To Save a Vampire - A.K. Koonce Page 0,65

in two when he was just learning to walk.” She shakes her head, her eyes practically glowing with the memory.

At the sound of his name, Asher walks silently into the kitchen, stopping in the threshold and leaning against the white doorframe, his lean body easily filling the space as he folds his arms across his chest. He tilts his head to one side as if interested in our conversation. I physically can’t resist the reaction my body has to him. My eyes are trained on him. I don’t know why, but I smile shyly, my heart pounding just from the sight of him. A lazy smile forms on his handsome face, and my heart leaps as if reaching out to him.

“We wanted a normal life for them,” Shae says, ignoring the way I’m looking at her grandson. I fidget as soon as she speaks and turn my back to Asher to face her, giving my full attention to the story.

“They were both miracles by their own right. A hybrid-human baby with vampire lineage surviving a pregnancy with a hybrid-vampire. Somehow Micah took after his mother and didn’t physically inherit the cursed genes of his father. It was unheard of and bizarre, and … a complete miracle. They were beautiful and identical, except their eyes of course. They had a bond we couldn’t begin to understand.”

The word physically is branded in my mind. Physically Micah was human… He appeared human. But he wasn’t. Not entirely.

“We failed their mother so much, we had to try something different with them. It broke our hearts but we found a couple in the neighboring village that had lost three babies in one year. If they filed for another birthing permit and lost another pregnancy, they wouldn’t be given another chance.” Shae braces her hands tightly against the edge of the counter, her eyes fixed on the now empty sink. “So they happily took Micah in. We didn’t tell them what his father was; God knows they wouldn’t have accepted him. But Micah was practically human, that sweet boy didn’t have an evil bone in his body.”

My gaze drifts over my shoulder to Asher. His dark hair hangs low, shadowing his eyes as he looks at the gray tile floor. His previously confident stature is nowhere to be found, and I want nothing more than to hold him. To erase the pain that’s etched into his perfect face.

“We kept Asher. We raised him the best we could, considering our differences,” she says, her voice filled with a mixture of pride and pain. “He’s the best thing that ever came out of a bad situation. He’s a good man.” Shae looks me in the eye.

I brush my hand over hers. Her frail hand is cold despite the thick sweater she’s wearing. I want to hug her. She’s had such a long, hard life. She could have chosen differently. If given a second chance would she have chosen the easy road in her youth?

Asher clears his throat, making Shae jump. Her hand still rests under mine, against the sink. We both turn toward Asher. He stands with his hands in his pocket, a big smile on his lips like he didn’t hear our conversation at all.

I guess I’m not the only eavesdropper here tonight.

“Got a surprise for you in the living room,” he says, nodding his head toward the adjoining room.

Shae gives him a wide grin like she’s already received a perfect gift.

Maybe she has.

Fourteen

Where Fate Led

After everyone settles into the small living room, Jim pulls the instrument out from beside his creaking chair. The instrument is dirty with mud, and sand stains the glossy surface, but it’s intact.

Shae gasps at the sight of wood and strings. Asher’s face breaks into a wide, triumphant grin. Dimples I rarely ever see crease his smile.

“He found your guitar? I haven’t seen this in years,” Shae says settling in on the floor next to Jim’s feet. “Do you remember how to play?” she asks, a ramble of excited words spilling out of her mouth.

“You can’t be any worse than you were when I was a kid,” Asher tells him with a laugh, gaining himself a glare from Jim.

Jim shrugs, looking from Asher to Shae before settling back in the chair and placing the guitar on his lap. His fingers trail silently down the strings, but he doesn’t touch them.

My fingers twitch with the memory of holding the instrument in my hands, the melody already strumming within me. The memory of Asher’s