CHAPTER THREE

One August Night

Startled by his greeting, the stranger watched the letter sail from her trembling hands. Its resting place became the ground below her feet, never to be read in fullness.

Since revealing himself under the moonlight, he'd also gotten a better look at her. Unremarkably, her complexion was pallid, save for her cheeks and the tip of her nose, which flushed due to cold. To evaluate her build as slight was to neglect that she edged on malnourished, and the tatty sweater she wore did nothing to disguise this. Odder still, she wore no coat despite the season. He veered towards the notion that she was a runaway.

Undoubtedly, he'd found an easy snack. The timing of her solitude was altogether curious—suspiciously so—almost too easy. Pushing back his coat sleeve, he read the time; it was nearer morning than midnight.

All oddities combined, the situation paralleled many a terrible crime, and no matter how commonplace misery was in her life, it did nothing to mellow her. One worst-case scenario played out in her fertile imagination. Perhaps a search party might comb through this exact spot, where all they'd find would be a crumpled envelope stained with her 'unusual' blood. A quirk that had been explained as an anomaly or some rare, unknown disorder of which she was the unfortunate owner. This symptom bothered her the least: the migraines, muscle aches, amenorrhoea, and inconvenient allergies were also nothing but a nuisance. It was the alarmingly vivid dreams that kept her up at night that were her true tormentor. Such dreams often depicted events that later became reality. Even this moment felt familiar, somehow. Now, a vague sense of déjà vu disturbed her. The foreboding churning in her gut caused her to reach into the pouch pocket of her sweatshirt, where her fingers gripped a folded pocketknife. She prayed she wouldn't have to brandish the weapon because, frankly, she had no idea how to use it.

Through rambling thoughts, she was still trying to piece together how the dream of this encounter had ended. Had it been sinister? Did she meet her demise? Did it happen here, or did it result in her being towed off to God knows where? Perhaps in the back of someone's trunk? Try as she might, she couldn't remember, but she couldn't shake the feeling that they weren't in the right place.

Meanwhile, the stranger loitered not ten yards away, contemplating what she'd do if or when he closed the space between them. Fight or flight was the usual forecast. He didn't mind which she chose.

The girl instead displayed another reaction—one of stunned silence and stillness elicited by unshakable fright and hoped that he would just go away. But when he didn't, she frantically exclaimed, "I-I don't have any money,"

He stalled, perhaps a little spooked by her fawning. Centering, he quipped, "It's a good thing I don't want your money then."

She cringed. The rich didn't go about mugging people; she knew that! Yet even if she considered all manner of dark purposes he could've had in mind for her, drinking her blood would never have featured.

When he drew nearer, his footfalls made little sound, but the closer he came, the more she sensed something quite disarming about his aura. Though his cursed Vampiric allure was working, it wasn't quite convincing its victim. The girl mistrusted how compelled she felt to relax in his company; instead, instinct moved her to defend herself. From her pocket, she revealed the penknife as a warning.

His lips tightened, fighting an amused smirk. The knife was of no consequence when she held it so haphazardly, so rather than chuckling, he asked, "Aren't you asking for trouble being out so late and alone?"

"I could say the same to you," the girl retorted.

It was proving difficult to keep a grin from his stoic face. "Oh, I can take care of myself,"

He hadn't decided whether or not he'd make a lunge for her throat. There was a growing chance that he wouldn't. Scaring the girl didn't flatter his ego, certainly not when she was overwhelmingly meek, and besides, her feistiness was amusing.

"Here—" he started, crouching to pick up the letter at her feet. He caught a glimpse of the letterhead. Harvard? How curious. Perhaps she's one of those geniuses with no common sense. "—you dropped this."

One knee to the ground, their eyes met as he held the letter up to her. He flinched, taken aback. Despite the unflattering evaluation he'd taken of her appearance earlier, now her eyes earned all of his attention. They were truly stunning. Even in the low light, they were bright, round, and alert—the colour of polished kyanite—rippled like the sea. He could easily drown in them, which stirred his fear. He would never forget such eyes.

