To Save a Vampire - A.K. Koonce Page 0,60

and we can all catch up in the morning.” He clasps Asher on the shoulder like he just has to make sure he’s really here, like the weight of his hand could keep his grandson here in this spot.

Asher nods to the old man. His hand pressing lightly against my hip, he guides me a few feet toward a door across the small room. For a moment I’m mortified by how I must look—dirty and broken and weak. My heart pounds in my chest at how different our first meeting should be. How amazing and successful this moment could have felt if Ky were here to share it. I swallow hard and straighten my spine.

I turn quickly out of Asher’s grasp and extend my hand to his grandfather.

“My name’s Fallon Fiercely, sir,” I say, swallowing hard and tilting my chin up higher.

The wrinkles around his eyes grow as he smiles at me. More happiness that I don’t want right now but appreciate all the same. He takes my small hand in his. His grip is loose but warm. Kind and caring.

“That’s a beautiful name. Call me Jim.” He releases my hand and smiles over my shoulder at Asher. There’s a look of approval in his eyes. “Now please, sleep. Y’all look like you went to take a midnight stroll, but wound up in a manure field by mistake.” Shae’s warm laughter is heard from the room adjacent to us. The noise is high pitched but infectious.

I can’t hide the small smile that tugs at the corner of my lips. I can’t fester in my sadness forever. And I can’t force happiness out of my life. It’s there whether I’m currently accepting it or not. Whether I can feel it or not. It’s still there. Waiting for me.

Just like Asher.

Thirteen

The Burrow

My eyes drift slowly open to complete darkness. I blink repeatedly against the pressing blackness. The home is unique. And interesting. The lack of windows and natural sunlight makes time seem nonexistent. Hours pass without acknowledgment here, and it’s nice not to live by society’s schedule.

My hair is soft and dry against my cheek, so at least a few hours must have passed. My throat is so parched it hurts, so maybe more than just a few hours have passed. Is it after breakfast or only two in the morning? I have no idea.

I’m hesitant to get up. What if everyone is still asleep?

Voices drift through the walls, muffled but steady. Not a beat of silence passes between them. Any silence is gobbled up by laughter or words or both.

I guess two AM is ruled out. My stomach rumbles, and I pray I haven’t missed breakfast.

Fumbling through the darkness, I search against the smooth, cold wall for the light switch. After a few seconds, I find it and light instantly fills the room. It’s a small room with two incredibly soft beds and an adjoining bathroom. It’s small, but is still much larger than any of the rooms back at camp.

The bathroom I showered in before I went to bed was small as well. I’m not used to a closed-in, individual shower. It was actually very nice to have the warm steam surrounding me without the peering eyes of a dozen other women from my community. A little strange, but nice.

There are clothes set out on the dresser in the corner of the room. The white walls make the windowless room feel bigger, but I still manage to hit my head on the dresser while tugging the jeans on, causing the voices in the next room to pause a moment from my lack of grace.

The jeans button with ease. They fit. They’re almost identical to the clothes supplied by the camp, black and tight against my legs. They might essentially be my jeans from home. I try not to dwell on the thought as I pull on a shirt that I most definitely have never worn in my life. It doesn’t contain the inseam cooling agent that our camp shirts are made with. It’s just a thin, short sleeve gray cotton shirt. It fits perfectly. The soft material feels foreign, but good against my skin. I holster the gun at my hip, the feel of it hard against the softness of my clean clothes.

I run my fingers through my hair a few times, trying to tame the long curls that hang loosely down my back. It’s the first time I’ve worn my hair down in years. It’s too hot to have

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