is it?” I ask in confusion as I walk toward the door.
“The Sheriff,” Rath says. His reaction is conflicted, like he’d very much like to toss him out, but also is slightly afraid of whom I’m about to find downstairs.
The Sheriff is indeed at the bottom of the stairs, waiting for me. He takes his hat off when he sees me and gives a little tip of his head.
“Sorry to bother you, Miss Conrath,” he says in his heavy Southern drawl. “But I’ve been tryin’ to get a hold of ya for the past week. Decided to take my opportunity when I saw the lights on in the house.”
“It’s Ryan, actually,” I correct him. We stand there uncomfortably for a moment, and I realize it’s because he never tries to shake my hand.
“Miss Ryan,” he says, giving an uncomfortable look. “I, uh, wanted to talk to you for a while, if you don’t mind.” His eyes dart up to Rath, who is standing behind me, half way up the stairs. “Alone.”
“Okay.” Cause what else can I say?
And when I invite the Sheriff into the library it is the first time I start to feel like this house is actually mine.
“I didn’t get your name,” I say as I close the door behind us.
“Luke McCoy,” he answers. He wanders the library for a minute, observing it in its entirety. He stops in front of the picture of my father and studies it. So I take the opportunity to study him.
He’s young for a sheriff. Thirty, maybe thirty-two. A completely shaved face shows a strong jaw line. Strong hands, strong arms. Dark eyes that reveal dark knowledge.
“You know,” he says without looking away from Henry. “I became Sheriff when Jasmine killed the previous one last year. He said something or another to piss her off, and she ripped his throat out. I was standin’ right there.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I say as goosebumps flash across my skin. I try to imagine it: the soft, easy-South woman I’d met with blood dripping down her mouth, murdering a human being like that.
“She may look all sweet and kind and she knows how to talk you into thinking she’s the best thing that happened to this town since its creation,” Luke says. “But she’s a bloodthirsty killer.”
He takes a few steps toward me and removes his hat again. He holds it between both hands behind his back and his eyes finally fix on me. “I’m here to ask you what kind of person you are, Miss Ryan.”
“What kind of person I am?” I repeat. Because what kind of question is that?
Luke nods. “I need to know. Because I am well aware of what you father was and if you are who you and Rath say you are, I know what you will be someday. And I know what your heritage implies and how that might change everything in this town.”
I swallow hard. Luke’s eyes are intense and dark, and suddenly I’m just a little scared. If I give the wrong answer, what would he do?
“I am not a killer,” I say, standing a little taller. “I am not a manipulative person. I am not a politician, and I am not a pawn.”
We stare at each other for several long moments and I can feel this silent dance going on between us. The dance of truth and trust.
“I’m hoping you’re also not a liar,” he finally says. But I do see his eyes soften. He looks away and walks to an overstuffed chair and takes a seat.
I perch on the edge of the sofa.
“You need to be aware of how the town is going to react to your presence here,” he says. “It helps that you don’t go by the name Conrath, but it sure doesn’t help how much you look like Henry.”
“How many people even knew what he looked like?” I ask, feeling myself relax just slightly now that I’m not being interrogated. “I mean, as far as I can tell, he never left the Estate and hasn’t been an actual part of this town since they tried to kill him in 1875.”
Luke leans forward in his seat and rests his elbows on his knees. “Henry didn’t come out often, but he did sometimes. Always at night, but people have a habit of peering out their windows in this town. Henry visited the Hanging Tree every year on the anniversary of his brother’s death. He’d leave one white rose at the base of it. There’s a reason Henry is such a legend. He was like the boogieman, and everyone was terrified of him, but incredibly eager to catch a glimpse of the immortal man. I assume you know what he did the night his brother was killed?”
I nod, swallowing hard. “I know he killed a lot of people in the town.”
Luke also nods in confirmation. “It was the most quickly resolved uprising in history. For a few, brief hours, Silent Bend tried to fight against the vampires, and in just twenty minutes, Henry killed that fire. Put the fear of your species back in them tenfold.”
“The vampires are not my species,” I bite.
“They will be soon enough,” he quips right back. Luke is a no bullshit man. “And that’s why people in this town won’t seem all to friendly once they know who you are.”
I’m already learning that. I recall Bella at the library. The way she looked at me with fear.
“A lot of people in this town are descendants of victims of that night,” Luke continues. “They know the stories. Others have just heard the legends. And others don’t believe the stories that are told in the dark. Just know, you might not ever fit in in this town.”
“Thanks for the warm welcome-warning,” I say with slightly clenched teeth.
“I just thought you ought to know what to expect,” he says as he stands and starts for the door. “I hope I can count on you being the good person you say you are. Silent Bend could use some change.”
I follow him out into the foyer. “I don’t know that I can bring about any change, but I do try to stay true to my word.” It’s hard not to take offense to his approach, but I get it.
Rath walks out of the ballroom to join us beneath the chandelier.
“You folks have a good night,” Luke says as he opens the door and lets himself out.
“You too, Sheriff,” I say quietly as the door closes.