Although she returned his gaze, she couldn't share in his fear, for once again, she was overcome with ease. The mystery of his dark eyes—eyes with such depth it was impossible to discern their shade—peering up at her pulled her in. In that moment of weakness, somewhat beguiled, she supposed it wouldn't be so bad to be kidnapped by him.

Romanticising her possible abduction was a dangerous road to take. She straightened her posture, palpably snapping back into reality. She muttered, "Thanks," then promptly snatched away the letter and stuffed it into her pocket. In an attempt to present some modicum of confidence, she spluttered forth a question: "Are you lost or something? The path's back that way." She pointed behind him to where a marked trail led back toward the water.

To ask if he was lost was to assume a couple of things: one, that he'd had a destination in mind and hadn't found his way there, or two, that he couldn't find his way back to where he'd begun. He answered while a smirk still threatened to break out across his face. "No, I'm not lost."

When he rose back upright, her pretty eyes panned upward, following his movement. All the while, he held her gaze with intrusive intensity.

"Are you?" While it seemed harmless to ask, his undertone insinuated he hoped she might be and that no one would miss her if he had his fill and simply discarded her exsanguinated corpse amongst the undergrowth. He'd be gone before there could be any repercussions. Lost in his dark fantasy, he licked his lips.

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Not a moment after regaining composure, it was slipping away again. Her heart pounded in her ears. To calm herself, she breathed in deeply, swallowed, and exhaled slowly. Since the humour had left his voice, it had lowered, alluringly so. The subtle Southern twang that honey-coated his otherwise masculine husk was charming, and its calming timbre was inviting and gentle in contrast to the angles of his face. It offset the way his brow set over his eyes, involuntarily hostile. Looking at him was like looking at a secret. Here was someone who was obviously 'a somebody', who most likely lived a life far removed from her own existence. She'd read many novels wherein some evil yet handsome stranger spirited away the defenceless female protagonist. There was either an unfathomable 'happily ever after', or the woman met her demise. The courageous girl was hedging her bets, hoping this stranger would compromise and let her slip through a crack in the usual tropes to let her go on her way.

Slowly, she shook her head. "I'm not either; I don't live far from here." Her eyes darted in the direction of her house.

More's the pity.

Discreetly scoping the darkness for signs of life, mostly to check if what she had said was true. He sniffed the air and instantly regretted it. Tightly, he clenched his jaw closed, lest his fangs bare, and the situation unravel into bloody chaos.

Silently, considering the matter of her life and death, he looked back the way he came. Maybe he should just turn around, walk away, and leave her there to go about her life. But then he would wonder what happened to her; once he'd picked up a puzzle, he couldn't put it down until its mysteries were known. Coming to his senses, he said, "If you're not lost, maybe you should get on home." His voice diminished to a faint grumble. "Before I change my mind."

He'd chosen a scenario—one in which he didn't lay a finger on her. Though he'd been burdened by a rather abhorrent appetite back in his youth, he had since passed many years battling its abhorrent nature, and right now, that meant not taking an innocent girl's life on a whim. Notoriously stubborn, once he'd come to a conclusion, he wasn't easily swayed from it. Now that her life no longer hung in the balance, his eyes found their way back to her face. He asked her a question; it would humanise her and make it more difficult for him to deviate. "What's your name?"

"My name?" her back straightened, startled. "My name, uh... My name's Karou."

"Hmm, that's an unusual name. I've never heard that before."

"What's yours?" She asked in return, her head tilting like a curious bird.

The mannerism caused a faint smile to twitch on his cheek, though he didn't allow himself the full breadth of a grin. Politely, he held out his hand and made his introduction. "Warren Howard."

As she considered whether to shake his hand, he could almost hear the cogs in her head ticking. Wondering: would it be rude not to? But maybe he'd understand her cautiousness. Perhaps it was a test. Perhaps he offered his hand to her, hoping she wouldn't take it. Regardless, her final decision didn't seem all that significant at the time, but it was as substantial a life decision as opening her Harvard acceptance letter.

