Page 30 of The Midnight Order
“Naughty girl,” the tattooed man says, that same taunting smirk on his face gleaming down at me.
“I don’t understand why you chose me.” I hate that I sound scared, but they’re vampires, for fuck’s sake; anyone in my position would.
“We didn’t,” he replies.
The doctor eyes him as if to warn him to keep his mouth shut, but says nothing.
“The wards did.”
The wards?
The new man is taller than the doctor. He’s wearing more casual clothes: jeans and a dark shirt. Even though he has the same shiny white half mask on his face, he’s distinguishable by his clean-shaven face, whereas the doctor has a beard that’s just a touch longer than a five o’clock shadow.
His lips are playful, the bottom lip fuller than the top. They all share the same red eyes, but there’s a warmth to his, where the doctor’s seem cold and calculating.
“Well,” he says, turning me back toward the door by my shoulders, “let’s get you back where you belong.”
“I belong at home,” I lament.
“Mm, in a few days, we might agree with you. Until then, you belong here. Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he whispers, leaning down to hover near my right ear, “we’ll keep you safe.”
Safe.
An illusion that has shattered for me for the rest of my life.
The doctor allows me to use the restroom, takes me into an unfamiliar room, and removes my IV completely.
He’s wrapping my arm when I gain the confidence to speak.
“How long have you been… alive?”
He sits straight on the edge of the bed as he cuts the roll of tape away from my arm. “Let’s see, the colonies had just formed, and the revolution was starting between those who wanted to follow King George and those who wanted to be free from the monarchy, so that must’ve been… around 1775, and I was 26 when I joined the army to fight…”
“You fought in the Revolutionary War?!” I squeak, flattening the tape to my arm as I sit up and lock eyes with him.
He inclines his head slightly. “I did.”
“You’re 275 years old,” I whisper in awe before narrowing my eyes at him. “Which side did you fight for?”
He laughs, and the sound takes me aback. It’s like the perfect few moments of your favorite song.
I wonder if vampires have qualities about them that draw us in—those of us with blood that sustains them flowing through our veins.
“The Americans, of course.”
“How did you become…” I swallow, not knowing what terms could be offensive and not wanting to anger a creature that could literally eat me.
“During the Battle of Trenton. It was… winter of ‘76.”
1776,I remind myself, unable to wrap my mind around anything he’s saying.
“We’d suffered losses at White Plains and Forts Washington and Lee before that battle. We were tired and hungry, so we camped along the Delaware River before making our next move. I don’t truly know what happened. One moment, I was relieving myself in the thick forest near the bank, and the next, I was being dragged into the forest’s interior.”
“A vampire took you and turned you?”
He nods.
I lean against the bed’s headboard, enamored by his story as if it’s a fairytale he’s telling me, not the actual life he lived.
