Page 39 of Nearly Dead

“Who says I haven’t?”

I whip my head back in surprise.

She schools her expression.“We need to get you inside before the sun comes out.There is no way to know how the light will affect your vampire blood.You’ll be safe inside as long as the windows are closed.The glass is coated to be vampire-safe, well safe-ish, but you don’t want to be in front of it too long.Daylight is daylight, and it can still harm vampires through the glass, as well as drain energy faster than normal.We’ll see about getting you a suite built underground.”

The car door opens, and I’m ushered inside beneath a cloak.The potion keeps me weak, and the driver helps me walk.They lead me to my bedroom in the protected wing.The curtains are drawn, casting it into shadow.I can still see perfectly, though, in the dark.He releases me so I drop on the bed, and I stare unmoving at the same ceiling I contemplated as a mortal.There’s comfort in familiarity, but the feeling doesn’t last.It never does.Yet for a few minutes lying here in the quiet, I can almost trick myself into feeling safe.Like I never left.Like everything’s simple.

I remember spending hours wondering if I’d ever fit into this supernatural world.The irony isn’t lost on me.Now I’m too supernatural to fit anywhere.

It seems I’m always marking the passing of time, moving from one cage to another.Is this what my life has become?An eternity of new prison cells?

It’s fitting I’m here, in my childhood home, confronted by the memories of my mortal life.Never in all my years did I guess this would be my fate.

My bedroom feels like a time capsule, stuck between childhood and adulthood.I guess I am too, in some ways.This place never quite figured out what it was supposed to be.Kind of like me.

I’m hit with the old scent of lavender and wood soap.There is a distinct mustiness that develops when windows are kept shut for too long.I used to throw them open just to feel the breeze on my face, desperate for some connection to the outside world.Now they stay locked closed, heavy curtains pulled tight, as if the room itself wants to block out reality.

I find a tiny glow-in-the-dark star that I had slapped on the wall when I was eight.I had stubbornly refused to take them down even after Conrad teased me about them.All but that one have fallen, leaving behind little flecks of glue.

Astrid has always kept pristine homes.She likes control, and I imagine it gives her some happiness to keep things familiar and perfect.My bed smells faintly of cedar from the storage chest where they keep my bedding.When I sleep, I find myself pulling the covers up to my chin like I did as a kid.I’m too old to hide from monsters with a blanket, but the habit sticks.Though, to be honest, even as a kid I knew blankets did not ward off evil intent.If a monster made it into the protected wing, I wasn’t going to be able to stop it.

Now I am the monster.

The small bookshelf is overflowing with old books.These human fairy tales were not kept in the library with the literature on real magic.Human children weren’t allowed to read the real stuff.

The mirror over the dresser is slightly crooked.I keep meaning to have it fixed, but somehow never do.Seeing my reflection off-kilter feels right.I glance at myself now, hair a tangled mess and eyes rimmed with exhaustion, and for a second, I almost don’t recognize the woman looking back at me.

When I peek outside, the early morning light filters through the frost-covered windows.I put my hand in the light, holding it to see what happens.At first, I’m fine, but after a minute, my skin starts to itch and turn red.After three minutes, it burns, and I can no longer bear the pain.I do it multiple times, just to watch my skin heal itself.

Unlike the werewolves, who enjoy basking in sunlight, vampires are forced to retreat from the day.It seems in this instance, I’m more vampire than wolf.Another fundamental difference between the two sides of my nature.

Costin visits daily, bringing blood and staying for hours at a time.More often than not, we end up in bed.Sex is easier than talking.I’m not sure we have much to say to each other.He’s still my sire, and I’m still a messed-up headcase.

Astrid remains at the estate, brewing potions that help keep the warring natures inside me in a tentative truce.My father and Mortimer make appearances, though they always seem to be rushing off to “handle” some aspect of the fallout from my transformation.I see the blame in their faces.Mortimer mutters accusing things like,“If only you had married Chester like we planned…”

As if being the wife of smarmy Chester Freemont would have been a better fate.The guy tried to sacrifice me on an altar to help Elizabeth steal all the magic in the world.Seriously?That is who Mortimer wants in the family?

Anthony comes with them.He wants to stay, but my father keeps dragging him away.It’s like he’s worried my monster-ness will rub off on the family golden boy.Or that I’ll eat him.

I’d rather they keep him away.I don’t want to hurt Anthony.

A knock at the door interrupts my brooding.Astrid enters without waiting for a response, carrying a tray with a steaming mug and a small glass vial.

“Breakfast,” she says, setting the tray on my bedside table.“Both kinds.”

I don’t need to ask what she means.The mug contains a thick, red liquid that makes my fangs ache, and the vial holds today’s dose of her suppression potion.I’ve come to think of the combination as my new balanced diet.

Astrid must love this.She always tried to control my diet as a child.

“I’m not hungry,” I lie, even as my stomach clenches with need.

Astrid fixes me with her ice-blue stare.“Tamara, we’ve been through this.You need to maintain your strength for your visitor.”

Right.Visitor.The first potential breakthrough in this whole mess that is my life.

“Is she here yet?”I ask, sitting up and reaching for the mug, no longer pretending I don’t want it.

“Downstairs.Zephronis is...”Astrid gives a small wave of her hand, “prepping her.They’ll be done soon.You should go meet them.”

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