Karou extended her hand towards Warren. With her dainty hand in his, he felt that she wanted to flinch away the moment they'd made skin-to-skin contact. The crinkle that formed on her brow questioned his temperature without her having to open her mouth. He was deathly cold, so cold that she couldn't rationally put it down to the fall weather. An innocuous greeting had now become another glimpse into who this stranger was. Reality blurred, and when he gave her hand a gentle shake to complete the greeting ritual, a suspicious voice whispered from the back of her mind.

"It's a pleasure to meet you." Karou heard herself say as her hand slipped from his.

They'd spoken in socially awkward unison, and the moment and its comedic cliché wasn't lost on either of them. For a split second, she thought she saw the handsome man smile. The way it touched his dark eyes and how they gleamed when she couldn't help but grin back at him made her stomach flip summersaults and a blush burn her cold cheeks.

Unfortunately, the innocence of her smile had only teased the stranger, and the look that had altered his eyes indicated that the risk of him biting her had momentarily returned. Clearing his thirsty throat, he persisted, "As I said, shouldn't you be getting home, Karou?"

"Yeah, probably." but she didn't instantly move to leave.

"Perhaps... you'd let me walk you home?" The words rolled out his mouth without first having put his brain in gear. Just being in her company while maintaining composure wasn't the easiest of tasks, yet the tiny amount of human empathy that still dwelled within his bones made him want to ensure that she made it safely from the woods. What could be more deadly to a young girl in that wood than him? He doubted there was anything, but if the thing that could bring her the most harm kept her safe, she would get home alive.

Dumbfounded, her head tilted again. This scenario in which her new acquaintance asked to remain in her company in such a gentlemanly manner didn't align with any of the endings she'd envisaged. Subconsciously, she couldn't shake off his magnetism, so quickly adjusting her plan, she agreed. She wouldn't lead this Warren fellow straight to her front door. No, not even to the street on which she lived. As a safeguard, she'd only take him as far as the first road beyond the treeline. That way, he couldn't follow her home so easily. If an unexpected chase took place, she knew the streets like the back of her hand; she'd be able to outwit and evade him.

Sliding down from the rock, she lingered, directing her flashlight to illuminate the path.

"Lead the way." Warren insisted.

The first five minutes passed in silence, with the odd pair walking side by side and seemingly in no rush to make it back to suburbia in the ten minutes Karou had mentioned it should take. Often, she glanced up to check if he was still there. His footfalls were so quiet that she could've been forgiven for assuming he'd abandoned her.

Most of the time, she found him looking ahead, but once every few glances, she caught him eyeing her in return. He didn't seem embarrassed by her discovering him, but it made her feel a little shy. She swallowed the queasy feeling that bubbled up from her stomach and refocused on the path.

In the quiet, she allowed her mind to wander.

"You're not from around here, are you?" The question seemed innocent enough, but it was loaded. It would've been easier on her nerves if he'd confirmed her niggling suspicion, even if she couldn't form the thought into words because it seemed so far-fetched, her gut knew.

"No, I'm just passing through."

"Going... anywhere nice?" She pried shamelessly.

"I'm heading East."

The brevity and vagueness of his answer made him infuriatingly intriguing. Still, Karou accepted his explanation with a pout and decided to drop the subject with only a nod of acknowledgement.

Another five minutes had ticked by, and sure enough, they left the treeline behind and came to a road. They stood silently, side by side, on the sidewalk; their meeting had come to an end. Goodbye was imminent, but no farewell came. Their parting was brief, and before her eyes focused on his face, Warren was no longer beside her. The dark and handsome stranger had already turned back. She watched him go until he became another part of the darkness, engulfed by the shadow of the trees.

For what remained of the night, she lay awake, pondering, though fairly certain that this wasn't how her dream had ended.